Naboo Rose
by Girlbender875
Summary: AU. Padmé, her adopted brother Obi-Wan, and her sister-in-law Siri walk a tightrope teetering between their roles as Rebels in the Imperial Senate and execution. To keep prying eyes off of their covert operations, Padmé must woo the most emotionless man the Empire has known: Darth Vader. This sends everyone into a world of intrigue, power plays, whirlwind romance, and more.
1. The Plan

_**Naboo Rose**_

**Rating: T (very dark themes)**

**Hey all! This idea popped in my head a long time ago, but I was never quite sure what to do with it until it finally started blossoming (haha I just caught my own pun... good grief -_- ). I've pretty much got it all planned out now, but... lol I don't have it written down. _ It'll happen, though, I promise! I don't tend to abandon stories that have plots already fleshed out like this one is, so I won't abandon it, but if I don't get to it in a while, just know that it's because my double major is trying to make me suffer, haha.**

**Also, please note that aside from brief moments in other stories or vignettes, this is my first romance, so tips would be great. I'm trying to make their emotions realistic and not just sappy cheesy junk, and romance is not my forte... so yeah. Ye be warned.**

**Speaking of sappiness and stuff, please look at the genres before you start fangirling on me. This is not going to be a My Little Pony kumbaya happy clappy fest. (lol, sorry, my pent up aggression against brainless shippers is coming out, haha - there's nothing wrong with sappy romances! For the most part...)  
**

* * *

He stood quietly as the aides attended to him, tying a sash, adjusting part of his cloak, placing the circlet on his head, or brushing dust off his shoulder. His face was neutral, as it almost always was when he wasn't on political assignment. Shadows covered his eyes, making them glow brightly with an intensity that could pierce into someone's soul, and yet these same eyes wouldn't care what they saw either way. He held himself erect, with as much dignity as his station required, but while it seemed like nothing more than the most casual gesture to him, as if he always held himself in such a manner, something about it seemed false.

Perhaps that was just because Tarkin himself knew that it was false.

"You look just like your mother," Tarkin remarked. Physically they bore little in common, but their manners were very alike. He was reminded strikingly of the last day he saw the woman alive.

The man being dressed did not move, but his eyes flickered in the mirror to stare at Tarkin's reflection. He seemed to ponder Tarkin's words for a short while and then he returned his gaze to himself. He said nothing.

Tarkin expected nothing different.

The aides finished their work and bowed in unison, backing to the door and then turning to leave. The man remained still, silently examining himself. Tarkin knew better than to reassure the man that he looked just as presentable as he always did; these actions the man was undergoing were rituals to him, and he would not have them interrupted.

After two minutes of examination, the man nodded approvingly and turned to face Tarkin. He looked handsome with his chiseled face and sinewy body. His dark blonde hair fell perfectly on his face, trimmed and proper while still holding a touch of youth to it. However, no one would ever find him endearing, for while he gave off the impression of being calm and attractive, he was also cold. Everything in his features, from his neutral stare to his icy blue eyes to his manner of speaking denoted distance between himself and whoever he was addressing. No one had ever gotten close to him, and no one undoubtedly ever would.

He walked towards the exit without saying a word to Tarkin. No words needed to be said, and he didn't say anything he didn't have to, so Tarkin simply followed three steps behind him as protocol dictated.

The two walked in silence through the ornately decorated hallway. Massive floor-to-ceiling windows were to their right while pottery and plants lined the left wall. Not a great deal of light was entering through the windows despite their size since the weather was bleak; although Imperial Center's weather was mostly controlled through technology, the planet always seemed to make more depressingly cloudy days than was allowed in the yearly meteorological calendar.

Anyone they passed stopped and bowed or curtseyed to the man and the officers saluted automatically. The man acknowledged no one, continuing to walk with purpose.

The two reached the end of the hall and took the stairs to the next level. After arriving at the end of the next corridor, they approached enormous double doors. The Red Guard was flanking the doors, and the two guards on duty only glanced at the man before immediately opening the doors, one announcing their presence to the occupant in the throne room.

"Darth Vader and Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin, sire."

The emperor waved the guard out dismissively, and Darth Vader genuflected. Tarkin did so as well, still remaining three steps behind the young Sith Lord.

"Master." This was the first word the young man had spoken all morning, but his voice was not dry nor did it crack from lack of use. The word was spoken with the same coldness as every other word he used, and yet Tarkin could always swear he heard some sort of emotion in it. Devotion, perhaps? Probably not. Tarkin had not known Darth Vader to be devoted to anything or anyone, even himself. The emotion was more likely loathing; from what Tarkin knew of Sith Lords, it was a common emotion that they felt, and so he suspected that somewhere underneath all of the man's cold, hardened, and neutral defenses was a fiery hatred for the man before him.

"You will accompany me to the Senate today, Lord Vader," the emperor ordered. Like Vader, there was no emotion in his voice, no hint of affection or concern for his own second-in-command. As Tarkin watched the two interact he felt his own mind numbing at the lack of emotion and humanity in the room.

He was used to it, though.

"Yes, my Master," Darth Vader answered immediately, bowing his head. He didn't argue with the emperor; he never argued.

When it was evident that there was nothing else the emperor wished to discuss with Vader, he rose and backed out of the room while Tarkin was beckoned forward.

"Lord Vader will be occupied for the foreseeable future," Emperor Palpatine informed Tarkin. "For the time being, you are in charge of all military matters, Grand Moff Tarkin."

Tarkin was tempted to quirk an eyebrow, but he knew better than to show any reaction to the emperor's orders. Immediately dozens of questions sprang into his mind. Why was Darth Vader going to be too occupied to oversee the military, which was his usual duty? What did Palpatine have planned for Vader and, more importantly, for Tarkin himself? Was this a test for either man, or for both? Where would Palpatine's attention lay? Despite these questions buzzing in his mind, Tarkin simply said, "Yes, Your Imperial Majesty."

With Tarkin's acknowledgement of the orders, the emperor dismissed him from the throne room.

Most Imperials would have tried listening at the door if they could, and Tarkin was sure Vader was aware that Palpatine's conversation with Tarkin concerned him as well, but Darth Vader was not in the hallway. He never would do such a thing. Tarkin had watched Vader grow over the years and believed he could safely boast that he knew Vader better than any other Imperial… including perhaps even the emperor. Vader was most likely in his quarters assuring that his appearance was appropriate for the Senate, and then he would no doubt go for his usual morning stroll. He always had to find time for it before noon, and if he did not, it threw off his schedule and his mood for the rest of the day.

Just to see if his hunch was correct, Tarkin walked down the stairs to Vader's room and saw him dressing more comfortably for a long day at the Senate whilst still retaining the dignity of the ensemble. His expression was still blank, but his eyes were lit up with thousands of thoughts going through his mind as he prepared for the day. Tarkin had no doubt that Vader, just as Tarkin had in the throne room, was pondering why he was going to the Senate and what Palpatine was planning. However, that was as far as Tarkin could read; no one knew what really went on in the dark recesses of the young Sith Lord's mind.

Darth Vader did not notice Tarkin's scrutiny, or if he did, he didn't acknowledge it. Instead, he walked off to some corner of his quarters where he could continue to prepare for whatever task Palpatine wished of him. Tarkin should be doing likewise and he knew it, so he departed.

* * *

She stood quietly as a handmaiden gave her a data pad that had the agenda for the day. After the handmaiden departed, she examined the pad, scrolling through its contents and frowning.

"What is it?"

She looked up at him and sighed. "The first thing the Senate will be debating upon is whether or not it should raise taxes to cover the funding going to the military."

Obi-Wan Naberrie sighed in return. "No doubt the emperor will decide that matter for you."

"No doubt indeed," she replied.

"Padmé, try not to make a huge deal about it," Padmé's handmaiden, Siri Naberrie hastily said. "You've attracted enough attention. I still remember the look Palpatine gave you after your speech during yesterday's session."

"It had to be said," Padmé argued defiantly. "No one was protesting what the emperor was suggesting."

"That's because they want to stay _alive_," Obi-Wan stressed.

Padmé sighed tiredly, and Obi-Wan suddenly felt tired too. It wasn't even ten on the chronometer; how could they all be so exhausted already? He suddenly found himself missing the years when Padmé had been queen. At least then they hadn't had to directly deal with Emperor Palpatine.

Judging from the look on Siri's face, she felt the same way.

"Sometimes I wish I had stayed on Naboo for that second term as queen," Padmé admitted as if she were reading their thoughts. "But it's better that I got here as quickly as possible; after all, the entire point is to help the Alliance."

"Speaking of the Alliance, I have bad news," Siri intoned, her blue eyes darkening like a storm cloud. "Kuna is dead."

Padmé and Obi-Wan both jumped, staring at Siri in horror. Kuna was an important contact for supplies, and he had been dealing directly with the Naberrie family for almost two years, which was the entire duration of Padmé's term as senator so far. Not only was this bad news for the Alliance, and of course for Kuna's family, but also…

"They could trace this to us," Obi-Wan blurted out, terrified. The Empire had never hit a blow so close to home… so close to _them_. "We were the Alliance's liaisons for Kuna; he dealt with nobody but us! If they know he was helping the Alliance—"

"Then it's possible they know our involvement," Siri finished, having come to that conclusion before she had even relayed the news. "Exactly."

"We don't know if they've traced it back to us," Padmé said nervously, trying to allay their panic. "They may have indicted him on something else. He _did_ work with the underworld, after all. Poor Kuna…"

"Yes, poor Kuna indeed," Obi-Wan shook his head. "We should lay low for a while, Padmé. Didn't some Naboo noble die recently? We could use that as an excuse—attend his funeral and the like—to get off Imperial Center for a while."

Siri shook her head fervently. "No, we can't leave; that would be too obvious."

"We're _not_ leaving," Padmé stated firmly. She then looked at her sister-in-law. "Siri, I need you to find out who was behind Kuna's death."

Siri nodded. "No problem."

Obi-Wan sighed. "Don't I get any say in my wife's life-risking adventures?"

Padmé laughed lightly. "I don't think she'll give you much of a choice. _You _can't go – that _would_ be obvious."

"That's why I became a handmaiden," Siri said exasperatedly. "With Padmé as the senator for the entire Chommell Sector and with you as the representative for Naboo _somebody_ has to be able to work behind the scenes."

"I thought you became a handmaiden so you wouldn't have to directly deal with annoying politicians?" Obi-Wan surmised with a smirk. "As I recall you were very tempted to punch a senator during one of our dealings at the palace; we all discovered then and there that politics was not the ideal career for you."

Siri laughed. "True; just thinking about that guy _still_ makes me want to punch him. Either way, I'll get the info, Padmé."

"And what happens when you find out who was behind it?" Obi-Wan suddenly asked. "Killing whoever is responsible isn't an option; it wouldn't do us any good anyway."

"No, it's not like we're going to eliminate him," Padmé replied. "But we need to find out how they learned about Kuna, and we need to find out what they do and don't know."

"And what happens then? What if we find out that some inquisitor dug up enough dirt to get our involvement?"

"If they already had that kind of information we'd be dead too," Padmé sighed. "They can't know yet."

"True," Obi-Wan conceded.

"We could always try bribing the person who's behind it," Siri suggested.

"That would be completely giving away our involvement," Obi-Wan argued.

Padmé interrupted the couple. "Let's worry about what to do _after_ we get the information."

The three agreed, and Siri quickly departed to get to work. Padmé sighed heavily and sat on the couch beside Obi-Wan. "How did we get ourselves into this mess?"

"As I recall, _you_ dragged all of us into this mess," Obi-Wan answered while wrapping his arm around her.

Padmé shot him an irritated look. "Well you're the moronic big brother who decided to come along for the ride."

"I didn't want my moronic little sister getting herself killed in a senate full of backstabbers." Obi-Wan retorted. "Padmé… please, just be careful and keep your head down for a while in the senate, okay? Even if they don't have evidence to link us to Kuna yet, it will eventually surface if they look hard enough."

"Maybe we _should_ bribe whoever's behind it," Padmé wondered aloud.

"Bribing won't work, even if we're assuming the person already knows our involvement." Obi-Wan shook his head. "A relationship based on greed is a shaky one at best and a treacherous one at worst."

"I suppose you're right," Padmé murmured as she leaned her head against his shoulder. She remained silent for a time before speaking again. "You remember when we were kids? We used to play that we were Republic citizens who stopped Palpatine from becoming emperor. You think it would have been easier to do that?"

"Easier to stop Palpatine's rise to power? Easier than what? Than what we're doing now?"

"I guess."

Obi-Wan pondered the thought. "Maybe. It's normally easier to nip a problem in the bud rather than have to deal with the disastrous effects after the problem has arisen. Still, from what I've read about the political climate and galactic stability at the time, it doesn't seem the case… it probably would have been harder, actually. Back then people _liked_ Palpatine."

"I don't even see how that's possible," Padmé said, sounding sickened.

"Anything's possible," Obi-Wan sighed as he released Padmé from his hug and rose to his feet. "Come on. We should get ready for the senate session."

The day was relatively uneventful, thankfully. There was mostly bickering amongst senators about specifics of a bill that had already been passed. Padmé remained silent on the issue, simply watching it play out, and Obi-Wan was extremely grateful for it. He knew his sister's habits too well; she often spoke out against Palpatine despite both Obi-Wan and Siri's best efforts to keep her silent. Their position within the political scene made them vulnerable as well as helpful to the Alliance, and the last thing they needed was Padmé attracting attention to herself. Honestly, that was the _real_ reason Obi-Wan had become the representative for Naboo. He hated the campaigning, and while he preferred to talk things out, speaking in riddles and lies to fellow politicians was not his passion… but it was all to ensure Padmé didn't get herself shot for her outspoken sense of justice.

As Obi-Wan sat on the small pod that was dedicated to delegates from the Chommell Sector, he felt something brush in the back of his mind. Turning his head slightly, he caught sight of his wife approaching silently. She had a grim look on her face. This couldn't be good news.

Before Siri could say anything, the senate session ended for the day and everyone filed out of the main arena. Padmé led the way out and, having noticed Siri's return, began to walk towards the landing pads so they could head home and talk privately. Their fast trek was interrupted, however, when they suddenly turned the corner and found the emperor himself standing in their way.

Emperor Palpatine was a surprisingly kind looking man. His face held few signs of age and was soft in appearance, and his fluffy white hair still had a single streak of red remaining. On a second glance, however, one would notice certain characteristics that easily gave away his true character, most notably his yellowish eyes. Obi-Wan shuddered looking at them and quickly averted his gaze, instead looking at the others in the emperor's party. Palpatine was flanked by four members of the Red Guard, a servant, and one other who was dressed too well to be an aide. He had a strong build, tall and lean, with slightly tan skin and dark blonde hair. He looked to the emperor more often than anyone else, however, and so Obi-Wan quickly returned his attention to the conversation that began to unfold.

"Ah, Senator Amidala," Palpatine said in his disgustingly silky voice. It made Obi-Wan's skin crawl, and he saw Siri's cheeks flush in anger at just hearing it. Subtly, Obi-Wan slipped his hand into his wife's hand and gave it a squeeze. "It's such a pleasure to see you."

Padmé nodded her head in a stiff manner. "Emperor, you look well."

"I have heard that there have been some issues of rebellion in your system, senator," Palpatine said, putting on a false tone of concern. He dismissed the aide with a wave of his hand. The other figure, however, remained. "It makes me worry for your safety; the thought of losing you is unbearable."

Even Obi-Wan almost gagged at the remark, and although he was only holding her hand, he felt every muscle in his wife's body tense. The woman had little patience and little tact in situations like these, and Obi-Wan knew she was just waiting to call Palpatine out on his lies, and so he squeezed her hand even tighter; if there was one person who was better than Padmé at being a little _too_ outspoken for their own good, it was definitely Siri.

Obi-Wan's focus drifted from Siri to the man beside Palpatine once more. The man was watching the interaction between the emperor and Padmé. Obi-Wan gazed at him intently, trying to figure out who he was; he had never seen the person before, but he felt extremely unnerved by him. Something about him just seemed so… _off_. Obi-Wan had no idea what was giving him that sensation, though; by all accounts the man looked perfectly normal and calm, if a bit distant.

Suddenly, a remark from Palpatine caught Obi-Wan's attention. "I heard they even killed a nobleman on Naboo. It's extremely worrisome, but although you no doubt feel you have a duty to attend the man's funeral services, I do believe it would be in your best interests to remain on Imperial Center while we send someone to eradicate the insurgents."

"Your Imperial Majesty is most kind," Padmé replied politely with a smile plastered to her face. Obi-Wan felt his own heart rate rise a little; they had no intention and made no indication of returning to Naboo, yet Palpatine was still quite insistent they stay on Imperial Center. He knew something they didn't… something about them. Hopefully Siri had news that would enlighten the other two so they could quickly get the bull's-eye off their backs.

"Just promise me you'll stay on Imperial Center for a while," the emperor insisted with an earnest expression. "After all, we all think you are a wonderful addition to the senate. Your youth brings new life to everyone. Oh, and one more thing since you both are here, may I introduce Darth Vader to you? I do not believe you are acquainted."

_That_ was Darth Vader? Obi-Wan's gaze immediately returned to the young man. _No_… how could that be Darth Vader?! The reputation that guy held was deplorable; he had led countless battles that had destroyed both the Alliance and civilians, he had assassinated people, he… _that_ was Darth Vader? He looked so… so… _normal_.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, senator," Darth Vader said as he bowed slightly in acknowledgement. His voice sounded young; it was slightly deep, but it almost seemed as if it were still maturing – just how old was this guy? Despite his words, neither his expression nor his tone denoted any sort of pleasure, or anything for that matter. He seemed just as distant as before, not quite bored, but certainly not interested in the conversation at hand.

And Obi-Wan still couldn't shake that feeling that something was just so _off_ about him. He now presumed it had to do with the fact that this man was a murderer, but…

Padmé only offered a slight nod in return. The introduction would have held no meaning to it, honestly, if it hadn't been preceded by Palpatine's warning that she remain within his reach. This was a threat. They all recognized it.

"I wouldn't fear too much, Your Imperial Majesty," Padmé said. "I don't intend on leaving anytime soon."

"That is good to hear," Palpatine said, widening his smile. "Then I will have the pleasure of seeing you very often."

Obi-Wan shook off a shudder.

The emperor then left, followed by the guards and Vader, none of whom paid them a second glance. The trio then quickly exited the building, flying back to their apartment in silence. The instant they were inside, however, the silence broke quickly.

"Blast it, he's on to us," Padmé remarked, hugging herself in an attempt to stop her hands from shaking. "Siri, what did you find out?"

"Well I hope you weren't expecting good news after that fiasco," Siri said as she sat on the couch. "There is none. Some Intelligence agent found out Kuna had ties to the Alliance."

"Well that confirms our suspicions that it was the Empire's doing," Obi-Wan sighed heavily. Poor Kuna – he had been aiding with the Alliance and working with the underworld to help feed his family; being a Rodian, he was neither treated well nor respected by the Empire. Obi-Wan hoped the man's family would be alright.

"It gets better," Siri continued. "The agent may have found our connection to Kuna as well. Whatever he stumbled on, though, it was too important for him to know; he's dead too."

Both Padmé and Obi-Wan jumped and stared at Siri in shock. "What?! Who killed the agent?"

"Darth Vader," Siri said darkly. "That sick freak kills his own men, apparently, on top of everybody else. But it also means he knows whatever the agent found out."

"We have to alert the Alliance," Padmé immediately said. "Heaven knows what the agent found out."

"I'll take care of it," Obi-Wan stated, leaving the room to do just that.

As he departed, Siri asked, "What are we going to do about Vader? We have to lay low for a while, Padmé. Isn't there _some_ way we can get away from the senate?"

"You really want to try after that stunt Palpatine pulled?" Padmé sighed heavily. "No, our best bet is definitely to stay here."

"Well how are we going to divert attention, then?" Siri demanded, shooting to her feet. "Palpatine just basically introduced us to Vader as if to say, _oh by the way, this is the guy who's going to kill you if you try anything_!"

"Do you think Vader will be the one to keep an eye on us?" Padmé asked.

"Probably," Siri sighed heavily, sitting once more.

Padmé remained silent for a time, pondering an idea, before she finally sat in a chair facing the couch. "Obi-Wan and I were talking… I had mentioned that we could perhaps bribe whoever had the information…"

Obi-Wan reentered the room as Padmé spoke, and he immediately shook his head before Siri could reply. "Padmé, we already went over this. Bribing won't work, _especially_ on someone like Darth Vader."

"But what does that even mean: _someone like Darth Vader_?" Padmé suddenly asked. "We don't know anything about him—"

Siri barked out a laugh. "I beg to differ; we know _a lot _about him. What do you want to talk about first? How he single handedly murdered the entire congress of Acirema? How he _pacified_ an uprising on Kashyyyk by burning half the forest? How he led an army into civilian cities on Mon Calamari to make a point to a _handful_ of dissidents? Or how he just now murdered an _Imperial Intelligence operative_?"

"That's what we've _heard_ about him," Padmé corrected her sister-in-law. "We haven't really learned anything about him personally."

Obi-Wan and Siri both paused. Siri was horrified that Padmé might be suggesting Vader was anything less than a monster. Obi-Wan, on the other hand, was more suspicious than ever.

"What are you saying, Padmé?" he asked slowly.

"I'm saying Darth Vader is a man," Padmé remarked.

Siri snorted. "Not sure about that – that implies he's a _person_. Can we just define him as an animal and be done with it?"

"No, we're not going to be done with him for a very long time," Padmé replied. "The point I'm trying to make is that he is a _man_ and I can be very persuasive with men, if need be."

Siri and Obi-Wan both gaped at her. _"What?"_

"Oh don't be like that," Padmé sighed as she stood to plead her case. "Look, we were just introduced—it wouldn't be out of the ordinary for me to be polite and ask to be better acquainted with him."

"Absolutely not!" Obi-Wan immediately said.

"Obi-Wan, you're my brother, not my father," Padmé rolled her eyes. "I'm not intending on taking it _that_ far, anyway. Just some flirting here and there…"

"And that's supposed to do what, exactly?" Siri asked. "You're trying to _attract_ the one guy who will probably kill us?"

"If he gets some sort of favorable attachment to us then he'll be less likely to act on orders to kill us," Padmé suggested. "We don't have another option. Obi-Wan's right that we can't bribe him any other way; he doesn't strike me as the type who really cares about wealth—or if he does, he already seems pretty wealthy enough; did you see his outfit? He _certainly_ doesn't strike me as somebody who cares about reputation or politics; I could tell that from his manner. He won't take orders from us, either. So what option does that leave us? We have no choice!"

"Padmé, you're getting a little too panicked and desperate about this," Obi-Wan hastily remarked. "There _has_ to be another option."

Siri remained silent, irritating Obi-Wan slightly since he was expecting some back up from her. Padmé immediately took it as a good sign and looked at her.

"What do you think, Siri?" she asked.

Siri furrowed her brow and rubbed her hands together. "Well… you do have a point in that we really have no other option…"

"Siri!" Obi-Wan protested.

"What?" Siri snapped, rising to her feet. "I'm not saying Padmé needs have an _affair_ with the guy, but flirting with him may not hurt."

Before either Padmé or Obi-Wan could say anything else, however, Siri looked sharply at Padmé. "But you have to be _insanely_ cautious around that guy—heaven knows what he's capable of. You can't be with him alone."

Padmé sighed irritably. "That defeats the purpose, don't you think?"

"Just start out slow and steady, will you?" Siri pleaded.

"Slow and steady won't catch him off guard," Padmé shook her head. "And _that's_ what we want. We want to keep him tripping, we want to keep a step ahead of him. I'm asking him to dinner."

"Dinner?!" Obi-Wan repeated in horror.

"How about a double date?" Siri immediately offered.

The room was silent as everyone considered it, though Obi-Wan was mostly still panicking at the entire concept. Finally, Padmé smiled and nodded, coming to a decision. "All right, then. A double date."

"How are you going to get in contact with him?" Siri asked.

"I'll find Governor Tarkin," Padmé replied. "Almost every time Vader has some public mission or appearance, the governor is always with him, and we know Tarkin hangs around the senate building on most days."

Siri remarked it was a sound plan. Obi-Wan just groaned.

"It's all right, Obi," Padmé laughed. "Everything will turn out fine."

* * *

**Well, there's the first chapter. Now I just have to write the rest, lol... reviews are always appreciated. :)**


	2. Setting up a Date

**Sorry for the brevity of this chapter; I wanted to be able to publish _something_ before summer classes started up. Enjoy!**

* * *

The next day Padmé set out early and alone to find Governor Tarkin. She dressed carefully, wearing a strapless gown but putting a shawl over it to maintain the formal look of a senator. But if she took the shawl off… well, she just wanted to ensure that she made an impression on Vader.

The senate building was relatively empty and quiet at this hour of the morning; attendants and aides were the most common sight, preparing everything for their employers. However, she also knew that Tarkin often arrived early as well, so he had to be somewhere near his office.

Heading in that direction, Padmé caught sight of the man speaking to a military officer. She took care not to get too close, quickly sidestepping into a small antechamber and listening in. The two were talking about Rebel movements in the Outer Rim, making her a little nervous. Padmé knew that there was a Rebel spy network that tried to keep the Empire guessing about the Alliance's main base of operations, but she also knew that the Rebel base _was_ in fact in the Outer Rim. Whether the officer was telling Tarkin information the spies wanted him to tell or whether the Empire had a _real_ lead was beyond her, but it made her stomach churn either way.

Eventually the officer departed and Tarkin entered his office. Taking a deep breath, Padmé pondered how in the blazes she would even ask the man for Vader's location. She wasn't sure how she could phrase the question casually; while she didn't know just how politically aware Vader was, she knew that Tarkin was incredibly shrewd and capable of seeing through even the best façades. It would take some incredibly good acting to make this seem innocent. She supposed purposefully going to his office would not be a good idea, then… perhaps she should just linger until he left and then 'accidentally' run into him.

As she waited for Tarkin to enter the hallway once more, Padmé sighed and thought about their predicament. Just how much did the Empire know? They obviously had their suspicions about the Naberrie family since Palpatine wanted them to stay on Imperial Center, but it also wasn't enough to get them killed just yet… so what _did_ they know? How could Padmé squeeze that information out of Vader? Could she even try that? That certainly wasn't an option for the near future… she'd have to make Vader pretty comfortable and trusting around her to do that, and even Padmé knew that wasn't going to be happening anytime soon.

The sound of a door opening caught her attention and Padmé hastily peeked into the hall once more. Grand Moff Tarkin had exited his office and was skimming through a data pad carelessly. This was her chance.

Straightening her gown and getting her wits about her, Padmé calmly strode into the hallway and pulled out a data pad of her own, not even reading the information as she attempted to make herself look busy. She didn't stop the act until she was nearly on top of the governor, who quickly took notice of her presence and cleared his throat as he stepped aside to avoid a collision.

Padmé jumped, pretending to be shocked out of whatever had been holding her attention. "Oh! Forgive me, governor, I wasn't watching where I was going."

"It's quite all right, senator," Tarkin replied in a tone that indicated he was still annoyed.

"I trust everything is going well in your jurisdiction?" Padmé asked conversationally.

"Tolerably well, thank you," the governor replied with a small polite smile. "I've heard there have been some disputes in your own area."

Padmé sighed and gave a sad nod. "Yes, there has been some rebellious activity near Naboo, unfortunately. I trust the Empire can handle the situation, however. Perhaps Darth Vader will help alleviate the problem?"

"What makes you say that?" Tarkin asked conversationally, his smile increasing slightly. Was he on to her? He probably suspected she was worrying about Vader considering their introduction… but the governor hadn't witnessed that, so he really shouldn't know much of anything.

"Well I've heard he is the best at handling… situations like this." Padmé offered before shrugging. "Though I suppose he must be busy with other matters; after all I just saw him here in the senate building yesterday. I did find that a little confusing; I wasn't under the impression that Darth Vader was heavily involved in politics."

"Lord Vader is involved wherever he is needed," Governor Tarkin replied.

"I hope there isn't some sort of threat to the senate, then, if the emperor thinks Darth Vader is needed here." Padmé said, waiting to see the governor's reaction.

Tarkin's smile grew somewhat condescending. He probably thought she was prying either for concern of her own safety or simply for the sake of gossip. "I assure you there has been no threat of any sort, Senator Amidala. Lord Vader occasionally makes rounds through the building, but that doesn't mean there's danger."

"Strange," Padmé remarked. "You say he comes here occasionally? I've only seen him here yesterday. Does he have some sort of base of operations in this building?"

Before Tarkin could reply, Padmé pretended to realize she had overstepped her boundary. "Oh, well, he's probably coordinating with security or something, of course. Either way, I'll trust your judgment on the matter, governor."

"If you're so greatly concerned you can speak to Lord Vader yourself," Tarkin replied, and Padmé felt her heart rate spike—_success_.

"I'm afraid I don't know where he is," Padmé replied with a sheepish smile.

"He's probably in the security room by the emperor's antechamber. If not you'll find him near the arena."

Padmé bowed gratefully with a small smile. "Thank you, governor. Have a good day."

As soon as she was out of sight, Padmé let out a very minute bounce of delight. She wasn't sure if she'd be able to squeeze the information out of him without arousing his suspicions, but whether he was suspicious of her or not it probably wasn't for the actual reason she wanted to see Vader. Of course, now she had to talk to the man himself, and she had to ensure they were alone or at least somewhere where they wouldn't be the center of attention.

Hastily making her way to the security room Tarkin had mentioned, Padmé began to slow her pace when she drew near. This was uncomfortably close to the areas where the emperor would usually be found, and she dearly hoped he wasn't around. It was still relatively early in the morning, so perhaps he hadn't arrived yet. Vader was obviously in the area since Tarkin had indicated as such, and it made sense if the man was there for security reasons that he arrive before the VIPs.

As Padmé stealthily crept into the reception chamber of the emperor's senate suite she gratefully noticed that it was empty. She heard movement in an antechamber, however, which she presumed was the security room. Nevertheless, she kept to the shadows as she quietly approached the doorway to the antechamber, and her suspicions were confirmed when she saw security monitors on the walls. A lone figure stood in the center, watching the monitors.

It was Vader.

He stood very still, his eyes moving occasionally from one monitor to the next before seeming to cloud as if he were lost in thought. Padmé would almost say his minimal movements were due to sleepiness, but his eyes never grew heavy and closed. In fact it seemed like he hadn't even blinked at all since she had taken notice of him. The only indication he gave of not being some replica droid of the man was that he took the occasional deep breath and perhaps would sway just a hair on his heels before growing still and silent once more.

Well, it was now or never.

"Darth Vader?" Padmé said softly so as not to startle him.

Vader watched the monitors for a second more before slowly turning his gaze to her. He didn't seem surprised by her presence at all, which unsettled her a little. She quickly got a hold of her emotions, however; she was the one who needed to be in control of this conversation for it to work.

"I was told I could find you here," Padmé explained though Vader had said nothing. "I was just wondering if… has there been some sort of threat to the senate or the emperor? While it truly is an honor to meet you, I hadn't expected a military official to be lingering around the senate building."

Vader watched her, staying just as motionless as he had been when he had observed the security feeds. Padmé began to grow slightly uncomfortable under his oddly penetrating gaze before he finally shook his head, looking away. "There's been no threat against anyone, senator. Don't be concerned."

"Well that's a relief," Padmé said with a smile, taking a step closer to him. Fiddling with the string that tied the shawl and kept it in place, she remarked, "Goodness, it's awfully warm in here, isn't it? Did they leave the heat on too high?"

"I wouldn't know," Vader replied dully, still watching the feeds.

Padmé slipped the shawl off and then walked until she was right beside Vader. Following his gaze to one of the monitors, she asked, "If I may ask, are you watching for someone in particular?"

"No," Vader answered in his usual quiet and calm voice. He turned to her. "You should be going, senator. The emperor will be arriving soon and I already answered your question."

Padmé tossed a glance in his direction to note his mood. Vader still seemed completely unperturbed, his gaze clear, his face neutral, and his tone remaining calm. However, his eyes did drift a little more to her shoulders than anywhere else, and she internally let out a laugh. Whether Siri claimed he was a monster or not, he was still most definitely a man.

"There was one more question I had, actually," Padmé said as she turned to face him. Vader's gaze immediately returned to her eyes as he waited for her to speak. "I was interested in getting to know you a little better. After all, I've heard so much about you but only met you just yesterday. Would you like to have dinner with me and my family tomorrow night?"

Vader blinked, his eyes flickering between hers and the wall as he seemed to contemplate her words. His brow furrowed slightly as if he were confused, but it eventually smoothed and he looked her directly in the eye. "Very well."

"How wonderful," Padmé said with a happy laugh. "You can drop by my apartment around 17:30 tomorrow."

Vader nodded in agreement before immediately returning his attention to the security monitors. The conversation was over. Taking a steadying breath, Padmé bade him a good day, garnering no reply, and then left. She hastily put her shawl back on and then made her way to her own office just as Obi-Wan and Siri were entering, both looking slightly worried.

"Padmé!" Obi-Wan said the instant he saw her. "You could have warned us you were leaving early, you know."

Padmé gave an apologetic smile. "Sorry; I had to arrange everything."

Siri leaned against the desk, folding her arms as Obi-Wan sighed heavily. "Did it go well?"

"As well as it could, I think," Padmé replied. "He at least agreed to coming."

Siri nodded. "Well, it's a start. When's our lovely double date?"

"Tomorrow evening," Padmé answered.

"So soon?" Obi-Wan quirked an eyebrow, his hands twitching nervously.

"We have to jump on the opportunity," Padmé explained. "We can't afford to wait."

Obi-Wan sighed once again. He had the distinct feeling he would be doing that _a lot_ from now on.

Despite her agreement to the plan, even Siri seemed a little nervous at the prospect, but she pushed it aside. "Come on; let's look over the agenda for the day."

The three fell into their usual roles and the day ran smoothly. Obi-Wan spent most of the senate session tuning out the prattle amongst senators as he nervously thought of the dinner. He knew he should trust Padmé's judgment a bit more; despite her age she was extremely mature and intelligent. Still, she _was_ twenty, and she was just as capable of making mistakes as any other person… and he honestly thought this plan was far too impulsive. They were playing with fire; _nobody_ messed around with Darth Vader. What did they possibly have to gain? It wasn't actually possible for the man to develop feelings for Padmé. He killed his _own_ men when ordered; what would make this any different?

At the end of the day the family settled at home, too wound up to relax. Eventually Obi-Wan broke the tension and spoke.

"What exactly are we going to do tomorrow?" he asked. "I don't really want to improvise what could potentially be an extremely dangerous situation."

Padmé quirked an eyebrow. "Dinner is a dangerous situation?"

Siri laughed softly before defending her husband. "Now, now, Padmé we do have to remember we're inviting a murderer over for dinner, and you're trying to make yourself appealing to him. That is a reason for concern. We should definitely steer the conversation away from anything related to the Alliance."

"I think that's a given," Obi-Wan remarked.

"Conversations can't be planned; you have to let them play out," Padmé argued.

"And it _will_ play out," Obi-Wan agreed. "But it doesn't hurt to have stuff to go off of. Topics and the like."

"Well, we could treat it as if Vader were a normal person," Padmé began to say before Siri cut her off with a snort.

"That'll be the day," she said.

"I just mean we can ask the usual dull ice breaking questions," Padmé continued. "What does he like to do, where does he like to go on Imperial Center, why he decided to join the Imperial military—"

"Why he decided to be a murglak, why he decided to murder people," Siri continued with a smirk.

"Perhaps we could leave off the last few questions," Obi-Wan groaned as he placed his face in his hand.

"And then I can tell him a bit about myself," Padmé offered, unperturbed by the interruption.

"I suppose that should be good enough for the time being," Obi-Wan nodded, rubbing his temples. He had a headache. "Force help us…"

"Don't worry so much, Obi," Siri clapped a hand on his back, making him grunt irritably. "If Vader gets too annoying we'll just shoot him."

Although the remark was meant as a joke, both Obi-Wan and Padmé knew Siri well enough to realize she would happily back up her threat. Obi-Wan sighed heavily for the millionth time that day. "Oh, yes, that'll naturally help our predicament."

"Let's just relax," Padmé insisted, although she herself was beginning to sound a little nervous. "It'll work out… somehow…"

* * *

Another long day at the senate left him slightly tired and annoyed, but it was a productive day nonetheless. At least he had the military matters to keep himself preoccupied.

Tarkin skimmed carelessly through his data pad, thinking of the search for the Rebel base more than the senate agenda he was holding. As a regional governor he didn't do much in the senate itself, but he still remained to maintain a presence. He had to ensure that the senators in his region of space would obey his wishes. They were basically his puppets nowadays anyway; Tarkin was chomping at the bit for the day Palpatine would simply dissolve the senate altogether, but he knew the man kept it around so he could keep a close eye on his enemies.

In either case it was still extremely tedious.

Entering the palace, Tarkin paused. He was going to head to his office, but he wanted to stop by Vader's quarters first; he was curious to see whether the Naboo senator did indeed visit Vader or if she had been prying about the safety of the senate for other reasons.

Entering the lift, Tarkin hit for one of the top floors and leaned against the wall as it sped to its destination. If the senator had indeed spoken to Vader he doubted she had gotten much out of the young man; he barely spoke more than absolutely necessary.

Reaching the correct floor, Tarkin stepped into the ornate hallway and then knocked at the door to Vader's quarters. The boy ought to be back by now; he never missed dinner unless he had to, and then he would go directly to his room.

As expected, the door hissed open. Tarkin entered, knowing that was Vader's form of invitation, and turned to see the young man standing by a couch; he had no doubt been sitting there doing something when Tarkin had knocked.

"Is there something you require, governor?" Vader asked in his usual calm tone.

"I'm only curious," Tarkin replied with a smile, and he motioned for Vader to sit. The Sith did so obediently. "Did Senator Amidala talk to you today?"

"This morning," Vader replied. When Tarkin said nothing, the young man took it as his indication to elaborate. "She was curious if there were some sort of threat to the senate. I told her there was not. Then she invited me to dinner, and I accepted."

Tarkin felt his eyebrows shoot up. "She… invited you to dinner?"

Vader nodded mutely, making himself almost look his age. Tarkin didn't know how to feel now; what was that conniving woman up to, inviting Vader to dinner? "Why did you accept?"

"Master has ordered me to keep an eye on the senator," Vader replied. "I figured it would be a useful opportunity."

Tarkin sighed, easing the tension in his chest, and he nodded slowly. "Yes, I suppose you are right. Make the most of it then, milord. Good evening."

At that, Tarkin departed, shaking off the emotions that had briefly overcome him. Blast, he had looked after Vader for far too long. He needed to clear his head; the boy knew what he was doing. He was trained for anything. Still, the thought of a senator trying to get under his skin… was she on to Vader? Tarkin didn't know the circumstances of Palpatine's orders or what the senator was suspected of, and he knew he shouldn't interfere or pry any further. Sighing and shaking his head subtly, the man entered the lift once more and pushed the thoughts out of his mind. Despite his curiosity as to how this would play out, he had to focus on other matters.

But one thing was for sure – that dinner was certainly going to be interesting.


	3. Dinner

The three members of the Naberrie clan endured the night differently. Padmé, dead set on her plan, didn't think much beyond the facts of what would happen and didn't allow herself to feel anything about it. She had been through crises before, and she had always managed by focusing on the task at hand and not her emotions on the matter… at least for a time. As such, she slept soundly.

Siri was tossing and turning, however, both nervous and repulsed at the prospect of a private dinner with Darth Vader. She had standards, and she didn't consider having a murderer over for dinner on par with her ideals, even if it was for a purpose. This was why she hated politics; she was far too blunt to handle the dancing and dodging required to deal with people she despised. Still, she could control herself when the need arose; she just didn't _like_ it.

Meanwhile, Obi-Wan didn't sleep at all. He stayed in the main living space, watching Imperial Center's traffic lanes light the sky alongside the buildings, stroking his smooth chin thoughtfully and worriedly. Nothing filled his mind but the constant dreadful thoughts of what could go wrong and how they could try to rectify it. He knew he had to be the calmest of the group; Siri would be on edge enough as it was, and Padmé, despite her amazing ability to keep her composure no matter the situation, was still at risk of being too reckless, of pushing too far. He had to be the one to ensure nothing went wrong… and he was bloody terrified.

Eventually the sky began to turn a dusty blue, casting dark shadows over the skyscrapers, whose lights eventually dimmed as sunlight pierced into the atmosphere. The traffic began to grow even thicker, vehicles began to honk at each other, and the smell of businesses opening, restaurants cooking food, and vehicle exhaust began to seep into the air through the balcony. Obi-Wan rubbed his temples wearily and stood. It was time to get ready for the day.

As he turned to go to the refresher and shower, he paused when he heard shuffling feet. He knew it was his wife, feeling the familiar calmness that overcame him whenever she was around. As if on cue, Siri entered the living room, rubbing the sleepiness off her face with her hand. Before she opened her eyes, she smiled, knowing who was in front of her.

"You going to make it through the day?" she asked quietly, opening her blue eyes.

Obi-Wan nodded tiredly. "I'll manage."

"You know Padmé can handle herself," Siri said, knowing what was bothering him. She approached him slowly, stroking his face once as a reassurance.

"Padmé is a brilliant woman," Obi-Wan conceded, leaning into his wife's touch. "But she still makes mistakes. She's just as flawed and Human as the rest of us."

"Try not to worry."

"I can't _not_ worry," Obi-Wan sighed. "I've been looking after her since she was born. It's basically ingrained in my soul at this point."

"Well, I may not have originally been part of the family, but I care for her too," Siri remarked.

Obi-Wan smiled at her. "I never said you didn't. You grew up with her, anyway; it wasn't like you lived far away."

"Two blocks _is_ far away when you're a little kid," Siri laughed before sobering. "But seriously, Obi, try to relax. It'll be over soon enough."

Obi-Wan nodded, trying to listen to his wife.

* * *

Imperial Center glowed rosy pink as the orbital mirrors engulfed half the planet in dawn's light. Tarkin watched the view for a time before glancing into the traffic lanes to see if his shuttle had arrived yet. Not recognizing any of the vehicles, he took a deep breath, inhaling the morning air and impatiently glancing at his chronometer. He had an early meeting with the head of Intelligence and its results would decide his actions for the remainder of the day; he had to get going.

The sound of footsteps made Tarkin turn and look into the hangar where he stood. Darth Vader was approaching him. The man looked as impressive and powerful as usual, but his eyes were clouded, gazing sightlessly at the ground. Tarkin knew better than to ask him anything; Vader was on his usual morning stroll, and the grand moff knew better than to interrupt it. Still, he was curious as to what the young Sith was pondering; was it the dinner? Or was he thinking about something else? Did he even think about anything on his morning walks? As much as Tarkin knew of Vader's routines and rituals, he only knew the superficiality of them and nothing more. Still, it was fun to guess; the Sith Lord was the biggest enigma the governor had ever met, and it was fascinating to try and figure him out.

Tarkin's thoughts were interrupted when Vader suddenly paused. Ah, so he was finishing his stroll. _Now_ he would talk.

"Good morning, Lord Vader," Tarkin greeted just as the shuttle transporting military personnel to the senate building arrived.

Vader eyed Tarkin for a moment, probably collecting his thoughts from whatever was preoccupying him during his walk, but he said nothing. Instead, he nodded in acknowledgement and boarded the shuttle alongside the governor and a grand admiral.

"Lovely morning," the grand admiral remarked to Tarkin cheerfully.

"A clear one, at least," Tarkin replied, seating himself by a window and glancing outside. "Hopefully there won't be much rain."

"It's the wet season," the grand admiral sighed. "I doubt we'll have a dry day for the next few months."

Tarkin tossed a glance in Vader's direction. The Sith never engaged in small talk unless his assignment required it, so he sat alone, legs crossed, pondering once more.

The grand moff couldn't help himself. "Planning for a busy day, milord?"

The grand admiral looked briefly at the Sith Lord before directing his attention elsewhere. Tarkin didn't blame him; he had witnessed the man's promotion at Vader's hand – the previous grand admiral had been a little too… lenient for the emperor's tastes, and so Vader had murdered him in front of all his men. Pushing the matter aside, Tarkin watched Vader once more to see his reaction. The Sith Lord looked calmly at Tarkin, but as usual, didn't answer his question. Instead, he asked, "Is there something you need, governor?"

Tarkin shook his head, telling the Sith that everything was fine. The young man never answered personal questions, or if he did, he indicated that nothing was important apart from his mission, whatever it was that day. Tarkin knew better than to push his luck. Instead, he settled for reviewing his own schedule for the day, pushing Vader out of his mind.

* * *

Thankfully nothing of great consequence had been discussed in the senate arena. The most interesting vote was simply about a minute amendment to an environmental law concerning some random sector of Imperial Center, and even _that_ took over three hours to debate. Siri sighed heavily before the conversation drew her attention back to the present.

"I'm sorry to hear about Kuna."

Padmé bowed her head slightly, remembering the brave Rodian. "We all are. I hope his family will be alright."

Senator Bail Organa nodded in agreement. The group was in his office, which was larger and more ornate than Padmé's due to Alderaan's high status in the former Republic. It was clear of listening and monitoring devices due to his aides, and so they could safely hold a conversation there. Eventually, Bail said, "I heard the emperor spoke with you the other day. Does he suspect anything?"

"He doesn't want me leaving Imperial Center," Padmé replied grimly.

"And he introduced us to Darth Vader," Siri added since she knew Padmé wouldn't. Her sister-in-law gave her a brief irritable look.

Bail's eyebrows rose in alarm. "Vader?"

"We have the situation under control," Padmé replied quickly. "Don't worry."

"If the Empire is on to you there's no point in remaining," Bail noted. "I can arrange for the Rebels to get you out."

Siri snorted. "Only if it's Al; that mynock owes me money."

"It's not quite that drastic yet," Obi-Wan said, catching both Padmé and Siri by surprise. "But it would be nice to have that ready, if necessary."

"I'll ensure everything is arranged and ready to go on a whim." Bail assured. "Be safe, all of you."

The three bowed in unison before departing and returning to Padmé's office. Siri began to gather Padmé's things as Obi-Wan nervously wrung his hands together, looking out at the dusty red light piercing the sky. It was dusk. It was time to go home.

It was time for dinner.

* * *

He hadn't seen Vader all day, but that was expected. The young Sith was probably scouting the area and stalking his prey as much as was possible. However, Tarkin had to see him; this was urgent.

Entering the emperor's antechamber, Tarkin searched around, heading for the security station. Since it held the most security information and the best surveillance, he figured he'd find Vader there. As he walked into the room he caught sight of the Sith silently watching footage.

Tarkin would normally say nothing; Vader could easily sense his approach and would acknowledge him when ready. However, this matter was too pressing to wait.

"Lord Vader," he acknowledged.

Vader turned, catching on to the man's urgency. He immediately stiffened. "What's the matter, governor?"

"I had several meetings today with Imperial Intelligence and the navy," Tarkin explained briefly. "From all the information that I have gathered, I'm fairly certain I've found the Rebel base."

Vader didn't react with surprise, anxiousness, or happiness. Instead he simply nodded his head in acknowledgement. "The emperor will no doubt want to hear of this."

"I am making my formal report to him this evening," Tarkin said, already expecting this sort of reaction from the Sith. "What I need, however, is for you to return to the field. Death Squadron must lead this."

Darth Vader considered his words briefly. "My will is the emperor's will. You must speak with His Majesty on this matter."

"I am requesting it," Tarkin replied somewhat impatiently; if the Alliance caught wind that the Empire had found them they'd vanish so fast Tarkin wouldn't have a chance to order anything to happen. "But you must attend the meeting with me. If the emperor agrees you must leave immediately."

"I have a dinner I have to attend for my current mission," Vader replied calmly. "If His Imperial Majesty wishes me to return to the field I will immediately do so, but until then I must follow his current orders. Good evening, governor."

He wasn't quite sure why he had even bothered to try convincing Vader to cancel his dinner date. The blasted man followed the emperor's orders at all times and never deviated from them. It was ridiculous for Tarkin to think the Sith would do anything outside of his objective. Tarkin supposed he was just getting a little overexcited from the news of the day; he needed to get to the emperor quickly to sort this out and get Vader's head on straight.

Not that the boy could really help his behavior anyway.

Hastily bidding Vader a good evening, Tarkin quickly went to the hangar and took the shuttle to the palace.

* * *

Glancing at her wardrobe, Padmé sighed. She wasn't going to wear her senatorial gown to dinner; she needed to impress Vader and get his attention. So what should she wear?

Her eyes caught a glimpse of a black dress and Padmé pulled it out of her closet. The corset was leather and strapless, and the floor length skirt had embroidery in it. A black gem encrusted necklace came with the outfit, along with fingerless black leather gloves. She smiled and put it on. This would do nicely.

Padmé emerged from her bedroom to show the dress off to her family. Siri nodded in approval with a smile while Obi-Wan stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"You look remarkably like a leather tube of toothpaste," he said, making Siri smack him on the arm.

"Thanks," Padmé replied, annoyed.

Rubbing his arm and giving Siri an irritated look, Obi-Wan said, "What do you expect me to say, Padmé? Could you possibly wear something tighter? Really, please, I don't think you're selling yourself enough with the look."

"Oh brother," Siri rolled her eyes. "It _is_ a _date_, Obi, and we'll be the referees to make sure Vader doesn't do anything."

"Perhaps we should make sure _Padmé_ doesn't do anything." Obi-Wan muttered.

"The dress isn't _that_ bad," Padmé huffed.

"It's calling attention to all sorts of lovely places," Obi-Wan said dryly.

"Obi-Wan, that's the _point_ – I'm trying to catch him off guard."

"Well you'll certainly do _that_."

"What about the food?" Siri asked to steer the conversation to another topic.

"I had Sabé make it. The protocol droid set everything up."

"Sabé? No wonder I was doing her work today." Siri grumbled before conceding, "Well, she is an amazing cook. You didn't tell her why, right?"

"I just said I had an important dinner with a high official," Padmé shrugged.

"All right, well just remember what we said we'd talk about," Obi-Wan hastily interrupted, his anxiety making itself known. "Keep the topics—"

A beeping signal from the door cut off his conversation and the three heard Padmé's protocol droid answering the call.

"Greetings. This is the residence of Senator Padmé Amidala and Representative Obi-Wan Naberrie. May I help you?"

"I have an appointment with the senator and her family."

Everyone froze at the soft sound of Vader's voice. Padmé felt her heart rate skyrocket before she quickly took a deep breath and nodded to herself, calming once more. Obi-Wan simply clasped his hands in front of him and closed his eyes, maintaining his composure, while Siri watched the entranceway where Vader would shortly appear.

After briefly telling the droid who he was and why he was there, Vader was led into the main lounge. He wore nothing particularly special: black pants, a black tunic, and a dark brown vest. His belt was adorned with different pouches and code cylinders, and a long cylindrical object that hung from a clasp.

His lightsaber. He was armed.

Padmé once again hastily calmed herself as she smiled and bowed to the Sith Lord. "Darth Vader, it's a pleasure to see you. I see you have your lightsaber with you; did you come expecting a battle? I promise the dinner will be calm and relatively uneventful."

Vader watched her, his piercing gaze burning through her. Despite her years of experience in political situations, he somehow managed to see through her façade better than anyone had ever done. Nevertheless, he didn't say anything antagonizing. "I always carry my weapon, senator. I trust it is not a problem."

Padmé and Siri both opened their mouths at the same time to reply, one saying it was slightly rude while the other said it was fine. Obi-Wan interrupted both of them by hastily gesturing to the dinner table in the next room. "Well, let's eat, shall we?"

Siri and Padmé both nodded and looked to Vader expectantly. The Sith began to walk towards the dinner table, and so everyone went and sat in their appropriate places, Siri beside Obi-Wan and Padmé beside Darth Vader.

"Has your day gone well?" Padmé asked as she placed her napkin on her lap, twisting it tightly to still her shaking hands. It was time to get to work.

Vader nodded.

The group sat in silence for a few seconds, the Naberrie family shifting awkwardly in their seats as Vader grabbed his napkin and ran his fingers along the edges, straightening miniscule wrinkles, before placing it on his lap. He then returned his attention to Padmé.

"You seemed busy today. You spoke with many senators. What did Senator Organa or Senator Mothma have to say to you?"

"The usual business," Obi-Wan answered for Padmé. "Conversations that are typically far too boring and tedious for dinner; I wouldn't want to give you indigestion."

"A more interesting topic is the one we were having just before your arrival," Siri remarked, making Obi-Wan and Padmé look at her confusedly. Vader turned his attention to her as well. "Representative Naberrie and Senator Amidala were discussing the benefits and pitfalls of starting their careers so early in life. As you probably already know, Senator Amidala began her political career when she was thirteen. Did you start your military career early as well?"

"You started early too," Vader stated. "You were fifteen when you began training to become a handmaiden to the queen. Why did you choose to become a handmaiden?"

"I wanted to serve the queen and Naboo," Siri replied, looking uncomfortable under the Sith Lord's scrutiny. "I knew I didn't have the patience for actually running for an office, so I figured it was the next best thing."

"Did you know Senator Amidala would be elected the year you finished your training?"

"I knew she was the princess and therefore was in line for election if the people would have her." Siri said. "We were friends, so I was hoping she'd make it, but that wasn't my primary reason for my choice of career."

Padmé hastily tried to get the conversation back where they wanted it. "You haven't told us about your own career, though, milord. Did you know early on that you would be a military official?"

"Yes." Vader replied before turning his attention to Obi-Wan. "Have you ever traveled to Shibé Lagoon, representative?"

Padmé felt her stomach churn. Shibé was an atoll lagoon that served as both a tourist hotspot and a meeting place for Alliance recruiters on Naboo.

"The real question is who hasn't?" Obi-Wan remarked with a smile. "It's a beautiful place to visit. Have you been there?"

"No, but a woman named Amaé is there—at least she was until Intelligence caught her." Vader said dryly, watching Obi-Wan intensely.

Obi-Wan pursed his lips, but said nothing. Padmé felt her chest tighten immediately and she nearly tore her cloth napkin; Amaé was a Rebel contact who would help people join the Alliance. None of them had heard of her capture; they didn't even know if Vader was lying or not. The very fact that he knew about her indicated that Intelligence was on to her, but it didn't guarantee they had her. Amaé was the woman's alias; she lived in a small village in safety under a different name. Assuming she had caught word that Intelligence was on to her, she could still possibly be at large and safe.

Vader was playing with them.

"Let's not forget the dinner itself," Padmé hastily said as she noticed Siri staring at Vader, not quite masking her horror at the idea of Amaé's imprisonment. "Salad, anyone?"

Obi-Wan and Siri acknowledged Padmé, but Vader continued to watch Obi-Wan carefully, making Padmé very nervous. Obi-Wan met with Amaé more than Siri – was Vader on to him?

Obi-Wan cleared his throat and looked Vader bravely in the eye. "Would you like some salad, milord?"

Darth Vader continued to watch him before finally lowering his gaze to his plate and nodding.

It was time to take control of this situation.

Straightening her back, Padmé said, "Lord Vader, I have a proposition for you. We know so little of you and you may not know everything about us. Perhaps an icebreaker?"

"I know of one we did when I was training," Siri piped in. "It was a list of twenty questions – nothing too obtrusive, but still fun."

"I'll ask first, then." Vader said, but Padmé shook her head.

"Now, now, milord, the hosts ask first," she said with a smile.

"I prefer a question for a question."

The Naberrie family exchanged glances before nodding. "Very well."

"So each person gets to ask one question," Obi-Wan immediately said before the Sith Lord could speak. "I'll go first; we can go around the table."

Vader leaned back in his seat; a small sign of acquiescence, but Padmé would definitely take it considering how this conversation had been going so far.

Obi-Wan started mildly, not wanting to be as straightforward as Vader. "What was your favorite activity to do as a child?"

"I didn't have a favorite activity."

"Not a single one?" Siri pressed.

"Is that your question?" Vader looked at her.

Biting her lip irritably, Siri said, "No… when did you join the military?"

"Many years ago."

"Oh come now, be specific or we won't be either," Padmé remarked with a forced laugh.

"Eight years ago. How well do you know Lord Ferjad, senator?"

Padmé gazed at him confusedly. Lord Ferjad was a Naboo noble who had retired during her term as queen, but she didn't know much about him apart from that. Whatever Vader was prodding around for, it wasn't anything she was involved in. "I'm afraid I only knew him for two months before he retired from the council. He seemed to be a kind man."

Now it was time for Padmé to ask the question. Choosing her words carefully, she asked, "How long have you known the emperor?"

"Eighteen years." Vader answered casually, catching Padmé off guard. He had struck her as being rather young, perhaps only a little older than her, but maybe he just looked younger than he really was. For him to know Palpatine for eighteen years implied that… but wait…

"But you said you were only in the military for eight years," Obi-Wan noted. "What about the other ten years?"

"You stated these questions were unobtrusive," Vader looked at Siri pointedly.

"True," Siri replied a little reluctantly. "Try a different question, representative."

"What's your favorite place of recreation on Imperial Center?" Obi-Wan asked with a forced smile.

"I have none."

_Okay, let's stop asking for favorite anything…_ Padmé thought to herself. Vader didn't seem to have any sort of preferences at all, so those questions were wasted opportunities.

"Have you ever had a childhood crush?" Siri asked in a mockingly sly manner, just trying to steer the conversation anywhere that would make him uncomfortable.

"No. Representative, do you know anyone named Lesma Moek?"

Padmé felt sick; Lesma was Amaé's real name. She wanted to get up, she wanted to run to the holo terminal and warn Lesma. Instead, she pulled even harder at her napkin. Obi-Wan blinked a few times before grabbing his utensil and digging harshly into his salad. "I'm afraid not."

Her turn. "Why do you not seem to have any sort of favorites of anything?"

"I have no use for trivial matters."

"Eat your salad, milord," Siri immediately interjected, trying to slow the breakneck pace of the icebreaker (icebreaker… more like _interrogation_). "It's quite delicious."

Vader paused, and Padmé was worried he wouldn't listen to her, but he did take his utensil and delicately poke a few leaves, taking a small bite. This momentary lapse in his scrutiny seemed to lighten the mood tremendously, allowing everyone to just _breathe_ for a second.

"Do you like it?" Padmé asked.

Vader swallowed and gave her a somewhat stern look. "It's not your turn for a question."

Padmé laughed at his seriousness. "That's not an icebreaking question, milord!"

Suddenly furrowing his brow, Vader quickly recovered and regained his neutral look. After Padmé repeated her questions, he finally shook his head.

"You don't like it?" Siri interpreted his response. "Why do you find it displeasing? What do you prefer?"

"I find it neither pleasing nor displeasing." Vader answered. As he opened his mouth to ask another question, Obi-Wan interrupted him.

"I don't know about you, but I do love this salad and would like to enjoy it some more before we continue our game."

Padmé silently thanked her brother and ate gratefully. There had to be a way to get this situation back to a conversation and not an inquiry. Vader was not only shameless but also relentless; what was he playing at? He wasn't being subtle at all in his manner; was the Empire so certain that they would risk leaking what they did know to a suspect? If that was the case, why hadn't he just killed her already?

Was _that_ why he brought his lightsaber?

Padmé stared at her salad bleakly, losing her appetite. She was supposed to be the one making _him_ uncomfortable, not vice versa. How could she turn this around?

"All right, on to the main course," Siri said with a smile of delight as she eagerly began to serve the food to everyone whether they had finished their salad or not. Apparently she had come to the conclusion that the sooner they ended dinner, the better.

This was ridiculous. Padmé had been the one to invite Vader; she was _not_ going to lose to him. As Obi-Wan and Siri hastily dug into their dinner, Padmé gazed at Vader. "Do you have a favorite food, or is that a trivial matter as well?"

"I have no favorite food," Vader replied.

"Why?"

"You're jumping ahead again," Vader remarked, gazing at her intently. Again his eyes drifted to her shoulders just as they had yesterday, but he seemed completely unperturbed.

"Oh come now, we can't play icebreaker all night," Obi-Wan defended Padmé. "After all, you seem to have quite the advantage."

"There are three of you and one of me," Vader stated dully, making his point obvious.

"Yes, but you know so much about all three of us and you're not giving us much in return," Obi-Wan replied with a smile. "Come now, be sportsmanlike; why is a favorite food trivial? Don't you have any preferences?"

Darth Vader paused here; he seemed to be growing uncertain in his reply. Thank the gods – they were getting to him. Why they were making him uncomfortable over something as simple as a favorite dish was beyond Padmé, but by heaven she would take it. "I have no need for a favorite food."

"Why not?" Padmé pressed on.

"It's trivial."

"Why is it trivial?"

Vader fell silent and picked at his food. His face remained neutral, but his eyes glazed over as he suddenly became pensive. He eventually said, "Food is energy, nothing more."

"One can't enjoy it while he's nourishing himself?" Padmé questioned.

"There's no purpose to it."

Padmé laughed. "Sometimes you don't need a practical purpose for something."

Vader ate his food in silence, and his pensive look remained. Obi-Wan and Siri had already managed to finish their main course in record time and were watching Vader eat anxiously, chomping at the bit for him to finish. At least he wasn't asking questions for the moment. Perhaps some alcohol would help alleviate everyone's worries, and help increase Vader's pensive mood.

Grabbing a bottle, Padmé held it for Vader to examine. "Would you care for some wine, milord?"

Vader shook his head, continuing to eat in silence.

"You don't drink?"

Again, he shook his head. Blast it, before he wouldn't shut up and now he was mute? Had their conversation about favorite foods bothered him that much, or was he trying a different tactic?

"What do we have for dessert?" Obi-Wan asked Siri.

Before she could reply, Vader placed his utensil on the plate and asked, "Do you all drink often?"

Bemused, Padmé answered for the other two. "Well we all enjoy our wine; apart from Chandrila and Alderaan, I would say Naboo has the best wine in the galaxy."

"Nothing beyond wine, then?"

"Perhaps the occasional sturdier liquor," Obi-Wan replied with a shrug. "Do you drink much?"

"No." Vader said before standing. "I must leave now. Thank you for the dinner."

Everyone stared at him blankly for a millisecond before they stood and hastily bowed as he exited. His abrupt departure left them speechless until a few seconds after he had left the apartment. Siri eventually opened her mouth first, about to say something when Obi-Wan shushed her harshly. Pulling out a device, he scanned the apartment for any bugs that Vader may have left behind. When he found none, he pocketed the device and sighed heavily, collapsing on the couch in the lounge.

"What a hellish experience," he groaned. "No more dinners, Padmé, I'm _begging_ you."

"This was a mistake." Siri shook her head. "You can't get to that guy—I knew he was a heartless son of a Hutt but good _Force_ there's no possible way you can affect him!"

"He's just a difficult opponent," Padmé said halfheartedly. She herself was at a loss as to what to do. The last thing she wanted to do was give up, though; they still had no other option, and she was far too stubborn to bow down to the emperor's enforcer. "We had him in a corner for a while."

"Yes, when we talked about _food_," Obi-Wan retorted. "That'll obviously help us."

"Forget him for a second," Siri shook her head. "What about Lesma? We have to warn her!"

"If we tip her off, then Vader will know we're in contact with her," Padmé gasped just as that realization hit her—he had set a trap for them.

"But we have to help her!"

"If we help her, Vader will know we're with the Alliance. If we don't help her, she'll be tortured and killed." Obi-Wan groaned, putting his face in his hands. "What have we gotten ourselves into?"

"There has to be way to warn her without him suspecting us," Padmé shook her head fiercely; this was a _nightmare_.

"She may not even be captured," Obi-Wan interjected. "He could be baiting us with pure conjecture."

"He _knows_ her _real name_!" Siri pointed out.

"Siri, you need to get in contact with Al," Padmé immediately ordered. "Find out if Lesma has been captured. If she hasn't, then we'll know he's baiting us."

"And if she has?"

"Then there's not much we can do…"

"Well if she isn't then, we have to get her out of there!"

"Al can get her out." Padmé tried to reason. "Just because a Rebel contact goes underground for a bit doesn't mean we tipped her off."

"Vader connected us directly to her." Obi-Wan reminded Padmé.

"Maybe we could make it seem like the entire Alliance operation there got tipped off," Siri suggested. "They could make a scene like they notice an agent or something."

"I'm not sure how that would work, let alone _if_ it would work," Obi-Wan sighed heavily.

"It's better than doing nothing!"

"Siri has a point," Padmé agreed. "Get in contact with Al. The Alliance ought to be able to arrange something."

"I'll go now."

"No, wait!" Obi-Wan hastily said, standing. "Vader might be monitoring the apartment. Just wait until we go to the senate tomorrow."

"We may not have that long!"

"We have no choice. He outplayed us."

"Sithspit!" Siri swore, kicking the couch. "This is insane. You can't do this anymore, Padmé. You can't get near him."

Padmé shook her head. No, she had to go through with this. "I'm going to be near him whether I like it or not, Siri. This way I can do it on my terms."

"Or he'll make you think it's on your terms," Obi-Wan snapped.

Padmé whirled on him, ready to give a retort, but she had none. Calming herself, she eventually managed to look Obi-Wan in the eye firmly. "He won the first round, but I'll win the next one. I promise."

* * *

Tarkin bit back a growl of frustration. He was still on one knee before the emperor trying to plead his case, but he was steadily realizing that there was no way Palpatine would let Vader return to the field.

"Your Imperial Majesty, I understand that the case of Senator Amidala is a serious one – no one wants traitors in the heart of the Empire – but can't this matter be handled by Intelligence? They are the ones who discovered the Rebel contact in the first place." Tarkin tried to argue, keeping his head bowed.

"Darth Vader needs this test," the emperor replied cryptically.

A test? Palpatine was wasting the military's best enforcer on a _test_? "Your Majesty, you already seem to have enough proof to connect the senator to the Alliance. Why not just have her executed?"

"I have very little evidence to that effect," Palpatine corrected him. "I have suspicions, but no proof."

Since when did _that_ make a difference? "Your Majesty has ordered executions for less information than this."

"Senator Amidala is extremely popular with the people," Palpatine explained, his voice growing silkier as he grew annoyed with Tarkin's persistence. "Killing her without proof will cause uprisings. While these can be dealt with easily, she will simply be replaced and the inner workings of the Alliance will remain untouched. I want more than just the senator—I want the _Rebels_."

"You'll _get_ the Rebels if you allow Lord Vader to take his fleet to—"

"The Intelligence reports about the location of the Rebel base are even more circumstantial than those about the contact," Palpatine snapped, finally losing his patience. "Investigate the matter for yourself, governor; I left this in your care. You can handle it without Darth Vader."

Well, that was that. Gritting his teeth, Tarkin stood and bowed deeply, backing out of the room. The instant the doors were closed he hissed out a foul curse and stormed down the hallway. It was true; he _could _handle the matter without Vader. He _could_ confirm or refute the Intelligence reports. But if that base _was_ there, and they managed to destroy it, that guaranteed _nothing_. They had no clue who was there, they had no clue if it was the main base or a side base, and if they attacked prematurely, they would tip the Alliance off. Vader's fleet was the best and operated best under his command; he was stealthier than an assassin, more cunning than an Intelligence operative, more intuitive than a Jedi. Yes, Tarkin could get the job done without Vader, but _with_ Vader he could not only destroy the Rebel base but every single Rebel in the galaxy. Tarkin was not one to waste resources.

But apparently, the emperor _was_.

Letting out an irritated sigh, Tarkin punched the call button for a lift. When one finally arrived, the door opened to reveal Vader standing there, making the governor jump slightly.

"Milord," Tarkin acknowledged with a bow. "You're back awfully early. I presume you're going to your quarters."

Vader nodded mutely, taking a step back to allow the governor to enter the lift. After entering, Tarkin didn't hit for any floor, allowing the lift to rise to Vader's destination.

"How was dinner?" Tarkin asked.

"Productive."

Tarkin took this reply with a single nod of his head. That meant it went well by Vader's standards. Maybe he could finish his mission quickly so Tarkin could utilize him in the field. "Do you have enough evidence to get her killed?"

"No."

The two stood in silence for a time, Tarkin brooding slightly as he watched the Sith Lord. Vader stood still, focusing on nothing, but his eyes were alight with a thousand thoughts. Yes, that dinner apparently was quite productive. But still, he got back awfully early…

"Did you even eat?" Tarkin asked.

Vader nodded.

"How much?"

"Enough."

Typically, that response would be adequate; Vader would have no reason to lie about such a trivial matter. But since he was looking like he had a million thoughts on his mind…

Tarkin sighed heavily. "Milord, do you plan to retire anytime soon?"

"No." Vader said as the lift door opened to his floor. He left without another word. Tarkin sighed again, hitting a button for one of the main floors. After arriving there, he briskly went to the enormous palace kitchens and made a request of the nervous cooks. Ten minutes later he carried a tray with a small meat wrap and a bowl of chocolate ice cream to the lift and leaned against the wall as it sped to its destination.

Darth Vader had no favorites, no preferences, nothing of the sort. He liked nothing, he did nothing outside of his rituals and his duties, and he showed no interest in anything. But one thing Tarkin had learned to observe was what Vader did more readily, more eagerly. And for many years now, every time Vader ate dinner, he would eat until he was full, but when meat wraps were served he would eat more than usual, and Force forbid any chocolate ice cream be within his reach, for it would vanish in a heartbeat. He never ate in a hurry, but he would most definitely ensure he ate every single scoop of ice cream in sight. Whether the young man was even aware of his preference for the food or not, Tarkin didn't know, but he did know this…

Entering Vader's quarters, Tarkin placed the tray on the table. Without having to say a word to Vader, the Sith grabbed the food as if he had been expecting it and ate heartily.

Sitting across from the Sith Lord, Tarkin only said, "Finish that job quickly, milord. Kill the senator and be done with it. We have more important work to do."

* * *

**Hope this was to your liking! :) Also, let me know how you think the pacing is; I've been known to be too fast and too slow in my stories, haha.**


	4. Counterstrike

**Wow I'm surprised how quickly I'm writing these, lol. What did I tell you? Schoolwork makes you want to do anything _but_ schoolwork! XD**

* * *

Siri shifted in bed, glancing at her husband. Obi-Wan had managed to finally fall asleep due to exhaustion, but the two had been up most of the night discussing their options. With the way dinner went neither was very happy with the idea of Padmé getting anywhere near Vader.

Sure, Padmé had gotten herself through dangerous and tough situations before; during her tenure as queen, Theed was overrun by a mercenary army that tried to kill her. The Alliance hinted that it may have been the Empire since it knew Padmé's stance on galactic matters, and that had been their first true run-in with Imperial tactics. Padmé had handled herself well; she initially had to flee Theed, but with the help of the Gungans and Rebels they had managed to push the invaders off the planet. Padmé was hailed a hero by her people and became even more popular.

But this… this wasn't a battle. It wasn't as cut and dry. This was a trap. They were sitting in the heart of the Empire playing with its chief enforcer and executioner. Blast, this wasn't even a trap; it was just _insane_.

Siri sighed and got out of bed, reaching into a drawer and pulling out her blaster. She held it almost reverently; the last time she had used it was when she shot Imperial Intelligence agents who had tried to arrest her and some others during a meeting off-world. She wished so dearly she could use it on Vader, but there was no way. First off, the man was known to take on entire _armies_ on his own, but secondly if she somehow _did_ manage to kill him the full might of the Empire would bear down on her so quickly she wouldn't have time to blink.

Hearing Obi-Wan shifting in bed, Siri looked at him once more. Despite his short temper in his adolescence, he had grown to probably be the calmest of the group, so for Siri to see _him_ get so worked up about this situation bothered her. Padmé was acting more level headed right now, honestly; that was just beyond bizarre. Typically the situation would be that Padmé would get upset about something, as would Siri, and Obi-Wan would have to hold both of them back. Was Padmé actually being the logical one in this situation? Nothing about her idea seemed logical anymore, not after Vader proved he was impervious to kriffing _everything_.

The alarm on the chronometer began to beep loudly, making Siri jump and startling Obi-Wan awake. Siri hastily turned it off.

"Morning," Obi-Wan muttered sleepily as he tried to wake himself up.

"Hey," Siri greeted quietly as she sat on the bed once more while he sat up.

The two were silent for a time, both thinking about the upcoming day, when Siri said, "If Vader starts harassing us today, I'll deal with him."

"Siri, I don't think murdering the second most powerful man in the Empire inside the senate building will help our predicament."

"I don't mean murder him," Siri rolled her eyes. "I just mean I'll do the talking. Just get Padmé out of there."

"Perhaps I should do the talking," Obi-Wan suggested as he finally stood and stretched. "I'm the more… tactful of the two of us."

Siri barked out a laugh. "Good choice of words, Obi, but I think he makes you a little too nervous."

Obi-Wan paused and looked at his wife. "Whenever I speak with him, whenever I see him… I feel… sick. I feel empty, cold… it doesn't make sense, I know, but… something about him just feels so _wrong_, it unsettles me. It's like looking at the emperor, but... different. Don't you get that feeling?"

Siri nodded reluctantly. "Yes, I get that shiver down my spine every time I look at him. Padmé seems to be the only one who _doesn't_ notice."

The two sighed, cleaned up, and dressed for the day and then shared a brief breakfast with Padmé. Nothing much was said; nothing much needed to be said. They had made their plans last night shortly before they went to bed. As the sunlight lit the sky more and more, Siri's nerves settled as she filled herself with purpose; they had a lot of work to do today and a lot to figure out.

The Naberrie family arrived at the senate tower around eight on the chrono, allowing for some time to meet with senators before the morning session. Siri immediately went to her first task and delivered a data pad to Senator Organa. The pad held some bland senatorial information, but also a coded message requesting a meeting with a Rebel spy.

Of the three main Rebel spies in the senate, that being Mon Mothma, Bail Organa, and Padmé, Bail could get in contact with the Alliance the most easily. Mon was mainly playing it safe at this point; she had originally done most of the dirty work before Padmé joined the senate, so at this point she was keeping quiet until her term ended, which was very soon. Bail, on the other hand, was the quieter spy, mainly gathering information instead of taking action; this had been the Alliance's choosing rather than his own, since Bail had originally been extremely active in his work against the Empire – he was one of the founders of the Alliance, after all. In either case, Bail would be able to pass the message along, and he could get one of his aides to deliver a reply whenever it came.

Meanwhile, Padmé arranged for a meeting with everyone in her sector. She represented the Chommell Sector, which was relatively uninhabited in comparison to a good number of sectors, but Chommell was also rather active in Rebel activity. She needed to figure out a way to help the Rebels on Naboo, and the other representatives in Chommell might be able to help.

Padmé sat in her office behind her desk. The office was a fair size, with a large desk by a wall-sized window and three seats facing the desk. Pictures and plants lined the walls, along with a single shelf with cultural artifacts from different areas in her sector. The grayish blue carpet helped to muffle any conversations held there, and Padmé ensured that her office was clear of listening devices on a daily basis. This and Bail's office were basically the only safe areas in the entire senate building.

The door opened and the three representatives within her sector entered. Obi-Wan, as the representative of Naboo, led the way. Behind him was a tall dark skinned woman named Tsa Boitumelo, who represented a planet on the edge of the Chommell Sector, called Nimo'alke. Beside her was a sturdily built man with pale green skin, hazelnut eyes, and thick black hair. This was Rekk Svoule, a half-Human half-Mirialan who represented the small number of Imperial colonies in Chommell. Padmé had picked him herself; the Imperial colonies were mostly slave colonies, and so they couldn't pick their own representative. The fact that they had a representative at all was only for the sake of the free people who owned and ran the colonies, but it had been left up to the senator of the entire sector to choose the representative. Padmé had considered it one of her most wonderful smacks in the Empire's face to choose someone who mixed Human blood with non-Human blood. Also, Rekk was staunchly in favor of the Alliance.

"Good morning, everyone," Padmé acknowledged as she stood and bowed her head. Obi-Wan, Tsa, and Rekk bowed from the waist, showing the proper respect to their superior. "I called you all here so we could discuss the increased Rebel activity in our home sector. The emperor was greatly concerned about it, so I want us all to be up to date on this matter. Rep. Naberrie, will you kindly share what you know about the problems on Naboo?"

Obi-Wan bowed his head in acknowledgement. "Yes, senator. There have been some riots in the smaller cities like Selton and Jerda. The Empire thinks they're being started and led by Rebels. Most notably there are reports of rebellious behavior in Oxon."

"Is that bad?" Rep. Boitumelo asked uncertainly, unfamiliar with Naboo's cities.

"Oxon has one of Naboo's largest spaceports," Obi-Wan replied. "It could potentially be… messy."

Padmé nodded and then looked at Tsa. "What about Nimo'alke?"

"Quiet as ever, senator," Tsa replied. "Neither the Rebels nor the Empire is really interested in us."

Padmé nodded silently once more. Nimo'alke actually housed an enormous amount of refugees, including Rebels, and the planet was not a fan of the Empire, but Tsa was correct in that it was deemed unimportant by the Empire. There was barely any Imperial presence in the system let alone on the planet; this _did_ make it extremely alluring to the Alliance, however. Whether Tsa was aware of this or not was beyond Padmé; she knew the woman well enough to realize that she wouldn't reveal any Rebel presence, but she wouldn't support it, either. Tsa just wanted to survive without completely compromising her principles.

Finally, Padmé looked to Rekk, who told her something she wasn't aware of. "There have been some slave revolts on colonies one and four. The Empire thinks it can handle the situation with its local enforcement. I don't think the rebellions are related to the Alliance, though."

"I see," Padmé sighed. "Well, hopefully all the violence in our sector will cease. In the meantime do what you can to minimize the damage to our people, and bring any grievances to me."

The three representatives bowed, and Tsa and Rekk left the room. As soon as the door closed, Obi-Wan said, "We could place the Naboo Rebels on Nimo'alke. No one would bother to look there."

"What about the slave rebellions? We could send them to those colonies so they could help out." Padmé countered.

Obi-Wan shook his head. "No, that would be far too noticeable. We might be able to get the Alliance to smuggle weapons and other supplies to the slaves, but we can't send soldiers. If the forces on those colonies realize the slaves are getting reinforcements, they'll send a fleet."

Padmé sighed once more. "I suppose you're right. Well, you'll have to make the arrangements once you meet up with our friend."

"Don't worry," Obi-Wan smiled. "I'll take care of it."

As if on cue, Siri entered the office. "Meeting's arranged. Bail got a reply pretty quickly; we can meet at lunchtime."

Obi-Wan looked to Padmé. "What about Vader?"

"_I'll_ handle Vader," Padmé said firmly. "It's time for round two."

* * *

Tarkin sipped his caffa irritably as he stared at the data pad on his desk. It was the report about the Rebel base. He wasn't sure how to go about handling the situation at this point. He obviously couldn't just let the base remain there, but at the same time, if he attacked it now without any more information about it, he could tip the Alliance off. There was a high likelihood that this establishment was not their main base of operations.

Pulling another larger tablet out of his desk drawer, Tarkin activated it and watched it come to life. This pad contained security feeds for all of the senate building, except the emperor's antechamber. The only place that could monitor that was the emperor's security station. However, Tarkin _could_ monitor that particular station itself, and that was where he directed his attention.

Vader was there. Of course.

The young Sith Lord stood as still and silent as ever, simply observing all the different feeds. Tarkin couldn't see what he was watching, but he was fairly certain it had to do with Senator Amidala. So apparently, despite Tarkin's request that Vader hurry up with the mission, he was still biding his time. At least it appeared that way; for all Tarkin knew Vader was getting ready to strike. Still, he understood the man's reasoning; Tarkin wasn't the emperor, and if the emperor told Vader to go about his mission a certain way, he'd always favor Palpatine's orders over Tarkin's.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard a knock at his door. Storing the security pad back in his desk drawer, he called for the person to enter. An Intelligence agent walked in and handed him a report, telling him the brief summary.

"There's been increased activity at the Rebel base on Dantooine," he said. "It's believed they're getting ready to head out."

Alarms rang in Tarkin's head. If they were leaving, the Empire had to attack. It didn't matter if it would tip off the main stronghold; they couldn't just let these Rebels get away alive. Tarkin nodded his head and thanked the agent, watching him leave, and then immediately called for the admiral stationed in the sector. Giving the admiral the coordinates, he ordered the destruction of the base and either the capture or execution of anyone who tried to escape it. The admiral immediately complied since Palpatine had temporarily instilled Vader's authority on Tarkin.

Tarkin sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. There went another opportunity to get more information about the Rebel base. Honestly, the more he thought about this situation the less sense it made. Darth Vader had gone on espionage missions before, but he had always been in the shadows. For Palpatine to put him in the spotlight like this was bizarre and made little sense; this operation suited Intelligence much better. What was the emperor playing at?

Or was this "test" entirely for Tarkin?

Either way, it was frustrating. The sooner Senator Amidala was dead, the better.

* * *

Padmé watched Obi-Wan and Siri leave the sector pod provided for them in the senate arena. The other two representatives remained in the pod, talking with each other softly. Sabé Janren, one of Padmé's three handmaidens (and the one who had cooked dinner last night), looked to Padmé and asked her if she needed anything, to which Padmé said she was fine and dismissed the handmaiden for lunch.

It was time to distract Vader.

Padmé took a deep steadying breath. She had already decided it would be best to get Vader out of the senate building and far away from the other two. She knew a perfect place for it, too.

Walking to the emperor's antechamber, Padmé hesitated. She had a high suspicion Vader could be found there, but the senate session had also just ended; Palpatine would be there too. She did _not_ want to run into him. Instead, Padmé waited in a corner, meandering by a statue and trying to look busy with a data pad. Any movement that caught her eye would make her glance up until she finally saw the Red Guard emerge from the antechamber. Hiding further into the shadows, Padmé watched the emperor depart, exiting the antechamber and vanishing down the hall with his elite guard all around him. Vader exited shortly after, presumably ready to follow him.

Padmé stepped in his way. "Lord Vader, it's a pleasure to see you again. I'm glad to see you're alright; your sudden departure last night made me wonder if you felt unwell."

Vader watched her silently, waiting for her to speak further. By the stars, he really wasn't one for small talk, was he?

"I'm here to see if you'll perhaps join me for lunch," Padmé said with a smile, clasping her hands in front of her in an attempt to look shy. "I thought maybe lunch somewhere public might not be as formal as dinner seemed to be. Is that why you left early?"

"I needed to leave," Vader replied.

_Not one for eloquence either, apparently…_ Padmé sighed internally. "Well, will you join me for lunch, at least?"

Vader remained quiet for a moment before nodding. "I must return to the emperor's chamber. I'll be a moment."

Padmé would have allowed him to reenter if she was not worried he'd glance at the security monitor and somehow suspect Obi-Wan and Siri. The two were married and could share a private lunch outside together without any suspicion, but considering all the scrutiny they were under, and considering how much Vader seemed to be hunting them, it would be best to keep them out of his mind altogether. "Oh, come now, milord, the wait is very long if we don't get there early! Follow me; I promise it'll be worth it. The food there is absolutely delicious, and I'm very fond of your company anyway, so please humor me."

Darth Vader seemed a little taken aback at her comment, blinking a few times with his right foot pulled back as if he were getting ready to leave but froze in the action. After a deep breath his calm expression returned and he nodded. "Lead, then."

Padmé nodded with a smile and indicated for him to walk alongside her. The two walked in silence as she led them to one of the building's many exits. "The restaurant isn't too far, so fear not, milord. After all, I wouldn't want to be late for the afternoon session!"

Padmé laughed lightly and glanced at the Sith. Vader was staring straight ahead, emotionless as ever, seemingly ignoring her. Again, _definitely_ not one for small talk. Still, she had to start _somewhere_. She was happy to be talking so calmly and _normally _with him as it was; this was far easier in a public setting rather than being cooped up with him at home. Perhaps she should have _started_ with this. Then again, she would have been just as unprepared as last night, not to mention she would have been listening to Obi-Wan's advice about taking it slowly… and while Padmé wasn't a particularly arrogant person, sometimes she just didn't want to admit when her brother was right about a situation.

"Where do you normally have lunch?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"The palace," Vader answered.

Padmé supposed that wasn't much of a surprise. Honestly, the palace was kind of a mystery to her. It stood like a pinnacle of the Republic's failures, of the Empire's triumph, of everything she hated. In front of the monumental building was a plaza that had a huge statue of Palpatine towering over anyone who entered. That alone was enough to make her avoid the place. Typically only the emperor, military officials, and servants were allowed in the palace. High government officials who were favored by the emperor sometimes had offices there as well as in the senate building, and occasional lavish parties were thrown for the richest and most powerful men in the galaxy. Thankfully, Padmé had never been included among that group, and she hoped she never would be. Still, there was an air of mystery to the palace since most people never set foot in it.

"Is the palace food any good?" Padmé asked. The question was perhaps a little obvious; of course palace food would be good. She didn't envy anybody who had to cook for the emperor; heaven only knew what would happen if he didn't like one of the dishes.

"It serves its purpose," Vader answered. Normally that would be taken as an insult to the palace food, but judging from what Padmé had witnessed of this man he was just stating the literal truth.

"Do you live in the palace?" Padmé asked.

Vader simply nodded.

This was odd. Last night, Vader had been leading the conversation like he was in his element. Perhaps he had been; he had planned for dinner. This lunch was completely unpredicted. Maybe that was how Padmé should keep it; she shouldn't give him a chance to plan for anything. Her thoughts on the matter were only further confirmed when Vader spent the entire walk to the restaurant in silence.

Eventually they reached their destination. The restaurant, called Pampered Palate, was a favorite spot for many senatorial aides, secretaries, security guards, and others who worked in the area since it was relatively cheap—at least for the district—and close to the senate building. Occasionally senators would also appear, though most preferred more private and exclusive restaurants. Personally, this place was one of Padmé's favorites.

"Well, here we are," Padmé said with a big smile, looking at Vader. He glanced around at the small restaurant before looking to her. When he continued to stare, she gestured ahead of her. "You can pick the table, milord."

Vader looked ahead again and for once began to look a little lost. His eyes glossed from one table to the next, but he still didn't move. Was he trying to find a good spot to observe the outside as well? Was he on to Padmé's trick? Maybe she should pick the table instead.

Taking advantage of his hesitation, Padmé began to walk ahead. "If it doesn't matter to you, milord, then I can find a table."

Vader followed her silently.

The two settled in the corner where both could see the entire restaurant. The window beside them offered a view of a side street, one that Padmé knew would not be used by Siri or Obi-Wan. Satisfied, she settled in her seat, placed her napkin on her lap (_without_ ringing it like a wet rag this time—yes, public settings were _far_ less nerve-wrecking), and picked up the menu, glancing at it. She knew most of the dishes anyway, so she quickly chose what she wanted. Then she looked at Vader.

The Sith Lord was sitting in his chair staring out the window. His eyes would occasionally turn to her, and then to the restaurant, and then back to the street. He was looking for something, or someone. Or perhaps he was just keeping guard in general. Padmé had the sinking suspicion that his behavior was simply out of habit rather than anything else. Was he not going to eat, or did he just not realize he was supposed to look at the menu? Had he never eaten in a restaurant before?

Padmé decided to voice her question. "Is this your first time at a restaurant in this area?"

Vader nodded, still looking out the window.

"Do you normally just eat at the palace?"

Another nod.

After watching Vader's gaze drift once more from the window to her to the restaurant, Padmé began to realize he was ignoring her more and more. This was beginning to be like last night; he was somehow winning the situation without even trying. If this kept up he might just leave, realizing that she was trying to distract him.

Time to play aggressive.

Padmé leaned forward in her seat, placing one arm on the table while she held out the other and put her hand on Vader's arm. She only laid it there gently, not squeezing his arm or anything, but the action made Vader's eyes immediately stare into hers. Padmé gave him the sincerest smile she could muster.

"If you're not sure what to do here, I'll guide you through it. Don't worry." She reassured him in a gentle voice.

Vader's arm stiffened under her touch, and he slowly moved it out of her reach as she retracted her own arm. His cold reaction to her gesture was understandable; in many core worlds, including Imperial Center, it was considered extremely rude or forward to touch someone you didn't know that well. Padmé's action indicated she felt like she knew him as one would know a close friend or family member, and she was sure it made him feel uncomfortable. Good.

The waiter approached and introduced himself before asking for their order. Padmé told him what she wanted. When the waiter looked at Vader expectantly, he simply said he'd have what Padmé was having without taking his eyes off her. The waiter nodded and left to get drinks.

As soon as the waiter was away from the table, Vader asked, "Do you know anyone named Kuna?"

The familiar knot in her stomach appeared in a heartbeat, and Padmé clenched her napkin as she had last night. However, this time the question seemed so… random. Last night he had abruptly begun his interrogation, but it had been continuous, relentless, and immediate. He had wasted no time in pleasantries, observance, or manners; he had just begun asking questions and dodging their own. Here, though… here he had _waited_, he had acted solemn the entire time until just now. Was this a new tactic, or had Padmé's previous action made him so nervous he was throwing out random questions that he knew would startle her? Kuna's death was what got Padmé into this entire mess in the first place; surely Vader wouldn't mention the Empire's main evidence against her?

"I'm afraid not." Padmé answered carefully as the waiter returned with water for both of them. "Is this Kuna an associate of yours?"

"No," Vader replied dully, leaning back in his seat and sipping his water. His calm expression was back, and he resumed his previous vigil, saying nothing more. Padmé felt she too was out of things to say, apart from more pleasantries that would only receive one word responses, if that. Perhaps they could just wait in silence for a time… well, maybe in little bit. They could be silent when the food arrived; Padmé didn't want to spoil her appetite by forcing Vader to try and trip her up even more.

"Do you have any associates?" Padmé asked.

"I work with many people, depending upon the mission."

Wow, that was the most she had gotten out of him since they arrived here. Padmé was impressed at his extended vocabulary.

"Yes, I've heard about your many missions," she sighed, swirling her drink. "How do you manage to do so many things, milord? One moment you're leading a battle, the next you're utilizing, er, diplomatic tactics on another world. Where did you learn such talents?"

Vader said nothing. Apparently this wasn't something she would get out of him easily.

"Forgive me if I'm overstepping my boundaries, it's just…" Padmé paused here, trying to find the right words. She wanted to keep him on his toes. She wanted to be forward. She wanted to make him _notice_ her. "I'm just… intrigued by you. You're such a mystery, it's just… too enticing to ignore. You're quite the man, Lord Vader."

Darth Vader seemed to be more interested in the street than her. Blast, she had waited too long after touching his arm; he was comfortable again. Perhaps it was best to just remain silent… or perhaps she needed to be more obvious. Padmé was about to slip her foot steadily closer to his leg when the waiter reappeared with their food in his hands, and she quickly retracted it; she didn't want to make a scene in front of anybody else.

She supposed she'd have to wait.

* * *

Siri sipped happily at her rissht smoothie as Obi-Wan sifted through some information on his data pad. The two were sitting at a small outdoor lunch parlor waiting for their contact to arrive. Despite the fact that they were in the heart of the Empire, it was just such a relief to get out of the senate building and away from Vader that Siri wasn't really bothered at the concept.

As she was getting ready to dig into her food, Siri paused when she recognized someone in the crowd. It was a very dark skinned Zabrak male with pronounced cranial horns on his forehead while the rest were hidden in a sea of black hair that was tied into a tail. The man was rather skinny and held himself with an air of confidence.

Tapping Obi-Wan on the arm, Siri motioned towards the Zabrak, and her husband smiled. Once the Zabrak had approached, he said, "Would you like to join us, Al?"

Almusian Brek, one of the Alliance's many smugglers, smiled and sat at the table. "My friend's on the way, but I figured I'd scout ahead. How you two holding up?"

"We're alright," Siri replied. "Have you been okay?"

Al nodded, his smile faltering. "Yeah… what happened to Kuna… I wasn't expecting it. Our operation was pretty low key; I don't know how they caught on to us."

Almusian had known Kuna very well; Obi-Wan, Siri, and Padmé would order supplies for the Rebels through Kuna, who would then receive them from Al. Occasionally, Siri and Obi-Wan would interact with Al himself if Kuna was trying to keep a low profile, but they often avoided that as much as possible to keep their involvement in the operation a secret. Nevertheless, they'd met enough to be friends, and for Siri to say, "We weren't either. By the way, you can pay for lunch since you still owe me for last time."

Al jumped, his green eyes staring at her in confusion before he barked out a laugh. "You're kidding me, right? You're _still_ holding me accountable for that?"

"It's your fault," Siri smirked.

Their bantering was interrupted when someone else joined them at the table. It was a female Ithorian, one whom Siri hadn't met before. Al pulled over a seat for her, indicating she was the spy with whom the two were going to speak.

"Lovely day out, isn't it?" she remarked. "Definitely a good day to spend time outside. Is that why you called?"

"You certainly responded awfully quickly," Obi-Wan noted.

Al grunted. "I was heading this way, anyway. Organa called for me. All I had to do was pick up Athia here on the other side of the planet and we were good to go."

"Organa?" Siri repeated.

"I suppose you're our ticket out if we need it, then," Obi-Wan surmised, nodding to Al.

"Guess so."

"Anyway, we need to warn you," Obi-Wan lowered his voice. "Intelligence is on to our friends on Naboo. You should make sure they get a very long vacation on Nimo'alke until things settle."

As Obi-Wan subtly told the spy about the situation with the colonies in Chommell, Siri turned her attention to Al, who was absentmindedly writing equations on a napkin. "It's a sad day when you do math out of sheer boredom, you know."

Al paused and then chuckled. "Aw, come on, Siri, you know I like math. I would have studied it in college if it weren't for those blasted _anti-alien_ laws. Who even _calls_ non-Humans aliens, anyway? You're an alien to _me_. Kriffing biased Empire… well, anyway, that was almost ten years ago. My bigger concern right now is you guys. I've got a system already in place if you need to get out quick. Just use this frequency, activate your com with it—you don't even have to say anything, just as long as you use this frequency. I'll pick up on it and trace it back to you guys and be there in a heartbeat, okay?"

Siri nodded. "Thank you."

Returning her attention to the spy, Siri heard Obi-Wan just finish up what he was reporting.

"I'll ensure that information gets to the Alliance," the spy nodded. "There is something I should tell you, however. With Kuna gone, our supplies have taken a bit of a dip; he had more than just Al working for him, after all. Also, you two are already aware of how many people we're losing to the Empire. There's someone you need to talk to in order to help remedy this problem. His name is Senator Káern Tlenden."

"Tlenden?" Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows. "The senator of the Tsograda Sector? Why do we need to talk to him? I thought he was already part of the Alliance effort; he never really hid his disapproval of the Empire."

"You're right; he doesn't shy away from protesting something he feels may be dishonorable, but he's still not with the Alliance. The Tsograda Sector is enormous, and Senator Tlenden is extremely beloved by the people he represents; if he has his homeworld side with the Alliance, the entire sector will follow his lead. You need to talk to him."

Obi-Wan sighed. "We're under a lot of scrutiny right now. Darth Vader's breathing down our necks. Can't Bail or Mon speak with him?"

"Bail is under the microscope more than you guys," the spy shook her head. "It's not safe for him to get any deeper into the mess. As for Mon, her term will be up in a few days when the final recess for the year begins. We need someone who can speak with Tlenden long term."

"Nice to know you guys think we'll still be around long term," Siri muttered darkly, thinking about their predicament.

"We'll do what we can, then," Obi-Wan said as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "If there's nothing else, Siri and I should be going."

The spy nodded. "Well, it was nice talking to you. Are the smoothies any good here? Think I'll get one before I go…"

Al laughed. "That's the spirit! You and I can stick around a bit!"

Siri rolled her eyes. "It wouldn't happen to do with that waitress over there, would it?"

"Hm," Al suddenly looked contemplative. "Now that you point her out to me, I do find her quite attractive."

Siri smacked his arm irritably. "Oh, please, like you didn't notice her before I said that. Keep your head low, you flirt."

"Got it," Al replied with a smirk.

At that, Obi-Wan and Siri rose (after Siri strong-armed Al into paying for their lunch) and departed, making their way back to the senate building.

* * *

The food was very much to Padmé's liking, leaving her content as she placed her napkin over her plate. Looking up, she watched as Vader silently finished his meal. He ate better today than he had last night, finishing his food instead of poking at it merely for show. Once he was done, he glanced up at her, and she gave him a soft smile.

"Was it good?"

"It served its purpose."

Padmé rolled her eyes in mild amusement and exasperation. At this point in the meal she had calmed greatly, not worrying too much about what Vader was planning and instead relaxing. She knew he wasn't up to anything nefarious since she had dragged him into this lunch date abruptly, and she also knew that Obi-Wan and Siri ought to be done and back at the senate tower at this point, so she had little to worry about.

"I had a good time," she remarked. It was a lie, of course; even if she was calm now, that did _not_ mean she enjoyed spending her time with the Sith Lord. "We should do this every day."

Vader, who had been sipping from his drink, paused and looked at her for a moment before finishing his action. After placing the cup back on the table, he took a deep breath and nodded.

_A lot of reluctance there,_ Padmé noted. She wondered why; he had jumped on the opportunity to interrogate her last night. Maybe he didn't like having his days interrupted constantly. Good. She wanted to get under his skin. Though she herself wasn't very keen on meeting with him every day either… but it needed to be done.

After paying for their meal, Padmé led Vader back to the senate. The two said nothing; Padmé was contemplative about how the meeting went, and Vader… well heaven only knew what he was thinking.

Once they entered the senate building the two paused. Padmé bowed deeply to Vader. "I'm glad I could share my lunch with you. I'll see you tomorrow, then. Would you like to meet in the same place?"

"I'll meet you at your office," Vader replied, nodding his head as a gesture of farewell. Before Padmé could suggest somewhere else, he had turned and walked down the hall. Blast it.

Oh well. She still considered this a victory.

Returning to her office, Padmé saw that Obi-Wan and Siri were already waiting for her there. "How'd it go?"

"We got the message through," Siri said. "Also, apparently we need to talk to Senator Tlenden about joining our cause."

Padmé sighed heavily. One thing after another… "I'll try to talk to him tomorrow. I've had enough excitement for one day."

"Speaking of that excitement, how was lunch?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Interesting. I'll tell you the details once we get home. I'm meeting with him again tomorrow."

Obi-Wan looked mildly startled. "Again? Wasn't today enough?"

"We'll go with you," Siri immediately piped in.

Padmé shook her head. "No, it's the perfect opportunity for you guys to get stuff done. I'll be fine, I promise."

Obi-Wan and Siri exchanged wary looks, unconvinced, but they didn't argue.


	5. Complications

Tarkin straightened his uniform as he awaited an audience with the emperor. It was mid morning, but Palpatine had not gone to the senate today, and Tarkin had to make his formal report on the matter of the Rebel base. He had received further information that the base, as he had suspected, was not the main stronghold. Nevertheless, it still dealt a hard blow to the Alliance; they had an airfield and many supplies there, and the Empire managed to obtain a lot of information from their computer mainframe. It wasn't the victory Tarkin had been hoping for, but it was still a victory.

Turning on his heel as he waited to be admitted to the throne room in the palace, Tarkin noticed Vader approaching from the other end of the hallway. It was odd to see him here; he had been going to the senate every day since his new assignment. Tarkin supposed the Sith Lord had a report to make as well.

Alongside Vader was an Intelligence operative, and the two were talking softly. Tarkin looked out the window once more, leaning closer to the pair. He wanted to hear if Vader was making progress or not; now that the Alliance's base had been attacked, the clock was ticking to find the main stronghold from the information they had collected, courtesy of the destroyed facility's computer… still, it was highly unlikely that they would be able to find the place. The Rebel Alliance had been a thorn in the Empire's side for almost twenty years and they _still_ hadn't found its central leadership. With that track record, Tarkin was fairly certain he wouldn't be able to do the seemingly impossible deed, and so he wanted Vader back in charge to take the fall. It was a cold move, even by Tarkin's standards; he was rather fond of the young Sith. However, it was also a calculated move; Palpatine's temper never flared up quite as tremendously on his apprentice as it did on others… at least not anymore.

Besides, the boy might pull off the improbable and find the Rebel base. Impossible missions were his specialty. _Anything_ was his specialty, so long as the emperor wished for it.

Vader and the agent finally came within earshot. "We're still working on the footage of the trade, milord. And Agent Esor stated last night was quiet; nothing eventful at the apartment."

The Sith Lord nodded, taking the agent's written report. The operative bowed and departed, and Vader stood still, sifting through the information.

Approaching him, Tarkin asked, "How's the mission going?"

"It's progressing," Vader replied without looking up.

Tarkin held back an exasperated sigh. That was the man's way of saying that while it wasn't doing poorly it wasn't doing well, either. They were in a waiting phase. Of all the bizarre ways for Palpatine to get information about the Alliance, why did it have to be through Senator Amidala? Tarkin supposed she would be the most vulnerable since she was the newest of the suspected traitorous politicians, but she still covered her tracks well… and Tarkin was still convinced this was a job for Intelligence rather than Darth Vader, _especially_ since Palpatine had introduced the young man for intimidation's sake. That basically blew out any chance for subtlety. Tarkin didn't see any way for Vader to be able to convince the senator to trust him after that beginning, and the governor almost felt sorry for the Sith Lord. He knew how much it _bothered_ Vader if he couldn't accomplish something for the emperor.

Before Tarkin could make any further remark to Vader, the Red Guard indicated that he could enter. Putting the matter aside, Tarkin organized his thoughts back on the Rebel base and stepped into the throne room.

* * *

The noon day temperature was far warmer than anticipated, and Siri blew out an irritated sigh as she fanned herself. She was walking through a huge crowd, and she was starting to grow tired of being shoved around as well as being cooked in the sunlight.

At least she wasn't on any covert mission; she was just trying to get some lunch for herself. Obi-Wan was helping Padmé with some paperwork at the moment; the two still had their duties as senator and representative, after all, despite their almost certain execution and half baked plan to prevent it. And speaking of half baked plans, Obi had convinced Padmé to allow him to accompany her and Vader to lunch.

Just as Siri saw the sandwich bar she was trying to reach, she felt someone slam into her. Stumbling to one side, Siri whirled around to yell at whoever it was, sick of being shoved everywhere and—

It was the Rebel spy.

The Ithorian woman managed to convey her frantic mood with rapidly blinking eyes as she quickly placed her hands on Siri's shoulders and guided her to an alley.

"What's going on?" Siri hissed, both annoyed and worried.

"It's Dantooine," the spy whispered as best she could; four throats and two mouths automatically made Ithorians naturally loud. "The Empire—they—the base—it's gone!"

Siri felt her chest grow tight. The Alliance had finally gotten large and strong enough to _have_ more than one base of operations… Dantooine had been a huge accomplishment, one that made all Rebels proud. They had finally started feeling like they were fighting a real war instead of just throwing stones at the Empire. Oh _Sithspit_…

"Did they just destroy it or did they get info?" Siri asked frantically.

"We don't know; we lost contact with the base yesterday and a scout ship picked up debris and an Imperial fleet. We've heard from no one who was there."

Before Siri could say anything, the spy quickly added, "You _must_ get in contact with Tlenden! We're moving our main stronghold today, but we had a supply depot on Dantooine, and almost a third of our men were stationed there—we can't keep this up without help—you _must_ talk to Tlenden!"

Siri nodded to calm the poor woman. Ithorians were known for their gentle nature; this spy was obviously new and not used to these situations. Though honestly, Siri herself was pretty panicked too.

As quickly as the spy had appeared, she vanished, and Siri was left standing alone in the alley trying to catch her breath. After a few moments she calmed herself and walked hastily back to the senate tower, all thoughts of food forgotten. She quickly made her way to Padmé's office, praying that no one somehow found out more about Padmé from Dantooine.

Padmé's office was empty, and Siri let out a moan. She and Obi-Wan were with Vader.

* * *

The Pampered Palate was rather full today, so the small restaurant sang with the chatter of its many customers. Obi-Wan watched them eat cheerfully and felt inordinately jealous of how simple their lives were. Pushing the matter aside, he returned his attention to his own table. Beside him sat Padmé, and across from them was Darth Vader, who looked far more occupied with his menu than with anything else.

Vader had been unusually quiet in comparison to dinner and even to what Padmé had said of his behavior yesterday. When he had arrived at the office for lunch he didn't speak at all, but simply nodded to them in acknowledgement and walked alongside them. Obi-Wan had figured his silence was an opportunity, and Padmé apparently did as well, so they both had begun to ask him many questions, ranging from generic matters such as the weather to important ones such as what Vader's been doing in the senate tower. All responses had been either gestures or one word only; it was growing both frustrating and unnerving.

Sighing, Obi-Wan looked at Padmé, who glanced at him and shrugged. Well, stars' end to it, then. If Vader wasn't going to talk, then Obi-Wan and Padmé would just do all the talking for him.

"Have you heard anything from Sola lately?" Obi-Wan asked Padmé.

She turned her heard, raising her eyebrow just a tick to question his action. Obi-Wan tipped his head forward slightly, trying to indicate that she should just go with it.

"Not since last week," Padmé replied a little stiffly, not sure what he was doing, and no doubt nervous that he was bringing up family in front of Darth Vader.

Obi-Wan leaned back, sipping his water. Vader glanced up briefly from his menu before looking down once more.

"I was just wondering how things were doing over there. It's been so long since we've been home. Besides, I thought Ryoo had a recital this week."

Padmé looked at Vader and then back at Obi-Wan. Continuing to play along, she commented, "Oh, right, I had forgotten. She's been really nervous about that, hasn't she? I thought it was the beginning of next week, though; the upcoming final recess starts on this coming Katunda, so we could go home and watch."

"Are we allowed to go home?" Obi-Wan asked. "I thought the emperor was being paranoid."

Vader's gaze immediately went to Obi-Wan.

"I suppose we could figure out when the Empire finally decides to handle whatever situation is preventing us from going home," Padmé remarked thoughtfully. "Then we won't be spending the recess twiddling our thumbs in the apartment. I haven't been home in almost a year, so I don't really want to wait."

"What do you think, milord?" Obi-Wan finally turned the conversation on Vader. "Is Naboo safe?"

"Not yet," the Sith Lord replied.

Padmé sighed heavily. "A pity. I was hoping to relax back home."

Vader said nothing, and Obi-Wan held his annoyance in check. He had hoped the Sith might drop a hint as to how matters were going with the Rebels on Naboo, but the man was too clever to be duped, apparently.

Well, no sense in spoiling a good lunch. Ignoring Vader altogether, Obi-Wan continued the conversation, talking about their niece Ryoo's general disdain for music recitals despite her talent. Padmé seemed to understand that Obi-Wan had given up on obtaining any useful information, so she happily went along with it. As the two talked, Vader finally gave up all pretenses and just watched them, but he held no intensity to his gaze. His face was expressionless and his eyes were soft, leaping back and forth between the two speakers without indicating what the Sith Lord was thinking. Honestly, Obi-Wan didn't know what that man was up to, and at this point, he didn't care; they weren't revealing anything useful.

The arrival of their food didn't interrupt their lively talk about silly events that happened with the family. The two would laugh between bites of food and then recall more incidents where their niece had to endure a music recital or when they themselves were in school and had to deal with obnoxious teachers. The conversation went anywhere and everywhere, carefully avoiding anything that wasn't public knowledge (or just known information for Intelligence) while not making the atmosphere tense. Vader was silent through it all.

At the end of lunch the three walked back to the senate tower. Obi-Wan and Padmé bade the Sith Lord a good day, garnering a slight nod in reply, and then made their way to Padmé's office.

"What was that all about?" Obi-Wan muttered under his breath. "You said he at least spoke a little yesterday."

"He wasn't expecting lunch yesterday," Padmé sighed. "But I figured he'd have another interrogation prepared for today rather than… that. I thought maybe I could jolt him to say something, but I couldn't very well start _flirting_ in front of someone else, _especially_ you."

Obi-Wan noted the mild irritation in her tone. "Are you implying this is my fault?"

"If you hadn't come along I might have been able to try something."

"If I hadn't come along he may very well have had an interrogation planned," Obi-Wan retorted softly as the two entered Padmé's office. Siri was there, pacing restlessly back and forth with her arms folded. Obi-Wan immediately felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "What's wrong?"

"Dantooine's base is gone," Siri said immediately.

Obi-Wan and Padmé paled. How did they—?

"We have to talk to Senator Tlenden," Siri added urgently. "He's our best hope."

"I'll go to him now," Padmé replied firmly, turning to go, but Obi-Wan grabbed her arm.

"Padmé, Vader is back too," he reminded her. "He'll be watching you."

"We can't wait for tomorrow," Padmé said with frustration.

"I can deliver a message to him for you," Siri piped in.

Obi-Wan shook his head. "No, Tlenden is from Salkende; he'll view that as an insult. He deals directly with people, no matter their station. Simply delivering a message from someone won't mean anything. _I'll_ speak with him."

Padmé looked like she was about to argue, but she thought better of it. Obi-Wan nodded to be sure and then left. This just kept getting better. He felt a headache tease the inside of his temples and he longed to go somewhere quiet and far from all this chaos so he could just sit and _think_ and be alone for a while. Getting his bearings, he walked to a different floor towards the senate arena and located the pod where the senator could be found.

Senator Tlenden was a muscular, tan skinned Human male with golden brown hair tied back and hovering just above his shoulders. He had a thick goatee and heavy eyebrows over sharp brown eyes. The senator stood beside one of his many representatives; the Tsograda Sector had about eight inhabited worlds.

Attempting to put his thoughts together, Obi-Wan sized the man up as he started to walk towards him. He had never been a huge fan of politics, and most especially politicians themselves - the main reason he was a representative was for the Alliance's sake and to keep an eye on his sister. Everyone else associated with the profession left a bad taste in his mouth. They were tolerable, but they most certainly were _not_ trustworthy, except for those who were with the Alliance since they at least had their priorities straight. Obi-Wan didn't know much about Tlenden, but he knew the man could be quite vocal in his displeasure about the Empire. He might be decent.

Obi-Wan approached the senator and bowed deeply. "Senator Tlenden, I wish to speak with you."

The senator watched him for a while before dismissing the other representative. "Do I know you?"

"I am Representative Obi-Wan Naberrie from Naboo," Obi-Wan introduced himself.

"The afternoon session is about to begin," Tlenden noted. "Be brief, representative."

"I'm afraid our discussion cannot be brief," Obi-Wan replied. "I only came here to ask if you would allow me to converse with you after the session."

Tlenden paused, considering the notion, and then gave a curt nod. "Very well."

At that, the senator entered the arena as Obi-Wan bowed to him. Obi-Wan then hastily made his way back to the Chommell Sector's pod. When Padmé noticed his return, she and Siri subtly shifted over to him, and Padmé whispered, "Did you get him to talk to you?"

"He'll speak with me once the session is over," Obi-Wan answered. "My only concern is Vader."

"We'll take care of that," Padmé said, nodding to Siri. "Just worry about yourself."

* * *

Tarkin didn't bother listening in on the afternoon senate session. Instead, he walked briskly back to his office and shut himself in there, poring over new Intelligence reports. There was maddeningly little information regarding what they had found at the base; apparently they were still decrypting everything. It wasn't too long before his investigation was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Enter," Tarkin ordered without looking up.

The door opened to reveal Darth Vader, who stepped inside and stood still as it closed behind him. Tarkin glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. "Lord Vader, shouldn't you be watching Senator Amidala? You can't be wasting time on this matter; with as incompetent as Intelligence is being right now I could use your help in the field."

He knew his words would go nowhere; Vader cared little or not at all for Tarkin's plight at the moment. It had little to do with his mission, so he wouldn't find it pertinent. Tarkin sipped at his caffa irritably, and just as he had suspected, when Vader spoke it had nothing to do with what had just been said. "Governor, how do you get someone to like you?"

Tarkin almost choked on his drink. Those were _not_ the words he was expecting to hear.

Vader stood patiently still as Tarkin attempted to regain some composure. Once the governor had finally ensured he didn't inhale his entire caffa, he asked, "What sort of question is that?"

Before Vader could answer, Tarkin shot to his feet and pointed to a chair, ordering the man to sit down. To hear such a question from the Sith Lord was like hearing Palpatine say he wanted to give up being emperor, it was like hearing that someone would enjoy listening to a Gamorrean opera, it was just _insane_. Vader wasn't well. Either that or Tarkin was hallucinating.

After ensuring that Vader sat as told, Tarkin slowly lowered himself to his own seat once more. "Now, why are you asking such a question?"

"Master ordered me to earn Senator Amidala's trust in order to get information from her. He said I should get her to like me. I'm not sure what he means."

_Master_. Vader never addressed the emperor in that manner unless he was in the palace and speaking either to Palpatine directly or to Tarkin. The fact that he was using the word outside of the palace was a very good indication that this new task made him a little uneasy, whether he himself was aware of the fact or not.

Was Palpatine insane? What was he thinking, ordering such a thing of his apprentice? Darth Vader was capable of many things, but emotionally manipulating someone? The most the man knew was intimidation; he was too brutal for this. If Palpatine wanted to _teach_ him, then he should have kriffing _taught_ him instead of _thrown_ him into it. Tarkin held back a sigh. Sith Lords. He would never understand them.

Intertwining his fingers slowly, Tarkin studied Vader as he said, "Milord, do you know what it means for someone to like someone else?"

"It's an attachment," Vader replied as if he were speaking about a textbook definition. "If a person likes another person you can use that against them."

Again, Tarkin held back a sigh. "No, milord, not in terms of how you can _use_ it… do you just know what it is? _Attachment _is too vague a term."

Vader looked at his knees, trying to come up with a better understanding, but he didn't seem to have one. Tarkin felt his stomach churn; he knew the man struggled understanding any sort of positive emotion (Tarkin had a suspicion that Vader knew perfectly well about negative emotions like hatred… he _was_ a Sith, after all), but it was just _painful_ to see him sitting there unable to process what it means to just _like_ somebody.

Finally he decided to give the Sith a break and explained it in a manner he might understand. "People who like each other do trust each other, which is why the emperor is suggesting that to you. They rely on each other, speak with each other, and respect each other. If you are to get Senator Amidala to like you, then you must be more… Human."

At this, the Sith Lord looked puzzled. "Explain."

"You must be more open, firstly," Tarkin said. "Be honest with her in whatever you can be. Admit things you normally wouldn't. Obviously you don't want to tell her about the progress of your investigation on her, but other matters that don't sacrifice confidential Imperial information should be fair game. If you must, _invent_ a person in your mind; someone who has likes and dislikes, preferences—"

"How do I pick what to like?"

He couldn't hold back his sigh this time. "Perhaps you should tailor them after what the senator likes."

Vader nodded. "The more I make myself similar to her, the more she'll like me, then?"

"Milord, do bear in mind that your start has been, er, _rocky_," Tarkin remarked. "You'll have to work quite hard to make her trust you."

"It will be done. The emperor has commanded it."

Ah, back to calling him emperor. He was calmer now. At least Tarkin had done him _that_ much service. Though honestly, was the emperor just _trying_ to make his apprentice have a mental breakdown? There was no way Vader would be able to pull this off, and the thought of failing Palpatine would _kill_ him. The young Sith was no doubt in this perpetual struggle between hating his Master, as was common for Sith (at least to Tarkin's understanding), and doing everything in his power to serve him as best he could. Perhaps this mission would tip the scale in favor of hatred, making Vader less likely to listen to Palpatine.

And maybe it would make him more likely to listen to _Tarkin_ instead. Now _that_ was a nice idea.

Before Tarkin could continue his train of thought, however, Vader stood, seeming satisfied enough with what he'd learned. The Sith Lord bowed and departed.

The rest of the day went by relatively quickly as Tarkin put the matter of the Rebel base aside in favor of reviewing affairs in his own region while his mind whirled with possibilities. It was true that he didn't know the inner workings of Vader's thoughts, but he knew them better than anyone else. If he could outplay Palpatine by manipulating Vader to _his_ way of thinking, then, well… perhaps this "test" would lead to his "graduation" from just being a subordinate. Vader was legally second-in-line to the throne, though that wasn't too well known outside of the palace, and if he served _Tarkin_, then he would eagerly hand the throne over to the governor. Palpatine would be out of the way, Tarkin would be in charge, and Vader would serve him. Perfect victory.

At the end of the day, Tarkin gathered his things and began to head towards the hangar that would take him back to the palace. On his way, he saw Vader also walking in the same direction and began to walk alongside him.

"Have you managed to put together a persona for the senator?" he asked conversationally.

"I was studying her profile," Vader replied.

Tarkin raised an eyebrow. "I would have thought you already did that considering your mission."

Vader shrugged. "Her personality was of little concern to me until now."

Tarkin nearly groaned. This was only _proving_ his point that Vader was totally clueless when it came to actually _dealing_ with people outside of military purposes. Tarkin himself would definitely have to teach Vader when he wasn't fretting over the Rebels.

As the two walked, Tarkin caught a glimpse of Senator Amidala herself out of the corner of his eye. She was walking alongside a handmaiden, and the pair seemed to be heading towards Vader. However, they stopped abruptly, lingering in the shadows, and did nothing else. They eventually disappeared from view as Tarkin and Vader entered the hangar reserved for people commuting to and from the palace. The two boarded a shuttle and Tarkin sat beside Vader, glancing at him. He wasn't sure if the Sith Lord had noticed the senator, but if he had, he wasn't giving any indication of it.

Finally, Tarkin leaned back in his seat and came to a decision. If Vader wasn't going to speed things up (and this new obstacle Palpatine had thrown in would definitely _not_ help with that), then Tarkin would have to do so. "Milord, perhaps I could offer my services in this matter."

"You've already spoken on a topic I didn't understand. You've served your purpose."

Any other Imperial would take the hint and grow silent. Tarkin, however, was not just any other Imperial… not to Vader. "Lord Vader, the very fact that you had to ask me about it implies that you might need some help. I would not interfere in any capacity that might affect the emperor's wishes. However, we both have the same goal in mind, and the sooner the emperor gets what he wants, the better, is that not so?"

Darth Vader was silent, considering Tarkin's words. One might presume that pride prevented him from agreeing that he needed help; Tarkin wasn't sure if the man had pride, though. He wasn't sure what the man _did_ have, apart from his obsession to serve. Eventually, though, he nodded. "Very well."

"Perfect," Tarkin smiled in satisfaction. "Now, we'll need to discuss the details of your operation, but we can do that when we get back to the palace. In the meantime, I can arrange for one of my spies to go undercover. Perhaps a new handmaiden would help the senator in her duties?"

Vader looked at Tarkin. "Why would she get a new handmaiden?"

"Because she'll need to replace her old one."

The Sith Lord watched him for a millisecond longer before nodding in understanding. "It'll be done."

* * *

It wasn't supposed to rain today. The meteorologists had said the day would be warmer than average for the wet season and it would be humid, but it wouldn't rain. The torrential downpour outside seemed to want to prove them wrong. Somehow, though, it fit perfectly; nature knew when everything was falling apart.

Obi-Wan shivered slightly at the thought of just _how much_ things were falling apart.

Senator Tlenden slowly came into view as Obi-Wan walked briskly through the carpeted hallways of the senate tower. The senator noticed his approach and dismissed his representatives with a small wave of his hand. He then nodded to Obi-Wan, who bowed in response.

"What's this all about, representative?" he asked firmly.

"Senator, perhaps we should take this conversation outside?" Obi-Wan suggested, knowing that there were listening devices everywhere.

Tlenden raised an eyebrow. "In the rain?"

"I find the sound of rainfall very therapeutic," Obi-Wan remarked with a smile. "There are plenty of areas where you won't get wet as I'm sure you already know."

"Very well, then."

The two walked outside together in silence, finding a spot near the senate but far enough that no listening device could distinguish their dialogue over the sound of the pouring rain.

"I understand you have little regard for the Empire," Obi-Wan immediately said. Káern Tlenden was a Salkenden, and the people of that world were known not only for their almost blunt nature, but also for their love of honor. It was considered weak, petty, and pathetic to hide one's opinion on a matter, and walking eggshells around the senator would only annoy him.

"You would be correct," Tlenden replied nonchalantly.

"Then why not try to improve upon it?" Obi-Wan offered. "I believe this corrupted government needs a few changes, and the Alliance shares my views. It also seems to share yours, unless I'm mistaken. Why not aid them?"

"I could have you turned in for such words," Tlenden noted, folding his arms.

Obi-Wan smiled. "You would bow down to the Empire you so distaste in order to secure your position? That's not exactly honorable."

Tlenden paused, his brow furrowing. "Do not question my honor, representative."

"I don't." Obi-Wan shook his head. "If I had thought you'd actually be that lowly I would have never approached you."

This made the senator pause, and only the rain was heard for a few moments before he smiled and chuckled deeply. "You seem to have a firm understanding of my culture, representative. However, that doesn't mean I'll join your cause. While I don't like the Empire, and while I and my people may prefer the Alliance, I have too much to worry about at the present moment to be aligning my world with anyone."

Too much to worry about? This didn't sound promising. "What do you mean?"

"Internal matters," Tlenden answered cryptically. "Problems that I have to address before anything else. Urgent problems. It pains me to stand by in this conflict, but I have a conflict of my own. Good evening, Rep. Naberrie."

Before Obi-Wan could say a word, the senator vanished in the throngs of people exiting the senate building. The rain seemed to pour even heavier, mirroring Obi-Wan's mood. What was going on that a Salkenden didn't want to fight or speak up on a matter he thought needed his attention? He certainly wasn't exaggerating when he said he had _urgent_ problems, but for the love of heaven, Obi-Wan couldn't just let this slide. It was fairly obvious from the Rebel spy's emphatic request that the Alliance was hurting for supplies, and Obi-Wan couldn't let them down now.

Still, there was nothing he could do today but go home. Doing just that, Obi-Wan eventually arrived at the family apartment and was quickly met by Siri and Padmé. Siri brought a towel to help dry him, though his cloak and hood had done a pretty good job protecting him from the rain. Padmé held another towel in case it was needed, but she seemed to have more use for it than Obi-Wan since she was wringing it so hard that her knuckles were white.

"Did you keep Vader away?" Obi-Wan asked.

Padmé shook her head silently, looking out at the rain worriedly. Siri said, "He was with Tarkin. We didn't want to attract attention with somebody else around."

Obi-Wan suddenly understood Padmé's concern. For all they knew, the two Imperials could have followed him.

"How'd it go?" Siri pressed on.

"Senator Tlenden apparently has some internal matters that are more pressing than galactic ones, at least to him," Obi-Wan shook his head. "Does either of you know whether something has occurred on Salkende?"

"I don't really know much about the planet at all," Siri remarked. "But I'll find out."

Obi-Wan nodded in reply before glancing at Padmé, who was still staring out the window silently. He and Siri exchanged glances, wordlessly communicating their concerns. Siri took the towel from Obi-Wan and motioned towards his sister as if to say, _help her out. There's not much I can do_. Or maybe she really had said it. He often heard his wife's voice in his mind, though he was pretty sure that was just him imagining what she'd say to him. In either case, he understood her meaning in her expression, even if he _was_ making up the dialogue in his mind.

He reluctantly nodded once more and watched Siri depart before turning his attention to Padmé. He wanted to help her, but Obi-Wan had never been particularly good at reassurances; explanations that seemed perfectly logical to him slid off of others who were too emotional to register them. Padmé was typically more receptive to him, though, so he'd at least try to help. Slowly walking towards her, Obi-Wan laid his hands on her shoulders. It seemed all her fierce determination and courage was finally beginning to crumble under the pressure. It had been almost a week since Kuna's death. Obi-Wan wasn't sure how much more of this they could stand, at least whilst still on Imperial Center. The senate was going into its final recess for the year in three days, which would possibly give them a bit more freedom to maneuver, but honestly… Obi-Wan would prefer if they could just go to the Alliance's base and never return to Imperial Center. He was sick of the corruption of this world; it felt like a disease, as if he were infected just by breathing the air. In either case, it was obviously taking its toll on Padmé.

"Padmé," Obi-Wan said softly, squeezing her shoulders a little.

"Ever since I became queen," Padmé muttered. "Ever since I became queen they've been after me. I thought I knew what I was getting into. I thought I knew…"

Obi-Wan sighed. "We all thought we understood the risks."

"You warned me," Padmé let out a small, bitter laugh. "I remember. I remember when I won the election, and you just stared at me in horror and I didn't know why. You had said it then; you had said that I was now on the Empire's watch list, and they'd never stop watching."

"Yes, I recall the conversation. But that doesn't mean you were wrong in what you did, Padmé. You're trying to do some good in a galaxy where that word almost doesn't even exist anymore. We're fighting an uphill battle, but not an impossible one."

"Why did they ever kriffing allow this to happen?" Padmé suddenly snapped, growing tense. "Why would anyone ever be stupid enough to allow Palpatine this much power, to allow the Republic to fall _so hard_, to allow all of _this_?"

Lowering his hands from her shoulders, Obi-Wan walked in front of her to face her. "People are fools. People are naïve. People make _mistakes_. Our mistake was to think Kuna's death would somehow miraculously disappear if we tried to get to Darth Vader. We need to rectify that, Padmé. We need to get off-world and stay away from this place."

"Where are we going to go? How are we going to justify it?" Padmé asked desperately. "We have no escape, Obi-Wan!"

"Al is here. Bail sent him." Obi-Wan reassured her. "All we have to do is wait until the final recess and then we can just _leave_."

"They need someone here in the senate," Padmé shook her head. "Mon is retiring, and Bail is under too much scrutiny. We can't just _abandon_ our responsibilities to the Alliance."

"Padmé, be _reasonable_," Obi-Wan groaned. "_This_ is why you're so stressed – there's no way we can reconcile our jobs as spies and just _how much_ we're in over our heads."

Padmé gave a sad smile. "I never took you as a defeatist."

"I'm not," Obi-Wan replied. "This isn't us giving up; it's just a new development. There are other ways to aid the Alliance, Padmé. I'm fairly certain the time for diplomacy has passed; Bail is already giving information to the Alliance on matters of the senate. There's nothing more you can do here. It's time for action."

"What about our family? What happens to them when we disappear?"

"The Alliance can protect them. We can get a message to them through Al to get off world. They might even go to Nimo'alke with the other Rebels."

This seemed to help relieve her a little. Nodding, she grunted in agreement, and Obi-Wan smiled at her reassuringly, grasping her forearms. "One more day, Padmé. That's all we'll have to wait. Tomorrow is the last day of the senate session – the next day is a day off, and then the final recess begins after that, so we can go to Salkende and try to speak to Senator Tlenden again—preferably with more information this time—and then we can rejoin with the Alliance."

"What about Vader?"

"Go to lunch tomorrow as usual. You won't see him again after that, anyway. Siri and I will arrange for our transport."

Padmé nodded and the two hugged. Obi-Wan held her tightly, worried about her and about their entire predicament, but hopefully he had finally managed to talk some sense into her. All they had to do was just survive one more day.

Just one more day.


	6. A Bold Strike

**Ack, midterms coming up already! Dang, summer classes go fast. Least to say you may not see an update for a while, but here's a nice long chapter to keep you happy in the meantime! :)**

* * *

Something was wrong.

Obi-Wan bolted out of bed, panting. He was sweating, and there was a fire in his gut as if he felt like he was going to be ill. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Moments later, Siri awoke with a start.

"What…?" Siri hissed, looking around wildly.

"You feel it too?" Obi-Wan asked.

When Siri nodded, they both grew even more worried. Was someone trying to poison them? Was that why they felt so odd? What about Padmé?

Obi-Wan leapt out of bed and ran to his sister's room, but Padmé was fast asleep, completely unperturbed by whatever was bothering them.

"Obi, you hear that?"

Whirling around, Obi-Wan saw that his wife had followed him but noticed a sound he hadn't. Pausing, he then recognized the distinct sound of someone incessantly slamming their fist on the front door. Following Siri, Obi-Wan rushed to the front door and opened it to reveal their smuggler friend, Almusian. The man looked absolutely frantic and was panting for air as if he had just run across half the planet. He pushed his way passed them, closing the door and dragging them into the lounge to speak.

"You guys have to get out of here—now!" Al said frantically, his voice high and panicked.

"What are you talking about? What's going on?"

"It's Naboo—and the Empire—the spies—Athia—"

"Al," Obi-Wan cut in. "Calm down. What's happened?"

Al stopped when interrupted and attempted to slow his breathing. Closing his eyes, he said a little slower, "Athia—the spy you met with—she's been captured. The Rebels we were going to move from Naboo to Nimo'alke are dead—all of them. They know—they _must_ know of your involvement. You guys are the ones who arranged this, who _met_ with Athia, and—and—"

"When was she captured?" Siri asked.

"Two hours ago, around 0345," Al answered hastily. "Look, I've got my ship prepped, fueled, and running. Get Padmé up and let's get the hell out of here!"

"What's wrong?"

Obi-Wan, Siri, and Al turned to see Padmé in the entranceway to her bedroom, looking disheveled and confused.

As Al once again began to explain the situation, Obi-Wan started to think about different possibilities. They could leave immediately, but any doubt left in the Empire's mind would be gone and they'd have a fleet on their tails so fast their heads would be spinning… but still… Al was good at escaping notice, particularly Imperials. They could leave now. They _should_ leave now.

As Al was making this point as well, Padmé interrupted him. "No, we can't leave. Today's the last session; we can make it through the day."

Obi-Wan almost gaped at her. "Padmé, just because I said yesterday—"

"It's not just that," Padmé shook her head. "If we're going to be talking to Senator Tlenden about the Alliance, we don't want the Empire to know about it, right? They'll _know_ if we leave now. If we vanish when everything goes to hell, we'll be playing right into their hands. This has to be a trap."

Siri rolled her eyes, growing annoyed with her sister-in-law. "We can't _stay_—we can't go to the senate tower."

"If they _knew_ for sure that we were responsible for all this, they would have shown up long before you did, Al." Obi-Wan conceded reluctantly. "You said Athia was captured about two hours ago, right?"

"Yes."

"Then they don't know," Padmé immediately concluded.

"They could just be biding their time," Siri argued.

"What possible reason would they have to do that? If they had everything they needed they'd come after us." Padmé pointed out. Much to Obi-Wan's annoyance, he understood the logic in her argument. Whatever the Empire had on them, it wasn't solid enough to send a firing squad just yet. But then…

"How did they find out about the operatives? And Athia?" Obi-Wan asked no one in particular.

"Maybe Athia made a mistake somehow," Siri remarked. "She was pretty freaked out when I last saw her. She could have slipped up."

"And somehow revealed everything about the Naboo operatives and nothing about us?"

"Vader already knew about Naboo," Padmé pointed out. "He mentioned it at dinner."

If it was possible, Al looked even more panicked. "You had _dinner_ with _Darth Vader_?!"

"Now's not the time to be going over this," Obi-Wan sighed. "Let's make a decision."

"We should stay." Padmé said firmly. "Today's the last day before the final recess."

"What's the point?" Siri asked. "If we're just leaving and not coming back anyway, why does it matter if we keep face or not?"

"Because they'll probably be tailing us anyway," Padmé replied. "If we flee, they'll start searching for us immediately, and that may cause problems with our meeting with Tlenden. If we wait and leave when everybody else does and don't raise suspicion, there won't be a problem until the end of the recess, and that's an entire two weeks."

_Blast it._ "She does have a point." Obi-Wan admitted grudgingly. He would have made that argument himself if it didn't include risking the lives of his wife and sister.

"You people are _insane_," Al nearly yelled, flailing his arms into the air to emphasize his point. Still, Al was very intelligent; he would see the reason in her argument as well. "I'll have my comm. channel open and I'll be waiting in my ship. You call me as soon as the session's done and I'll be anywhere you need me in a heartbeat, got it? And call me if things go south sooner than that."

The three nodded, and Al bowed his head, still panting, and worriedly rushed out of the apartment.

Everyone just stood there. It wasn't as if there was much else they _could_ do at this point; despite any logic they argued, they were all still terrified.

"All the operatives…" Padmé muttered softly, but Obi-Wan cut her off.

"We can't be focusing on that right now. Let's get ready."

This was going to be a _very_ long day.

* * *

"_Governor, can you help me?"_

_Tarkin turned to see a child with sandy blonde hair, a thin and bruised face, and shining blue eyes watching him._

"_What do you need, little one?" he asked._

"_Master says I have to practice my swimming and underwater combat. He says one of the things I have to work on is using the Force to hold my breath for a long time. Can you time me in the pool?" The boy questioned softly, trying to stand tall against the towering figure of the grand moff._

_He sighed somewhat irritably. He had been preparing for a meeting, but he supposed he could spare some time for this. Besides, he needed to clean up the boy's face. Nodding towards a particularly bad laceration that was still bleeding slightly, he said, "Did you just get out of a training session with the emperor?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Yes what?"_

_Here the boy's eyes seemed to change somehow. "I'm not supposed to call you 'sir' anymore."_

"_And why is that?"_

"_Master says I've been promoted. He says if I do well I'll get a name."_

_Tarkin raised his eyebrow. The child had just been called 'boy' by Palpatine up to this point. The concept of actually having an identity should be extremely exciting, but the child looked as if it were nothing._

_It was probably at this point that Tarkin had begun to wonder what in the blazes Palpatine was doing to this kid. _

A beeping sound startled Tarkin awake and he automatically hit the snooze button on his alarm. However, the beeping continued. Confused, he opened his eyes and looked at his chronometer, which read 0607; his alarm was set to go off in a little under a half hour. What was…?

Following the sound, Tarkin noticed it was his comlink that had awoken him. He immediately grabbed and activated it. "This is Grand Moff Tarkin."

"Governor, come to my quarters immediately." Darth Vader's voice said through the contraption before cutting the communication.

Sighing heavily, Tarkin quickly got out of bed, cleaned himself up as best he could, and hastily threw something presentable on. Thankfully his quarters were in the palace; he had been given this residence almost twenty years ago when he had first met Vader.

Within five minutes of the call, Tarkin was at Vader's door. Before he could even knock, the door slid open for him, and he entered. Looking around, he saw Vader standing by his balcony glancing at a data pad. On the floor beside him was an Intelligence agent, his eyes wide open and empty. Tarkin jumped with a small yelp.

"What happened?" he asked, his heart racing.

"He disobeyed." Vader remarked softly, apparently too engrossed in what he was reading to answer more fully.

"Disobeyed?" Tarkin questioned, still staring at the lifeless agent.

Vader finally finished whatever he was reading and lowered the pad, looking at the governor. "He was giving me a report when I sensed he knew of information about the Rebel base. He wasn't assigned to that operation, so if he knew the information, he broke protocol."

"And you killed him for it." Tarkin stated monotonously. He couldn't have reprimanded him and then left the more formal punishment up to Intelligence?

"It was a severe breach," Vader replied. "Intelligence agents of all people should understand that they only know what they're allowed or ordered to know."

"So why did you call me?"

"I learned the information he knew. I figured you'd want to hear it."

Slightly annoyed, Tarkin folded his arms. "You couldn't wait until I woke myself up?"

Vader blinked. "I thought you were already awake."

His annoyance increased. They had known each other for about twenty years; one would think Vader would _eventually_ observe when Tarkin woke up _every kriffing morning_.

Of course he wouldn't. It wasn't pertinent.

Sighing heavily, Tarkin said, "Go ahead and tell me, then."

"The information from Dantooine has yielded a location for the Rebel's main base." Vader stated, immediately catching Tarkin's attention.

"They've located the main stronghold?" he repeated breathlessly.

Vader nodded. "Yavin 4. I can give you coordinates."

"Don't bother wasting time; inform the nearest fleet immediately." Tarkin ordered with extreme pleasure. They would get them, they would have them in their grasp, and they would _destroy_ them!

As Vader did so, Tarkin ordered for some droids to send the agent's body to Intelligence along with a data pad that held a report of what had happened. When it was all finished, Tarkin watched the Sith Lord as he spoke. The young man was dressed in the same clothes as yesterday, and the dark circles under his eyes indicated that he hadn't slept at all last night. As soon as the Sith finished speaking to a grand admiral and cut the comm. channel, Tarkin asked, "Why haven't you slept?"

"I was arranging events."

"You have done plenty, milord," Tarkin replied, nodding towards the man's comlink. "You should go to bed."

"No, I must prepare for the day." Vader shook his head.

As Vader turned and went to his bedroom, Tarkin refrained from rolling his eyes. The man had no _off_ switch to his obsession; once he was assigned a task he would do it no matter what. If he felt he had a reason to be up all night, he would stay up all night, and if he felt he still had to go and work the following day, no amount of exhaustion would stop him. And no amount of coaxing from Tarkin would help, either. Still, if the boy was going to make himself pass out in the middle of the day, it was probably best that Tarkin be there to catch him.

"What sort of arranging were you doing last night?" Tarkin asked conversationally as he sat on a couch in the main lounge.

"The Rebels on Naboo have been eradicated."

Tarkin looked sharply in Vader's direction. "Does that include the senator and the representative?"

"No. Master wants me to get as much information as possible from the senator. I'm not sure of the representative's involvement beyond protecting Amidala. The handmaiden is probably a good information gatherer."

"Handmaiden?"

"Siri Naberrie; she's the representative's wife. She grew up in a foster home down the street from the Naberrie family, so she's been involved with them for a long time."

"I see. How many Rebels were on Naboo?"

"Approximately—"

"Just star-chart it for me," Tarkin interrupted in exasperation.

Vader reentered the room looking more refreshed and wearing a new outfit. "About five hundred."

Tarkin blanched. "That many?!"

"In comparison to the planetary population it isn't much." Vader remarked as he walked to a mirror and began to examine himself as usual.

"How long have you known about them?" Tarkin asked suspiciously as he watched Vader smooth nonexistent wrinkles on his tunic.

The young Sith Lord remained silent for two minutes, as was usual for his morning ritual, and then he faced Tarkin. "I've known for a little over three days."

"And you waited until now?"

"I had to test the Naberrie family," Vader replied calmly. "My hypothesis was that they would retaliate in some manner, and I was correct. The Rebels were arranging to leave the planet en masse. They were no doubt tipped off about my investigation."

"And yet Palpatine wants to keep them alive." Tarkin quipped, growing steadily more frustrated. Their involvement in the Alliance was so bloody obvious to him at this point that he was half tempted to arrange for their execution without permission.

Vader didn't comment.

Curious, Tarkin asked, "What do you think of the matter, milord? Do you think they should just be killed at this point?"

"Whatever happens to them is Master's will." Vader replied, heading towards the front door.

Tarkin followed three steps behind him, saying nothing. He really didn't know why he bothered asking those sorts of questions when he knew perfectly well what the answers would be.

When the two entered the lift, Tarkin leaned against the back wall and watched Vader. "Are you going to go walking?"

The Sith nodded.

Tarkin sighed. Once that man started his morning routine nothing would interrupt it. He had better ask whatever questions he had remaining now or he wouldn't get a chance until later. "Do you know for sure if the Naberrie family told the Alliance operatives?"

"I didn't see any actual exchange," Vader replied. "But they were the only ones outside of myself and two Intelligence agents who knew. I watch them while they're in the senate tower, and I have an agent stage their apartment until my arrival at night."

"You stay there all night?"

"If necessary."

Tarkin sighed again for what seemed the hundredth time. No wonder the Sith looked tired. "And yet no suspicious activity?"

"They had a visitor this morning."

"At this hour?"

Vader nodded. "We don't have him on file, so it's likely he's a Rebel. I've got someone tracking him as we speak."

The lift came to a stop, and Vader was about to exit. Tarkin stopped him for one more question. "Have you arranged for a handmaiden vacancy?"

Darth Vader nodded mutely, and then departed.

* * *

The traffic was particularly horrible today. The air lanes were filled with speeders sitting bumper to bumper, and all the inhabitants were starting to get annoyed.

"Probably a wreck," Siri commented softly as she leaned back in her seat.

Obi-Wan grunted in acknowledgement, his gaze drifting elsewhere. His eyes focused on a small dark blue speeder. A middle aged female Twi'lek sat in the driver's seat, holding the controls firmly and irritably as she waited for traffic to move. Beside her was a male Twi'lek of similar age who seemed to be conversing with her. In the back sat three other Twi'leks, far younger in age, who bore resemblances to the two in the front. One was folding her arms impatiently while the other two seemed to be laughing together about something. It was a family, and they were just going through an ordinary morning.

What did ordinary even mean anymore? Ordinary when he was a child had meant getting ready for school alongside Padmé and Sola, eating a delicious breakfast with his whole family, and then going to class. He and Sola would do their best to pay attention, but they would eventually grow tired of sitting still and would start passing notes. When Obi-Wan had graduated primary school at age twelve he had enrolled in the service corps, following in the steps of his adopted parents; an ordinary day then meant getting up, getting his assignment for the day, and working to help others. But ordinary took a turn for the worse once Padmé had become queen. Ordinary became stress; they always had to worry about the safety of their planet, how it aligned with Imperial decrees, how they could make contact with the Rebel Alliance and offer their assistance. And then, finally, once Padmé became senator and Obi-Wan became a representative, ordinary became _this_. It became the constant worry of exposure, of capture, of _execution_.

He knew he shouldn't be feeling this way. He had been brought up to fight injustice, and this was probably the most peaceful way to do it; Obi-Wan wasn't a fan of violence. He knew there were people in worse situations; fugitives who had lost everything, prisoners who were being tortured… the list went on. He had little right to be complaining. Still, watching that family just act like a blasted family and not have to constantly fear for their lives…

Obi-Wan shook his head. This was the last day. They wouldn't be nearly as exposed anymore after today. But it also made him dread what was to come; once they made the final step and just stayed at the Rebel base, there was no going back. They would be official traitors.

"Obi?"

Obi-Wan turned at the gentle voice of his wife. She was watching him with concern, having noticed his worry. Reaching over, she squeezed his hand and smiled, her eyes hardening.

"We'll get through this," she whispered with conviction.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath and nodded in reply. He glanced to the back of the speeder to check on Padmé, who had been quiet for the entire ride. She was sitting stiffly and looking out the window, her eyes clouded with thoughts of what was to come.

The traffic began to move abruptly. A squad of fighters flew by, heading towards an air base. Their movement must have been what caused the traffic jam.

"Kriffing military," Siri grumbled as her grip on Obi-Wan's hand increased. He perceived her nervousness in her tone, despite her best efforts to hide it. They were both looking out for anything that would indicate the Empire was getting ready to finish them off; watching the Empire's military was _not_ helping improve their moods.

Noting the senate tower, Obi-Wan released his wife's hand as they started to move. Siri piloted the speeder to a parking area (Obi-Wan wasn't a huge fan of piloting, so he mostly left it to his wife) and the three hopped out in silence.

As they headed to Padmé's office, many different scenarios flew through Obi-Wan's mind. There was no logical reason for a firing squad to be waiting for them anywhere; Obi-Wan supposed the Imperials might want to make a show of their execution and do it in a public place, but it still didn't make sense; they could have just been captured at home and executed publicly anyway. Something was still missing; their enemy was still looking for something.

Siri stopped Padmé when they reached the door to her office. "Let me go first."

Obi-Wan looked at Siri a little worriedly. He knew she was armed; as Padmé's handmaiden she served as her aide and security, so she was allowed to carry a blaster. Still, if she started acting this paranoid, their guilt would become obvious very quickly. They had to remember that Vader would still be watching them. Obi-Wan furrowed his brow slightly and shook his head subtly at Siri, who paused and threw him a glare. She didn't seem to want to worry about subtlety anymore.

Sighing, Obi-Wan at least _tried_ to make it look normal. Turning to Padmé, he leaned against the wall and folded his arms casually. "What do you think we'll talk about in the senate session today?"

Padmé glanced from Siri to Obi-Wan, knowing that they were exchanging some sort of dialogue but not knowing what it was. Still, she trusted them well enough to play along. Facing Obi-Wan fully, Padmé replied. "I imagine they'll talk about the security bill some more. Tie up loose ends and the like."

As the two conversed, Siri strolled into the office as if she were just unlocking it and prepping it for Padmé. Obi-Wan tensed every muscle in his body despite his best efforts to look calm. His heart seemed to beat so loudly he couldn't even hear what Padmé was saying. Suddenly he felt relieved, his muscles relaxed, and he looked at the door as Siri exited and raised an eyebrow.

"You guys coming or what?" she asked, motioning inside.

Obi-Wan and Padmé followed her inside, closing the door behind them. Padmé sat at her desk, sorting through all of her files. Obi-Wan watched her for a moment as she ensured the Empire wouldn't find anything incriminating in her office. Eventually, he turned to leave and go to the representatives' offices next door; he had to clean up as well. However, something seemed to be missing, and he wasn't sure what it was until Siri pointed it out.

"Where's Sabé?"

Pausing, Obi-Wan looked at his wife. Sabé was always on time, and she should have been here by now. He highly doubted it was a coincidence, but at the same time, it didn't make any sense; Sabé was loyal to Padmé, but she wasn't a Rebel. She didn't know anything about their involvement. What purpose would it serve to interrogate her?

As Obi-Wan contemplated it quietly, Siri began to grow agitated. "Shavit, they must have her. What are we going to do? We can't just leave her stuck in some cell!"

"We don't know if that's what happened," Padmé tried to reassure her.

"You can't deny all kriffing day that everything is going to hell, Padmé," Siri snapped.

Before an argument could begin, Obi-Wan interrupted both of them. "Enough. Padmé, keep cleaning up. Siri, go find out where Sabé is. I'm going to my office."

As Obi-Wan got near the door, it opened before he could reach it. The representative for the colonies in Chommell, Rekk, stood in the doorway. He jumped when he noticed Obi-Wan.

"Forgive me," he said hastily. "I didn't mean to intrude."

"It's fine, Rekk," Padmé replied from her desk. "Come on in."

Obi-Wan stepped aside to allow the man to enter. He was going to leave until he heard what the representative had to say.

"I just wanted to give you my condolences, senator."

Obi-Wan froze.

"Condolences?" Siri asked sharply.

"You… you haven't heard?" Rekk sounded like he didn't want to be the one to relay this news.

Obi-Wan slowly turned on his heel to watch the exchange, dread filling him.

"I'm afraid not," Padmé shook her head, trying to keep a calm expression.

"Sabé… Sabé was in an accident on her way to work." Rekk said slowly. "It's all over HoloNet – there was a huge wreck that backed up tons of traffic. They just cleared it, and they said everybody involved was killed. They didn't say who, but I recognized Sabé's speeder in the wreckage. It looked like she lost control and slammed into oncoming traffic."

Obi-Wan felt sick. He watched Siri gape in horror as Padmé stood abruptly and turned towards the window. Neither woman could say anything, so Obi-Wan stepped in.

"Thank you for telling us, Rekk."

Rekk caught Obi-Wan's meaning and bowed deeply to them before leaving. The office was still for several minutes as everyone processed the information. Obi-Wan had suspected the Empire might have captured Sabé for questioning, but _this_? Why would they… how could they… what purpose was there in killing her? She was _innocent_!

Anger coursed through Obi-Wan, but he shoved it down. Getting overly emotional wouldn't help him think straight, and he had the distinct feeling he would be the only one doing that today.

"That's it." Siri shook her head, her fists clenched. Obi-Wan immediately grew nervous; his wife was not nearly as good at controlling her emotions, and getting her to _not_ do something rash might be more than he could handle right now. "We have to leave. Now. They had absolutely no reason to kill Sabé apart from warning us."

"Shouldn't that make it all the more reason to play it safe and _stay_?" Obi-Wan rebutted.

"You were saying we should get the hell out of here!" Siri argued hotly.

"Yes, because I was concerned they were certain of our involvement." Obi-Wan snapped; he was trying very hard to control himself, but his emotions were beginning to spill over. "If they killed Sabé, it could be for several possibilities. One is that for some inexplicable reason they suspected she was the one involved with the Alliance. The other is that they're on to us but they're just warning us, which means they still don't have anything tangible."

"Or it could _just be an accident_, right, Padmé?" Siri jabbed, looking at her.

Padmé was silent. Obi-Wan shot Siri a hard look. _Leave her alone._

Despite her rage, Siri quickly realized she had stepped too far. Blowing out a frustrated breath, she said, "I'm sorry. But… what the blazes are we going to do?"

"We're going to do just what we said we'd do." Obi-Wan instructed slowly, keeping his voice level as he felt his stomach churning with anxiety. "The morning session begins in ten minutes, so let's be prompt."

"What about lunch?" Siri asked. "Padmé, you can't go with Vader."

"I have to," Padmé replied quietly.

"Then we're going with you." Obi-Wan immediately said.

Padmé said nothing.

Taking a calming breath, Obi-Wan left in silence, going to his office. The representatives had three small offices conjoined by a foyer. When he entered the foyer he saw that the door to Tsa's office was closed, but Rekk's was open. Rekk glanced up from his work, looking at Obi-Wan worriedly. Obi-Wan managed to offer a small smile before going to his own room and closing the door.

Finally alone, Obi-Wan collapsed in his chair and buried his face in his hands. He couldn't believe this. Sabé—the operatives—the spy—Kuna—it was all washing over him, consuming him. He let it go through him, he let his body tremble, he let a sob of dread, terror, remorse, and utter desperation quietly escape his lips, and then he began to breathe again. He took long, calming breaths, and he just sat there. He would clean his desk later. He just needed to be alone and collect himself. He just needed to _breathe_.

One day it would come. One day the Empire would fall. One day there wouldn't be this kind of oppression, this kind of tyranny. One day Palpatine would die. It wasn't today; it may not even be within the next decade. But one day, it would happen. And Obi-Wan would be there to see it. And then he would be free; they all would be. He wouldn't have to worry about his safety, or that of his wife, or Padmé, or anybody. No, the galaxy wouldn't be perfect after the Empire, but it at least wouldn't be _this_. He had been watching the repercussions of Imperial tyranny since he was twelve years old starting his first day of the Naboo Service Corps, and he was _sick_ of it.

After he finally managed to get a hold of himself, Obi-Wan stood, his eyes still closed. He remained still for a moment longer and then finally went to the senate arena. Siri and Padmé were already in the pod alongside Tsa, Rekk, and Cordé, Padmé's only other handmaiden, who assisted the representatives. Padmé was standing at the front of the pod, facing the arena with determination, her hands resting on the console. Siri stood close to her, her hands clasped firmly in front of her.

When Siri noticed Obi-Wan, she walked over to him. She looked calmer now, but that was only because she had internalized her emotions. Her anger was still bubbling, waiting to be used, but what was obviously bothering her now was the loss she felt over Sabé. Although he wasn't very good with reassuring anyone, Obi-Wan wanted to hold her, he wanted to comfort her and just _be_ with her, but he couldn't do that; not here. Instead, he nodded to her, trying to convey that he understood what she was going through and they'd be out of here soon. Somehow she got the message, and she nodded in reply with a small smile. The two sat together, and Obi-Wan subtly slipped his hand into hers, squeezing it.

The morning session went by without Obi-Wan noticing it at all. He heard nothing except the echoes of their voices. He was only thinking about what in the blazes they'd do about lunch. How would they survive an encounter with Vader today? They were barely holding it together; he doubted he'd be able to contain even his own emotion in front of that man. Obi-Wan had a sinking suspicion that Sabé's death was directly related to the Sith Lord, and the thought of sharing a meal with him after that made Obi-Wan sick to his stomach.

By noon everyone stood to leave. Tsa, Rekk, and Cordé departed first, but Padmé stopped Obi-Wan and Siri.

"Go find Al." she whispered. "Tell him that he'll be taking you two to Salkende."

"What?" Siri hissed.

"Don't argue," Padmé immediately interrupted before Siri could continue. Obi-Wan felt his own ire rising; what was she thinking? She couldn't go to lunch without them. Padmé seemed to be under the impression she was invincible, but they all knew she wasn't. "Just do that for me. Tell him to pick you two up right after the end of the session. Meet him in one of the designated spots; nobody can see you guys meeting him."

"Pick us two up?" Obi-Wan repeated her words. "What about you?"

"I've got an alternative way," Padmé replied cryptically. "I'm not going to Salkende; you two are."

"Where are you going?"

"Naboo."

Obi-Wan blanched. What was she thinking? "Vader said we couldn't go there yet."

"The Rebels are dead," Padmé noted grimly. "The _threat_ is over now, isn't it? Besides, I'll have clearance."

Obi-Wan and Siri were both getting ready to argue, but Padmé gripped their forearms. "Just _go_ – we don't have much time."

He couldn't allow this. He _couldn't_. Padmé couldn't be left alone to that Sith monster. Obi-Wan tried to argue again, but Padmé shook her head fiercely. _"Go."_

He hated this. He _hated_ this. This wouldn't end well. Padmé looked at them, her eyes growing harder by the second. She would not back down. Eventually, the stand off ended and Obi-Wan took Siri's hand, guiding her out. He felt his wife grow enraged with him as he complied to Padmé's wishes, but there was nothing else he could do at this point. They just had to trust her.

But that didn't change the fact that he had a _very_ bad feeling about this.

* * *

Padmé had always been good at hiding her emotions when necessary. She had always been able to handle the stress of politics. She had always been able to read when others were untrustworthy. She had welcomed the thought of being able to help others in a peaceful manner; becoming queen had been a privilege and a dream come true. When she was introduced to a Rebel operative during her reign, she had thought she could do even more good. She _knew_ she could help more people.

That was why she had done this. That was why she had chosen this path, why she was risking her life every day. Because deep down, she knew somehow she was helping countless numbers of people. She was taking care of her sector, she was ensuring that the Alliance continued to stay one step ahead of the Empire… through her help, the galaxy would eventually be rid of the Empire.

She had told herself she would endure any hardship. She would report everything and somehow still keep herself, her brother, and her sister-in-law safe. Somehow they would all get through it together.

The past week had definitely tested those beliefs. Not only was she and her family in imminent danger of losing their lives, but one of her handmaidens had been murdered because of her. And yes, it _was_ murder – Padmé knew she could be naïve, but even _she_ could see this for what it was: Imperial handiwork. For some inexplicable reason, the Empire had deemed it necessary to kill Sabé – a life had been snuffed out, an _innocent_ life, all because of Padmé. She didn't know what to feel, how to feel—anger, hatred, pain, sorrow, guilt, depression, hopelessness, fear… everything swirled as one within her, making her break into a cold sweat as she paused to catch her breath in an abandoned hallway.

She was lost. She was drowning. It was too much. There was too much going on, she was in too deep.

But she would go deeper. She would take the plunge. Because despite how _alone_ she felt, she also felt like she had a new direction, a new fierce determination that would guide her. Vader had made a big move today, but Padmé would make an even bigger one.

Taking a deep breath, Padmé hurried towards the emperor's antechamber. She had to get there before Vader left. Hiding where she had just two days prior, Padmé watched the emperor depart with his guards, and shortly after, the Sith Lord himself exited.

Vader looked no different today. He still wore some variety of the same black outfit that he always seemed to wear. His face was blank, and his eyes were gazing at nothing in particular. Padmé watched him move, slinking towards him, and just as he seemed to finally notice somebody was following him, she made her move.

Stepping directly in front of him, Padmé grabbed his forearm and pulled him into a corner, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him. It took all of her restraint to fight down the wave of nausea that overcame her at the thought that she was kissing Sabé's murderer, but if the Empire wanted to play dirty, she would happily oblige. She was desperate enough. Her blood rushed and her heart raced as she let her raging emotions express themselves through the kiss.

Vader tensed so much she felt as if she were holding a wooden board. She felt his hands tap her shoulders incessantly as if he were trying to decide whether he should push her off or not. He didn't return the kiss at all; it felt like he was trying to pull his face as far from her as possible. Eventually his grip became firmer—or perhaps just more frantic—and he shoved her away. His eyes were wide, his face pale, and he was panting as if he had just run a mile. His brow was furrowed deeply, and he took a large step away from her.

Padmé took a step closer to him, causing him to back away even further. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you—it's just…"

How in the _blazes_ was she going to phrase this? She had known what she would do, but she hadn't worked out how she would say it. Vader, however, was completely stunned speechless, so it at least gave her the opportunity to get her thoughts together.

"Today's the final session," Padmé remarked, taking another step towards him until he had backed so far away he was in the corner. "I decided I was going to go home and see my family, despite the risks, but I… I didn't want to miss seeing you. If it's my safety the emperor is concerned about, then I won't visit my family; that way nobody knows I'm there... but I long to at least see Naboo… and if it's such a problem, then you should come with me. I know the perfect spot, and we would be able to spend all our time together."

Vader watched her silently, his mouth sealed shut and his hands touching the wall behind him as if he could somehow get farther from her. Eventually his shaky breathing evened out and he closed his eyes, furrowing his brow. He opened his mouth to speak, but he stuttered, and he opened his eyes once more, looking anywhere but in her direction. He tried to speak again and came up with nothing, and he abruptly broke away from the wall and began to walk in another direction.

Oh, he wasn't getting away _that_ easily. Padmé hastily grabbed his forearm, making him freeze. "Milord, wait. I know you might have to think this over, so I'll wait for you in my office after the afternoon session. It ends early today, anyway."

Vader twisted his arm out of her grip, not looking at her, and continued his hasty retreat.

Alone in the hallway, Padmé felt her knees grow weak as she leaned against the wall for support. She had just kissed a _murderer_. She had kissed _Sabé's_ murderer. How far would she go for the Alliance? How far _should_ she go?

Trembling visibly, Padmé slid down the wall until she sat on the floor. This felt so wrong. She felt so wrong. But she had to do it. She _had_ to.

With dread, she began to wonder what she would become with that line of thought.

* * *

Tarkin smiled and leaned back in his chair, staring at his desk. He had just cleaned it up, ensuring everything was locked away or in a satchel he would take back to the palace with him. He had no intention on staying for the truncated afternoon session; he was going to go back to the palace and enjoy the afternoon with a nice book and glass of wine. His operative was poised to enter the fray; she would approach the senator just before the final session. His work was done for the day; the navy was doing its job with the Rebels and he had no report to make to Palpatine. He might as well enjoy this one respite while he had it.

Just as Tarkin took a deep breath and prepared to stand, his office door opened and a figure burst in, collapsing against the door as soon as it closed behind him.

It was Darth Vader.

Shooting to his feet, Tarkin rushed to the young Sith. "Milord, are you hurt?"

Vader said nothing, just shaking his head and panting for air. Tarkin examined him hastily, trying to find a wound, but there wasn't one in sight. Nevertheless, the man was pale and sweaty, and his hands were trembling.

"Lord Vader, what's wrong?" Tarkin tried again.

"She—I—Master—" Vader stammered, trying to put words together in a coherent manner but failing miserably.

Tarkin grabbed the Sith Lord's arm and dragged him to a chair. He had never seen him in such a state, and it was extremely disturbing. As Tarkin began to comm. for a physician, Vader shook his head.

"No, I—I'm—don't call anyone."

"What is going on?" Tarkin asked sharply, trying to figure out what in the blazes was wrong.

"She—she—" Vader gestured with a twitchy hand, tapping his mouth and shaking his head. He was trying to say _something_, but he couldn't grasp the word.

"Who? Who's she?"

"Senator Amidala."

Tarkin raised an eyebrow. "Did she hurt you?"

"No." He immediately replied.

Tarkin felt himself relax a little knowing that the Sith Lord at least wasn't physically harmed. Still, he had never seen Vader this worked up. At least there wasn't a rush to ensure Vader wouldn't bleed out or something; now it was time to play puzzle solver.

"All right, start from the beginning." Tarkin said slowly, snapping his fingers to make Vader look him in the eye. "Tell me what happened. Focus."

His wording made something click in the young Sith, and he immediately closed his eyes, took a shaky breath, and then held it. Vader stayed this way for a few seconds before releasing the breath, opening his eyes, and calming immediately. He looked Tarkin in the eye, his expression neutral, but his hands still fidgeted on his lap. "I was leaving the emperor's antechamber when I sensed Senator Amidala. She stepped in front of me and—and—"

Here he stopped, no longer from panic but from confusion. He once again gestured oddly, tapping his mouth and looking at Tarkin with a furrowed brow. He looked so lost Tarkin grew concerned again that the senator _had_ somehow managed to hurt him.

"And what?" Tarkin pressed on.

"She…" Vader clenched the fist that had been tapping his face, and he looked away. "I don't know."

Tarkin blinked. "You don't know?"

"I don't remember what it is."

"Then just describe it." Tarkin said, growing a little confused and annoyed at once. How could he have been panicked about it and now was clueless as to what it was? Or was that why he had been unnerved?

"She put her arms around my neck and she put her lips—"

"She _kissed_ you?!" Tarkin interrupted.

Mentioning the word seemed to bring the memory back, and Vader began to tremble a little once more. He nodded, looking elsewhere.

Amidala had _kissed_ Darth Vader. Blast, she _was_ desperate; Vader's actions concerning Naboo and the handmaiden must have really hit home. Did the senator realize he was behind it? Most likely, Tarkin realized with frustration; Palpatine had ensured that with his introduction. But what purpose would kissing Vader serve? Yes, it would catch him off guard, but it wouldn't _stop_ him. Surely—no, it couldn't be—the senator wasn't _actually_ falling for him, was she? If she was, she was most likely either the dumbest or most cunning woman Tarkin had ever known.

Finally getting a hold of himself, Tarkin asked, "So that's all she did?"

Vader shook his head, his eyes returning to Tarkin. "She asked me to go to Naboo with her."

Ah, _there_ it was. The kiss was to soften him up (or scare him out of his wits as it had obviously done, though Tarkin wasn't sure that was her desired result). Still, it was a very forward move, indicative of just how frantic she was.

It was also a _perfect_ move. Krif, they may not even need Tarkin's operative. The final recess was two weeks long—that would give Vader _ten days_ to spend with Amidala and just rip her to shreds, open her mind to him entirely. If they were on Naboo together, they would be in her territory for sure, but they would also be away from official eyes; Vader could get away with a lot more.

"This is a perfect opportunity, milord," Tarkin told the young man.

Vader blinked, confused.

"You'll be alone with her and in constant contact," Tarkin explained. "You can watch how she interacts with people, see what she does, find her weaknesses, and _strike_."

"Is that how you get people to like you?" The question would have been a joke if it had come from anybody else. Unfortunately, Tarkin had forgotten about that stipulation that the emperor had mentioned. Sithspit.

Tarkin sighed heavily. "Ah, yes, that. Well, this would be a perfect opportunity for that as well. The emperor would surely be impressed if you not only got the senator to like you, but also if you got all the information he needed in the time you two were together. Do you think you can manage that?"

"I'll always do what is needed." Vader stood, finally himself again. Tarkin watched him nervously as he departed without another word. He had set the man aright, but he still wasn't sure he was up for this mission. Who would win? The cunning senator or the relentless Sith?

* * *

**So typically when you ask somebody to give you a rough estimate, you say 'ballpark it for me,' at least in the U.S. The etymology of this is believed to be rooted in baseball. Since Star Wars doesn't have baseball, I figured they wouldn't use a term that was based off an American sport, lol, so I made my own colloquialism: I figured navi-computers are insanely accurate along with the help of an astromech droid, but spacers could still use the stars as a rough guide for general things, so instead of telling someone to ballpark something, you could tell them to star-chart it for you! XD Ok, I'm such a nerd…**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter.**


	7. Departure

**Happy Independence Day to all my fellow Americans! ^_^**

* * *

Almusian Brek was an intelligent man who had a fair amount of talents. He was a genius in mathematics, he had wit and charm, and he was a killer with the ladies (well, at least the ones who weren't biased by the Empire's view of non-Humans). He had grown up in a wonderful family and had lived a happy life on his homeworld, Gleeshra, until he had tried to enroll in college. He had aspirations of becoming a mathematician, possibly a professor, but when he slammed head first into the Empire's anti-alien laws, Almusian had finally come face to face with Imperial values (or, more accurately, their lack thereof). He had tried everything in his power to avoid confrontation while still attempting to get some rights for people like him, but eventually had grown sick of the hopeless endeavor. Disenfranchised, Almusian had begun his more illegal dealings.

But hell, even after ten years of working in the underworld, after eight years of smuggling, after three years of working for the Alliance, he _still_ hated himself for his decision to rebel by breaking the law. And loved himself. It was freeing, but it was terrifying and unfulfilling, and he had to constantly live with the conflict of just being _him_.

It didn't matter at the moment though. Despite whether he agreed with his lifestyle choices or not, he hadn't survived in the dangerous world of criminals for nothing.

He knew when he was being followed.

_This is what I get for having a panic attack_, Almusian thought to himself irritably as he sifted through the enormous crowds of Imperial Center. It probably _was_ a good thing the others hadn't taken his advice and left with him in the morning. It was amazing how after so many years in his line of work he still could panic like that. Upset clients? No problem. Annoyed Hutts? A nuisance and threat, but still not a huge deal. An entire galactic Empire breathing down your neck?

Yeah. He freaked out. Every time.

He'd get his head together afterwards, though, just as he had now. But now he had to get rid of his tail, preferably _before_ Obi-Wan, Siri, and Padmé called him.

Dodging between people and crouching a little further so he'd vanish into the crowd, Almusian increased his pace, turned down a side street, doubled back, ran down some stairs, and waited at an air bus stop.

The tail was still there.

_Blast it._ This guy had to be a professional; no doubt an Imperial operative.

Almusian's comlink chimed. _Sithspit_.

Stifling a groan, he sidestepped into an alley and began to fiddle with his comlink as if he were going to make a call. The Imperial slinked closer, but hovered near the people at the bus stop. Al waited until the bus had arrived, filled, and departed, leaving the area barren of witnesses. Then he began to whisper into his comlink. The Imperial leaned in closer to hear what he was saying.

"Yep, got it on vector two. No, that's the cosine." Al muttered, just rambling random math words to confuse the operative into thinking he was using code. As soon as the operative got within his peripheral vision, Al turned farther from him to conceal the fact that he was reaching for a weapon. Then he immediately whirled around and fired the entire clip.

The agent fell to the ground.

Lowering his blaster, Al swore under his breath. "Shavit, this is the part I kriffing hate."

Slowly approaching the agent, he watched him warily until he stooped down to the man. The agent was dead. Nodding to himself, Almusian holstered his weapon and hastily departed before people nearby came to investigate the sound of a blaster firing. He immediately pulled his comlink back out to trace the signal of the incoming call. Tracking it, he went to a large plaza a few districts from the senate area. There he waited until he saw the familiar figures of Siri and Obi-Wan… but not Padmé.

Al approached the two quickly. "What's going on? Where's Padmé?"

"She's not coming," Obi-Wan explained quickly. "Siri and I are going with you as soon as the afternoon session is over. We need to go to Salkende."

"Salkende?" Al looked at him confusedly. "That's on the other side of the galaxy. And why isn't Padmé coming?"

"We… it's complicated," Obi-Wan said cryptically, looking frustrated. "Just meet us at our usual hangout immediately after the final session."

"Not packing?"

"I don't want to get any more attention than I already have." Obi-Wan sighed. Siri remained silent, looking stormily at her husband. "The sooner we get off-world, the better."

"Right. I'll be there, then." Al nodded, not wanting to ask any more questions. He was still very nervous about Padmé's predicament, but he just had to assume they knew what they were doing. It was all he could do at this point.

With the business complete, Al gave a small bow, which they reciprocated, and they all went their separate ways.

* * *

Padmé sat solemnly in her office, staring at her limp hands resting on the desk. She had felt full of nervous energy before—revulsion, terror, desperation… it had coursed through her, making her dizzy, but giving her drive. Now, though… now the deed was done. Now she just felt empty.

She dearly hoped Vader would say no. The entire point was for him to say _yes_ and come along so Obi-Wan and Siri could conduct their business privately, but Padmé just _didn't want_ to deal with that Sith Lord. She was exhausted; she'd had enough. She wanted the vacation that this final recess was designed to provide. She wanted it _so badly_.

_Duty first._ She reminded herself. It was the advice the previous monarch had given her when she was coronated six years ago. Her people always came before her; that was the sign of a good ruler, of a good _person_. Everyone always came before her.

Her office door opened, and Padmé sighed softly. Slowly raising her eyes she expected to see Obi-Wan and Siri returning from their meeting and demanding an explanation.

Darth Vader was there.

Jumping slightly, Padmé immediately tried to plaster a smile to her face. For a terrifying moment she couldn't find the energy to even make eye contact, but the adrenaline quickly kicked in.

"Lord Vader," she acknowledge as she stood and bowed deeply. "I wasn't expecting to see you so quickly after our meeting."

"I accept your proposal." Vader said. "We'll depart from the palace. Wait in the main entranceway and someone will escort you to the proper hangar. We'll leave at 1500."

Padmé raised her eyebrow, caught off guard. "The session ends at 1430."

"Thirty minutes is more than enough time." Vader replied. Then before Padmé could get another word out, he turned and left.

Standing there, Padmé just stared at the door. Well… that was that. Then she collapsed back into her chair and put her face in her hands, blowing out a tired sigh.

The door opened a short time later, and this time it was indeed Obi-Wan and Siri who entered.

"You're here?" Obi-Wan asked, sounding genuinely confused. "What about lunch with Vader?"

"Yeah, you mind explaining what in the blazes is going on?" Siri added harshly.

Padmé lowered her hands and stared at them again, unable to look up. Both Obi-Wan and Siri seemed to register just how drained she was.

She heard Siri sigh. "I'm sorry… Padmé, you should have let us help you deal with him."

Padmé just shook her head.

"Why did you say you were going to Naboo?" Obi-Wan asked softly.

Padmé took a long, deep breath, still staring at her hands with her eyes half closed. Eventually, she answered, "I'm keeping Vader off of you two so you can speak to Senator Tlenden."

She heard the rustling of fabric as Siri immediately began to walk towards the desk, about to argue. Then she heard Obi-Wan stop his wife. Between the two, Obi-Wan had mellowed over the years while Siri's temper had remained pretty easily ignited, but Padmé knew it was because the woman was concerned for her. She did appreciate Obi-Wan's calmer temperament right now, though.

"Padmé, please reconsider," Obi-Wan nearly pleaded in a gentle voice. "You can't handle Vader on your own, not in the state you're in, and certainly not for more than a few hours."

"What's done is done. I've already told Vader, and he's agreed to go to Naboo with me." Padmé explained tiredly. "Join us there when you're done."

"We'll be there," both Obi-Wan and Siri immediately said.

"Don't worry, Padmé – we'll get the issue with Tlenden over with quickly." Siri said.

"He may not even leave for Salkende today," Obi-Wan muttered.

"It doesn't matter – you two can't stay here any longer." Padmé shook her head. "And I'm leaving right after the afternoon session, anyway."

"That soon?" Siri asked worriedly.

"It wasn't your decision, I presume," Obi-Wan remarked darkly.

Padmé halfheartedly smiled and shrugged. "Not really."

She heard both of them sigh and then saw them walk to her side. Finally looking at them, Padmé attempted to smile again, but couldn't quite pull it off. Obi-Wan placed his hand on her shoulder as if to say something, but Siri got on her knees and gathered Padmé in a strong hug. Obi-Wan joined shortly after, and the three just held each other, unable to speak, but sharing what little strength they had left.

* * *

The rain started a little after noon. The cloud coverage was so thick sunlight barely penetrated it. The ground on various levels of the city had already accumulated enough water to soak people's feet.

Tarkin kicked at the water as if it would make it move out of his way. He had been prepared to relax this afternoon, but Vader's new predicament changed the agenda very quickly—at least until the Sith Lord left the planet.

Entering the palace, Tarkin stomped and rubbed his feet on the carpeting in the entrance in an attempt to dry them. Looking around the large entranceway he saw that it was barely lit due to the cloudiness. It seemed exceptionally barren as well, but it was normal at this time of day. Everyone was either at lunch or elsewhere in the city.

Tarkin hadn't seen Vader since their conversation; he wasn't sure what the Sith Lord was doing at this point, but he certainly was curious. Heading towards the lift, Tarkin pressed the button for Vader's floor, but the lift stopped at the level of the throne room first. Wondering if he might run into a guard or perhaps even the emperor himself, Tarkin took a step towards the back of the lift to make room. When the doors opened, Vader stood before him.

"Milord," Tarkin acknowledged, a little surprised. He bowed. "What are you doing here?"

"I had to report to the emperor," Vader replied, carefully addressing the emperor since there were other people in the hall.

"What did he have to say about your trip?" Tarkin asked, very curious to hear the answer.

"He said it was a good idea to seize the opportunity."

The emperor really _didn't_ care if Vader took his sweet time, did he? Well, in either case, it still fit well with Tarkin's plans. "Did you tell him about your discussion with me? Or the kiss?"

"I told him that Senator Amidala wished that I accompany her to Naboo," Vader answered as he hit the button for his floor, not seeming to notice that Tarkin had already done so.

"That's all you said?"

Vader nodded, but his head bobbed a little too much. Tarkin quirked an eyebrow at him. "You still haven't slept, have you?"

The doors to the lift closed and Vader took a deep breath, saying nothing.

"You need to rest," Tarkin warned him. He couldn't be passing out in front of the senator; that would show weakness, and they both knew it.

"Master told me to sleep." Vader finally said.

Tarkin nodded curtly. Good. At least the emperor had some sense between the two of them. Then another question popped into his mind. "How are you two getting to Naboo?"

"I told the senator to come to the palace. We'll take a shuttle from here."

"Have you arranged for that?"

Vader shook his head. "I reported to Master first. I'll take care of it after I awaken."

"You don't need to lose sleep over that," Tarkin stated. "I'll arrange everything. Just pack and rest. What time do you want to leave?"

"1500."

Of course; Vader wasn't going to wait and let the senator have too much time to make any covert arrangements. Tarkin was surprised Vader hadn't said he would just meet her in the senate arena immediately after the session; he presumed the man was still a little wary around her after their last encounter.

"It'll be handled, milord." Tarkin assured the young Sith just as they reached his floor.

Vader nodded in acknowledgement and left.

* * *

_The room was enormous. High arches held all four walls, and the ceiling was domed and had a mosaic of a beautiful garden. The place was made of stone and marble, and it echoed loudly as the inhabitants spoke in hushed, excited whispers. Fountains could vaguely be heard in the distance. Despite the architecture, it was apparent that this room was a recent addition to the palace; the stone color was slightly lighter than the rest of the palace, and it looked too pristine._

_Everyone occupying the room was dressed the same. They all wore the battle outfit provided for handmaidens: black trousers, a magenta top with a skirt coat that reached the back of her knees, and a utility belt with a blaster holster. There was about twenty of them altogether. They had all applied and been trained to become handmaidens, ready to aid whoever was elected as the next monarch of Naboo. But now… now was the moment of truth. A queen had been selected—_Padmé_ (the fact that she had run really shouldn't have surprised her, but knowing that her best friend was queen of the planet was still jarring)—and now it was time for the handmaidens to be matched to her. Out of the twenty, only six would be chosen._

_Siri meandered through the crowd, listening to different conversations as they all pondered how they would be selected._

"_You're Siri, aren't you?"_

_Siri turned around to see someone who looked strikingly like Padmé approaching her. She was very young, probably Padmé's age._

"_Yeah, that's me." Siri replied, turning to face her fully. "Who are you?"_

"_My name's Sabé." She introduced herself. "I heard you were the best fighter in the group."_

_Siri raised an eyebrow. Was she kissing up to her? That wasn't going to make Siri go any easier on her._

"_You'll need it for the competition," Sabé continued. "I heard that's what we were doing. We're going to go through some sort of course and compete with each other. But let me warn you – you may be the best fighter, but I'm the best impersonator. We'll both make it as handmaidens, but I'm first in line as a decoy."_

_Siri barked out a laugh. This Sabé person's confidence was somehow refreshing; the others were either nervous or so competitive they were completely unlikable. "Sure, you can be the decoy; I'll still be the one kicking the most asteroid."_

_Sabé also laughed. "We'll see."_

Siri felt her stomach churn, and she opened her eyes. Echoing voices boomed around the large senate arena as Padmé sat in the center seat of the pod. Obi-Wan, Rekk, and Tsa sat along the right side of the pod, all looking out at whoever was speaking. Siri shifted slightly, putting a hand to her stomach to push away the intense ache that had filled it just thinking about Sabé. The two had been together since Padmé began her term as queen. Sabé had been extremely loyal and was willing to die for her queen. And now she…

Siri shook her head. She supposed Sabé did fulfill that oath. But of all the ways to go… it would have been a more noble death to die taking a blaster bolt or being shot while acting as a decoy, or just kriffing _anything_ apart from what had happened. Sabé probably hadn't even known what was coming. She had never known of Padmé's involvement in the Alliance; yes, she had most certainly _suspected_ something, but the trio had never included her for her own safety.

Kriffing, blasted, sick, twisted Empire. Siri had hated it ever since she was a child. When she had turned twelve she had immediately joined the Naboo Service Corps, both for the adventure and for the opportunity to help… and, yes, maybe also to just see Obi-Wan again; he had enlisted two years before her. In either case, what she had seen was not what she had expected; the atrocities the Empire had done were so unbelievable it sometimes felt like she had been in some sort of HoloNet drama. There was _no way_ people could have been that _sick_, that _cruel_… and yet she had seen the repercussions of it over and over again. She had seen the slavery, the murder, the destruction… all of it. By the time she was fourteen she had made a solemn vow to take down the Empire, even if she had to do it by herself.

But then she and Obi-Wan had discovered the Rebel operative, and the idea of joining the Alliance had lingered in her mind for years to come. Eventually Obi-Wan and Siri both agreed to it and brought the issue up with Padmé, who had been queen for a few years by then. They had all thought it would be the best thing they could do: Padmé had thought it would help the helpless and the oppressed, Obi-Wan had thought it would bring peace to the galaxy, and Siri had though it would destroy the Empire. In the end, was it worth it?

Of _course_ it was.

As much as Siri felt guilty for somehow not knowing that Sabé would get involved despite her innocence, she still didn't regret her decisions. As much as she felt like Padmé didn't deserve to be in this mess, that Siri somehow could have done _something_ to ensure her sister-in-law didn't get into such a mess with Darth Vader, she still wouldn't change her life choices. Siri had never been on the front lines of the battles, but she had seen the corpses on the empty battlefields; she had heard the sobs of the families of the fallen; she had experienced enough. And she _would_ fulfill her vow, no matter the cost.

She just sometimes wished Obi-Wan and Padmé hadn't also made similar vows. Still, she loved them all the more for it. There was no one Siri would rather fight alongside with and die with than her husband and sister-in-law.

But Padmé wouldn't be doing anything alongside them if she died alone on Naboo. Siri shuddered, thinking about what was to come; Padmé was going to be with Vader _constantly_, and without any sort of protection. She _hated_ this plan; she hated every single bit of it. It made no sense to let Padmé go on her own like this. There was _no way_ they could trust that Vader wouldn't take advantage of the situation. Obi-Wan had said they had to trust Padmé's judgment, but Siri didn't think Padmé was using _any _sort of judgment; not if she was crazy enough to think this was a sound plan. _Padmé herself_ wasn't thrilled with this idea; why were they allowing her to do it, then?

Obi-Wan had barely spoken to Siri on the matter; just after they were shooed out by Padmé the two had quietly and hastily made their way to Al. The trip back had been equally as silent; Obi-Wan often said nothing when he was in a stressful situation. He would be too busy thinking of what was to come. Siri, on the other hand, preferred to think aloud. Inevitably, they both drove each other nuts when they were anxious, but they also calmed each other down.

Looking at her husband, Siri felt her jaw tighten. She _had_ to talk to him before the session was over. They had to agree to _fix_ this before it got any worse. She was definitely ready to throw caution to the winds; all three had basically come to the conclusion that they weren't returning after the final recess. Of course, that also meant that the negotiation with Senator Tlenden would have to go very well and be complete within two weeks. It was possible, but…

Siri shook her head. Obi-Wan could handle talking to Tlenden. Obi-Wan was _good_ at talking to people. Siri was better at _demanding_ rather than negotiating. Patience had never been her strength; she knew how to keep her mouth shut when people pissed her off, but being civil to them was a _completely_ different matter. She had barely held it together with Vader at dinner, but that was because she knew that he could and would kill any of them in an instant if they said something wrong. Tlenden, on the other hand, was somebody who apparently thought that some _internal matter_ was more important than the entire _kriffing galaxy_. Siri had no tolerance for that. As such, she wouldn't be helpful at the negotiations, so she _needed_ to be with Padmé. Surely she could at least convince Obi-Wan and Padmé of _that_.

Glancing at her chronometer, Siri realized that the session was coming to an end. People began to file out steadily. Rekk and Tsa exchanged pleasantries with each other and then with Obi-Wan and Padmé. Siri smiled over at Cordé, who smiled grimly in return; she hadn't taken the news of Sabé's death that well, either. Siri felt guilty for not trying to console her, but she had enough on her plate right now. The best help she could offer at this point was to leave and ensure that no one else was threatened by proximity.

After the pod emptied except for the trio, Siri stood and immediately pleaded her case. "Padmé, let me come with you. Obi-Wan can handle the negotiations on his own; you know my temper would probably just get in the way, anyway."

Padmé, who had already begun to look both nervous and even more tired than before, tried to answer. Obi-Wan, however, interrupted her, directing his attention to Siri.

"Darth Vader would suspect something," he said. "It would be odd for you to not travel with me for a vacation."

"You could say it's work related," Siri reasoned.

"Yes, and then we'd have to make up some story, and then Vader would confirm or deny it through Intelligence." Obi-Wan immediately replied.

Siri shut her mouth and gritted her teeth, swearing internally. His logic was sound, but _shavit_ why the hell was Obi-Wan _defending_ Padmé on this? And why the hell couldn't Siri come up with a better argument against it?

Sighing heavily, Obi-Wan put a hand on his wife, and immediately his calming presence entered into her, soothing her frayed nerves. Siri felt her heart rate slow, and the angry, churning knot in her stomach settled somewhat. "Dear, we have to go as planned. It's the only way."

Siri closed her eyes and took a small step towards her husband, almost embracing him, but she held herself in check. Public displays like that were highly frowned upon in the senate building, and while Siri was never one for caring about stupid protocol, she knew better than to make a scene. Still, she just wanted to be held. She just wanted time to freeze and to just be with her husband and not worry about any of this junk.

Feeling her husband turn towards Padmé, Siri heard Obi-Wan say, "We will finish the negotiations as soon as possible, Padmé. We'll come for you on Naboo. Where will you be?"

"Varykino," Padmé answered.

Despite her husband's calming presence, Siri felt herself grow nervous again. Varykino was extremely isolated; it was out in the lake country where property was expansive and private. There wouldn't be anybody else for kilometers.

"After we convince Tlenden to help us, we'll meet you at Varykino, then." Obi-Wan informed her. As soon as he finished speaking, he removed his hand from Siri's shoulder. Opening her eyes, Siri saw him wrap one arm around Padmé, kissing her on the forehead. Looking her in the eye, he whispered, "Be safe."

Padmé nodded, her eyes growing glassy. "I will."

Siri immediately pulled Padmé into a tight hug. Krif protocol. Krif making a scene. She was _not _going to just sit around and act like Padmé didn't need support. The two held each other for an eternity, neither wanting to let go. "We'll come for you, Padmé. And we'll kick Vader's asteroid if he tries anything."

She felt Padmé relax under the embrace and chuckle softly. "I know you will."

The two released each other from the hug and then Obi-Wan touched Siri's arm as an indication that they should go. Siri suddenly felt her feet freeze in place. She didn't want to leave Padmé. Obi-Wan didn't seem to either, despite his earlier movement; he hadn't taken a single step out of the pod. It was instead Padmé who made the first move. Smiling to them both, she exited the pod and turned down the hallway, vanishing from sight. Siri looked pleadingly at Obi-Wan as if begging him to stop her. He just watched where she had been.

After a few minutes, Obi-Wan closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and then opened them once more. Stepping towards the exit, he nodded to Siri. "Let's go."

Siri followed mutely, feeling as if she had just said her last goodbye to Padmé.

* * *

The palace was relatively quiet today. Servants and slaves were busy at work, but many regional governors and officers were busy elsewhere. Some were going on vacations or tours of their sectors. The officers were at the military bases or Intelligence. The place was so silent and the pouring rain so loud that all one could hear was the pitter patter against the windows. The dull light barely lit the grand hallways.

And then he heard it: a distinct humming and buzzing sound echoing down the hall. It would change pitch often, growing louder and higher as if it were moving, and then it would resume its low hum. A higher pitch would shout suddenly and sporadically, piercing his ears. In his mind he sensed a presence so familiar it was practically his own.

Palpatine turned the corner and entered an internal balcony that overlooked a training room in the floor below. Darth Vader was circling, his eyes covered with some cloth tied around his face. Training droids buzzed all around him, firing at random as he easily deflected all their blasts. He eventually settled in the middle of the room, returning the blaster bolts to their owners. The training droids fell to the ground in a smoking heap. Vader paused in his work only for a moment, probing the Force. Palpatine sensed him lightly touch his consciousness; he was testing the waters to see if Palpatine wanted him to stop. When the emperor said nothing, Vader raised his blade once more and summoned twice as many training droids as before.

After watching the young Sith apprentice dispatch these droids in the same manner as before, Palpatine leaned slightly on the railing and said, "I thought I told you to sleep."

Vader immediately stopped and deactivated his blade. Pulling the cloth off his face, he bowed to Palpatine. "I did sleep, Master."

Palpatine said nothing. Instead, he immediately latched onto the Force and built up immense energy within himself, sending an enormous lightening strike at his apprentice. The young man quickly caught it in his hand and diffused it. Palpatine nodded; yes, he was alert enough now. He had been barely holding himself up before; the foolish boy sometimes forgot about his own well being while on a mission. He never seemed to remember one of the tenets of being a Sith Lord: survival. One would think that would be top priority in anybody's mind, but Vader was far from an ordinary person.

"Is everything arranged for your departure?" Palpatine asked.

"Yes, Master."

Watching Vader, Palpatine lowered his hand and leaned on the railing once more. The latest development in Vader's mission had certainly entertained Palpatine. He knew Amidala was a traitor and needed to be eradicated, but it had to be done just right. Also, the senator would do well as a training tool for his apprentice; there was no sense in letting her life go completely to waste. He would squeeze every last drop of usefulness out of her before she perished.

Nodding to the dismantled training droids, he remarked, "You need more stimulation than what those can offer. Continuing to train with them is foolish and a waste of time."

Vader nodded. "As you wish, Master. Is there anything you would prefer I spar with?"

Palpatine smirked. "Do you remember the training outpost?"

Vader was silent a moment as he pried the memory from his mind. Eventually he acknowledged Palpatine.

"Meet me there." Palpatine ordered.

Vader immediately bowed. "Yes, Master."

The young Sith apprentice immediately departed. Palpatine made his way to a different training room that lay far deeper in the palace. It was large and filled with statues of ancient Sith. Holocrons lined the shelves. The room was dark due to the dull light outside. Palpatine lowered the shades to make it almost pitch black. He strolled to another observation balcony and then gave a droid an order to retrieve the first sparring partner. Without bothering to look for Vader, he took his place on the balcony. He could sense the boy was already there and waiting.

A door opened and stark light blinded both Palpatine and Vader. Palpatine closed his eyes, seating himself right by the railing. Stretching his senses out into the Force, he felt Vader settled in one corner of the room as he filled the space with his consciousness. He also felt the sparring partner enter; it was at its wit's end, thinking erratically, but bloodthirsty for a kill. Palpatine felt himself smile; he never grew tired of seeing broken Jedi placed against his apprentice.

Vader immediately latched onto the Jedi's presence. Palpatine felt the young Sith focus his energy and creep ever closer to the prisoner. When he was halfway there, he gathered an enormous amount of the Force within himself, charging forward with ferocious energy. He didn't activate his blade until he was centimeters from the Jedi's face, and his blade immediately sank into its chest. The Jedi gasped and fell.

Sighing, Palpatine leaned forward. He had expected a quick fight; Vader's prowess was unmatched. However, there was still a vital mistake in his fighting, one that _had_ to be rectified.

"Lord Vader," he summoned. He sensed Vader turn to him and heard him genuflect. "You are ignoring my teachings."

Ah, there it was. The Force immediately cried with shame, anger, resentment, hurt, and concern. It hit Palpatine like an explosion, but instead of lingering, it immediately vanished as if it had never been there. Palpatine remembered the first time he had ever sensed the eruption from his apprentice; he had physically flinched, not expecting it. Now he was used to it, but it was more frustrating than ever. Vader had such _potential_; every time Palpatine sensed those emotions, he sensed how powerful his apprentice could be. But the boy never let himself grow that powerful; he never used his emotions as fuel for fighting.

"On what matter have I disobeyed you, Master? How do you need me to improve?" Vader asked. His voice held none of the emotions Palpatine had sensed seconds before; the boy had them tightly under control once more.

"You are a _Sith Lord_," Palpatine snarled, shooting to his feet. "Recite the code."

"Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Through passion, I gain strength. Through—"

"_That_ is precisely the problem." Palpatine interrupted him. "You have _no_ passion. A Sith Lord uses his anger as a _weapon_. You almost act like a _Jedi_ in your manner of fighting."

He felt a ghost of pain; whether it was his own exasperation or the boy's he wasn't sure. In either case, Vader remained silent.

"Use your _anger_, Lord Vader," Palpatine ordered. "Don't just defeat your next opponent—_destroy_ it."

Motioning for the droid to bring another deranged Jedi (Palpatine had plenty from the purge; all he had to do was capture them and break their minds. It was simple and entertaining enough.), Palpatine sat back in his seat and awaited the next battle.

Vader barely waited for the next opponent to enter before literally cutting him into three pieces. Palpatine sighed. He still felt nothing from the boy.

"Brutality is not anger," Palpatine snapped as he shot to his feet, walking down to the main floor. "Summon forth your _anger_, Vader._ Feel_ it."

Vader stood before him, his brow twitching slightly. Palpatine could sense it through the Force as the boy seemed to claw at everything in his environment to spark _something_ that he couldn't even grasp. Eventually, the boy got down on one knee once more.

"Forgive me, Master. If I cannot serve you then I am of no use. Give the order and I will—"

"Silence," Palpatine hissed. Then he felt something twinge within him. His apprentice's devotion was extremely satisfying; Palpatine knew treachery would never be an option in the boy's mind. Something about the boy's loyalty made Palpatine feel odd; he wasn't sure what it was, but his anger diminished greatly and he just sighed heavily. Motioning for his apprentice to stand, Palpatine said, "Go prepare for your mission, my apprentice. This issue of yours will resolve itself in time."

Vader rose and bowed deeply, departing. Yes, the issue _would_ resolve itself; that's what this mission was all about.

* * *

The rain was heavier than it had been in weeks. It was almost as if nature itself was fighting her every step. The wind nearly threw her off her feet, and she was soaking wet by the time she reached her apartment. Padmé shivered as she entered, immediately going to her room to dry off. After dressing more comfortably for travel, she looked bleakly at a luggage bag. She really hated herself for coming up with this idea. But it had to be done.

Packing her clothes and other accoutrements, Padmé felt herself slowing more and more. Fighting the weather had worn her out even more, and her emotional exhaustion was making itself more known physically. She wasn't sure she'd be able to make to the palace at this point. Glancing at the chronometer, she gasped; it was almost 1500. It would be a miracle if she could get to the palace on time at this rate.

Yanking the luggage off her bed, Padmé rushed out of her apartment, ensuring she had everything and that it was locked. She then hastily called for a taxi and was on her way to the palace. The flight was relatively quick, and she was a little grateful for it; the sooner she just started to get this over with, the better.

Exiting the taxi, Padmé looked at the palace. The monstrous building towered over everything in the vicinity. A large plaza stood in front of it with extravagant fountains flanking a statue of the emperor. Padmé shuddered, shaking off a wave of nausea. She walked to the large entrance stairs and told the guards who she was. They allowed her to pass, and she timidly made her way inside.

The entrance foyer was larger than some of the grandest rooms in Theed's royal palace. It was colored in blood red carpets and tapestries, and flora from many different worlds lined the charcoal colored walls. A large crystal chandelier hovered in the center of the room, shining light in the darkened area since the sunlight couldn't pierce through the dark clouds. The carpets seemed to muffle the echoes that would typically indicate the size of the room, but that somehow made it seem all the more daunting. Not only was she in this monumental space, but it was deathly quiet too; Padmé shuddered once again.

"Senator."

Jumping, Padmé turned to see Grand Moff Tarkin approaching her. She bowed stiffly. "Governor."

"Lord Vader is waiting for you," Tarkin stated. "Follow me."

Padmé obeyed, carrying her luggage and silently following the governor's lead. They went to a side passage and entered a lift, leading to another winding hall. Eventually the two arrived in a large hangar that held a single ship. It was active, its engines humming and causing a harsh wind to whip around the area.

Darth Vader stood by the entrance ramp. With a slight nod he acknowledged Padmé wordlessly before boarding without any other indication or formality. Padmé took a deep breath and squeezed her luggage to stop her hand from trembling. Nodding once more to Tarkin, she walked to the ship and up the ramp. Vader was nowhere to be seen; she supposed he went to his own quarters. The ship was a standard Imperial diplomatic shuttle, so she knew the layout well enough. Padmé made her way to a guest room and threw her luggage on the floor, collapsing on the bed.

Well, she was stuck here, for better or for worse. She had gotten herself into this mess; she had to deal with it, and she had to take advantage of it.

Hopefully this wouldn't royally backfire on her.

* * *

**Hope you all enjoyed the chapter. :)**


	8. Final Recess Begins

Al's ship, the _Invariant Beauty_, was somewhat rugged looking despite its elegant teardrop shaped hull. The ship came to almost a point in the cockpit area where windows lined the walls and consoles were just beneath them, all surrounding the pilot's seat. Al's ship was at that awkward size where a co-pilot wasn't necessary, but piloting alone was still a little trickier than it should have been. Nevertheless, Al, with the help of some of his underworld friends, had managed to retrofit the cockpit to his liking where everything was in reach and a co-pilot could hop in at any time on one of the side consoles.

The _Invariant Beauty_ had two floors, though the existence of the upper floor was not easily noticed. The main floor had the exit ramp in the back. The ship had been designed somewhat oddly in that the engine room was only accessible when the ramp was up; for that reason, it had made the ship hard to sell, and so Al had gotten it at a very good price. He could deal with the quirks of the place, after all. Closer to the cockpit end was a lounge, a kitchenette, and his quarters. Al's quarters contained a small cot and dresser, and in the corner of the room was a quasi refresher, shower and all; he didn't have room in his ship for a refresher all by itself. Only accessible to Al's bedroom was what most people thought to be the main cargo hold… and in a sense it was. It was the _official_ cargo hold, at least.

Walking in a straight line from the entrance ramp to the cockpit, most of the lounge was to the left, as well as the kitchenette, while Al's quarters were on the right. On the wall that had the entrance to the cockpit, however, was a hidden panel, just to the left of the cockpit door. The panel opened to allow access to a ladder. It went to a lower level that was purely for mechanical purposes—fixing any sort of damage to the shield generator, life support back-up, etc—and then it also led to the hidden upper level. The upper level had a low ceiling, so low one almost had to crouch. Laid into the walls were two small cots, one atop the other, in case Al ever had a need to transport passengers. This quasi bedroom also contained its own refresher area, and beyond the bedroom was the ship's main cargo hold—the _important_ one.

Currently the entire ship was humming lowly and vibrating softly. The upper level had no windows, but its occupants knew that the cause of the smooth, steady sounds and feelings was that they were journeying in hyperspace. They'd been in hyperspace for the past fifteen minutes, after all.

Al entered the cargo hold where Obi-Wan and Siri sat leaning against a storage cabinet.

"So, anybody want to tell me what's actually going on?" he asked. They'd barely had any time to speak when they met up with the Zabrak; the three had simply made their hasty way to his ship and had taken off. After that, Al had been working non-stop in the engine room; their lift off had been rockier than he had liked, so Obi-Wan and Siri hadn't seen him since they'd entered hyperspace.

"How are the engines?" Siri questioned softly as she leaned her head against her husband's shoulder.

Al shrugged. "They're just a little worn is all. I was going to stop by Nar Shaddaa for some trade to see if I could get the latest goods, but that's when Organa called me here. It's nothing too serious…ish."

"Ish?" Obi-Wan repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Well it won't kill us," Al rolled his eyes. "Just pray we don't run into Imperial trouble."

"Terrific." Siri muttered.

"Now don't change the subject," Al admonished as he leaned against the wall opposite from them and crossed his arms. "What in the blazes happened between this morning and noon? You were all planning on leaving at the end of the session, and now Padmé's not with you and you guys are going to Salkende? I presume the location has to do with Tlenden—isn't that the one Athia had been talking about?—but what in heaven's name happened to Padmé?"

"It's a long story," Siri replied darkly.

"We've got twenty-one hours to Salkende." Al rebutted.

Obi-Wan sighed heavily. "After Kuna's death, we came up with the idea of distracting the Imperial who was investigating us… unfortunately that Imperial happened to be Darth Vader. Padmé's idea of distraction was… unorthodox… and so she's been trying to get close to Vader so he might… I don't know, I wouldn't say _trust_ her… not mind being around her, I guess? That's honestly the best she'll get out of him. In either case, she's established a small rapport with him so she can distract him while Siri and I handle this matter."

Al took a small step forward, his arms lowering to his sides as he grew tense. "She isn't… she isn't with Vader _now_, is she?"

Obi-Wan nodded grimly. "I'm afraid so."

"What's she thinking?!"

Siri barked out a laugh. "Get in line, Al; we all want to ask that."

"We've gone over why it had to happen this way." Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose.

Al noticed the tension between the two and decided it was probably time for him to let them calm down before he pushed them any farther. Sighing, he remarked, "Well, the upstairs is all yours until we get there, but don't mess with my stuff in the hold, got it?"

Obi-Wan and Siri grunted in acknowledgement, and the smuggler departed.

The cargo hold was silent for a long time. Obi-Wan was exhausted, and based on how limp his wife felt against him, she was as well. His eyelids sagged heavily, and it felt as if even twitching a finger took too much energy. His mind was foggy, and the constant soft hum of the hyperdrive began to lull him to sleep. However, he only hovered at the precipice of sleep; he was too agitated to actually rest. His heart was beating too fast, and although his mind was sluggish, it was still flashing images of everything that could go wrong with the negotiations… and everything that could go wrong between Vader and Padmé.

Obi-Wan sighed heavily through his nose, closing his eyes as his head leaned against his wife. Out of the three, he normally held himself together the best during a crisis; Siri would get ill tempered and aggressive, and Padmé would get similarly rash. He had been trying to maintain his calm, but he knew he hadn't been succeeding that much. It especially didn't help now that he was left sitting in a cargo hold with his wife with twenty-one hours to do nothing but think about their situation.

Siri suddenly laughed, making Obi-Wan jump. "We're so kriffing screwed."

Obi-Wan slowed his breathing, his heart rate even higher than before. "Let's try not to view it as hopeless, Siri."

He felt his wife grow tense. "Please tell me how it isn't, Obi. _Please_."

Her voice cracked just a bit, and Obi-Wan felt like smacking himself. It wasn't just Padmé's situation and the issue with Tlenden that was bothering Siri; Sabé had been a dear friend of hers, and the woman's death was finally hitting her.

Obi-Wan felt his throat tighten. He didn't know what to say; he was never good at these situations. He could convince people of anything pertaining to negotiations, trades, deals, battles, anything, _anything_ but these emotional situations; Obi-Wan had never been well equipped for emotional situations. Reading other people's emotions? Easy. Knowing how that could affect their attitudes, their actions, their ways of thinking? Manageable. _Understanding_ their emotions and being able to _empathize_? Well, as Siri had once put it, Obi-Wan's emotional range went from calm to snarky to jumpy and back.

When things weren't the status quo he would get nervous, perhaps agitated, and he would show these emotions to those with whom he felt comfortable. But other emotions… with other emotions he expressed them differently or had difficulty expressing them at all. He was capable of showing he loved someone, but he often did it in small ways and few words; Obi-Wan had never been the type to shower people with affection and constantly say he loved them. And showing grief? Obi-Wan just couldn't. He couldn't show that in front of anyone. It was too private. He recalled the last time he had actually broken down in front of anyone was with Siri back when they were dating and they had just gotten out of a refugee area; he had been helping a group of orphans relocate, but a disease had come through and killed all of them. Ever since then, any sort of negative emotion was pushed firmly down until he was alone, or it would rear its ugly head in the form of nervousness.

In either case, it also meant he was lousy at trying to console anybody else. So when Siri began to sob quietly, all her husband could do was awkwardly place his hand on her lap and attempt to find the right words to say.

He had been a small comfort to Padmé yesterday, but she had been panicked, depressed, stressed… it just wasn't the same as someone completely losing their composure. As he watched his wife cry, Obi-Wan could only continue to rub her leg slowly in some sort of attempt to soothe her.

Siri slammed her fist into a storage cabinet, making her husband jump once again. "Damn that kriffing murglak! How could any monster—she was _innocent_—that kriffing son of a Hutt—"

"Siri," Obi-Wan interrupted. His wife grew silent and looked at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears but also with hatred. Suddenly unsure as to what to say, Obi-Wan just used his sleeve to wipe her face.

Somehow his wife seemed to understand that he was trying to help, and her anger diminished slightly. But then she just burst into tears again. Obi-Wan watched her worriedly before slowly gathering her into a hug. Honestly he couldn't come up with anything to say; any sort of words of comfort seemed empty.

Obi-Wan suddenly became guilty. He knew he should feel the pain of Sabé's death as well; he had known her for many years; he'd laughed, talked, ate, and worked with her. Yet he couldn't bring himself to feel it just yet; he just felt numb. After he'd briefly let his emotions wash over him back in his office, he'd grown steadily emptier… or perhaps just steadily more focused. Padmé's situation had him worried. Whatever could possibly be making Tlenden unwilling to aid the Alliance was also worrisome. Siri's safety was a primary concern as well. The survival of the Alliance, where they would go once the recess was over, how safe their family would be, whether they'd all even be in one piece by the time they got to that point… after Obi-Wan had released his emotions a bit in his office, his mind became plagued with all these thoughts and he just didn't have ability to feel Sabé's loss on top of all that. He felt too unfocused; too many things were happening at once, and he just couldn't register it all.

That still didn't change the fact that he figured he should be at least almost as upset as Siri. That he should somehow _feel_ Sabé's loss.

The couple sat there for what seemed an eternity. Siri eventually began to stop crying, muttering death threats and swears under her breath. Her grief was giving way to fury once more. Obi-Wan tightened the hug. What had happened to Sabé was unthinkable and devastating, but… he knew how carried away Siri could get with her anger, and that wasn't what they needed now, even if they did have a long time to ponder upon it. She had gotten her tears out; she didn't need to spend the rest of the trip stewing on revenge plots.

Despite Obi-Wan's attempts to relay this to his wife without saying anything, Siri either didn't catch the hint or just didn't care. "You think if I shot the wretch I could at least laugh before they shoot me in return?"

Obi-Wan sighed heavily, placing his head atop hers.

"I know, Obi," Siri muttered before Obi-Wan could say anything, and then she barked out what was partially a laugh and partially a sob. "But by the gods, I've got to at least imagine killing him _once_."

Obi-Wan let himself chuckle just a little at his wife's stubbornness. "Poisoning would probably be the safest way to go about it."

"Hm," Siri hummed softly, relaxing in her husband's embrace. "Judging from what he was like at dinner it would take a miracle to make him ingest any sort of poison."

Obi-Wan briefly thought back to that dinner, which by now seemed like an eternity ago. Vader had most definitely been unnerving yet bizarre that night; honestly, Obi-Wan should have expected the interrogation, but the amount of information the man had known was unsettling… and then his odd reaction to generic questions was just… confusing. It was almost as if the man genuinely didn't know how to handle a normal conversation. Obi-Wan still didn't know what he'd been playing at with that.

"What was he like at lunch?" Siri asked, her voice growing much softer.

"Silent as the grave, mostly," Obi-Wan replied, leaning his head back against the storage cabinet. "He didn't seem very interested in talking at all."

"Maybe he'll be like that with Padmé," Siri guessed. "Maybe he'll just leave her alone."

Obi-Wan sighed. "I doubt it."

Neither wanted to talk more about Padmé's safety, so they both became silent. Obi-Wan enjoyed the quiet; although he wasn't much for affection, the embrace with his wife was as therapeutic for himself as it was for her. Just feeling her breathe against him was enough to make him actually start to fall asleep and let the exhaustion envelop him. Somehow just having her beside him quieted his mind. He still wasn't quite asleep when Siri spoke again.

"What do you think life would be like if we'd never joined the Alliance?"

Such a question might have been provocative or worrying, but Obi-Wan was honestly too tired to be bothered. He just pondered on the query lazily. "We wouldn't be in a smuggler's cargo hold for starters."

Siri laughed again, far more freely this time. She sounded much better than before. "Ah, we do live an interesting life, don't we, Obi?"

Obi-Wan smiled, closing his eyes. "Interesting is probably the best word to describe it."

"The nicest, you mean."

"Hm."

A pause, and then, "You think Padmé would've found a man by now?"

Obi-Wan opened his eyes abruptly. Imagining Padmé with a boyfriend or husband was an odd thought; the man would have to go through Obi-Wan, Sola, and their parents' screening first, of course. If that wasn't enough to detract him, then he might be worthy… but in the end it just didn't seem to fit. "Padmé's too busy saving the galaxy. Even if she weren't part of the Alliance she'd be dedicating all her time doing something else."

"Maybe he could dedicate his life alongside her."

"I suppose," Obi-Wan pondered.

"What about us?"

"What do you mean?"

"Where would we be now?" Siri broke from the embrace to sit directly in front of Obi-Wan and look him in the eye. "You would have never become a representative. I'd probably still be a handmaiden, though; that makes good pay, so you might be able to just be a househusband and pamper me when I get home. We'd live in some side tower of the palace since I'd still be a handmaiden. Talk about the life of luxury; I miss Theed."

"Yes, you _adored_ the politics," Obi-Wan remarked with a smile.

"Apart from that." Siri waved a dismissive hand. "At least we didn't constantly fear for our lives."

"You were the queen's bodyguard. You'd be the one to go to the front lines if there was an attack."

"That's not the same as what we're going through now." Siri rolled her eyes. "At least you can _do _something if somebody's shooting at you instead of hiding in the shadows."

"There's less violence this way," Obi-Wan reasoned.

"People are still dying," Siri replied. "We're just not stuck in the middle of _that_. I'd feel more useful if we were."

"We _are_ being useful, Siri."

"I never said we weren't. I just hate doing it this way."

Deciding they were hitting a dead end, Obi-Wan returned to the original subject. "Well, I suppose you _would_ still be a handmaiden. I don't know what I'd do. I guess I would have stayed with my old job; organizing stuff for the service corps wasn't too bad, and the office was just by the palace, anyway."

Siri gave Obi-Wan a smile, but it seemed forced. It _felt_ forced. She was just humoring him at this point. Or herself. He wasn't sure. But he could tell she didn't regret joining the Alliance; her main regret was probably choosing the job of a spy over a soldier.

The real question was if _Obi-Wan_ regretted joining the Alliance.

Honestly, it wasn't even a matter of regret. Joining the Alliance was just the right thing to do. It _felt_ right. Obi-Wan wasn't one to use emotion over logic (at least when he wasn't nervous about something), but something about the Alliance just… _felt_ correct. Every fiber in Obi-Wan's body screamed that it was a just cause, the _right_ cause. Just like every fiber in his body screamed that the galaxy was diseased, and the Empire was the cause of it. For as long as he could remember, Obi-Wan always had the strange feeling that the galaxy was _empty_. Something always felt like it was missing, like something irreplaceable had been torn out of the fabric of life itself. He still didn't understand it, but he'd learned not to question it. It was the deepest gut feeling he had ever experienced, the deepest he ever _could_ experience, and it never went away. He often didn't mention it, but the question had been brought up once with Siri shortly before they had joined the Alliance. She had said she felt similarly, but it was more like the Empire was sucking the life out of the galaxy. It wasn't quite the same as what Obi-Wan felt, but it was still enough to convince both that they had to get more involved in eradicating the current government.

Eventually Siri sighed and sat beside Obi-Wan once more, leaning her head on his shoulder. Their conversation seemed to have finally relaxed her enough. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, settling more comfortably against the storage cabinet. They were both too tired to bother going to the bunks at this point. Siri and Obi-Wan simply breathed in each other's company and fell asleep.

* * *

Padmé moaned. Her feet felt odd, as if all the blood had rushed to her toes. Belatedly, she realized it was because they'd been hanging off the edge of the bed for heaven knew how long. Blearily, she opened her eyes, awakening from her exhausted slumber. Padmé sat up and looked around the room. The bed she sat atop was large, warm, soft, and very comfortable. Across from it was a desk made from a special alloy that made it shine like polished stone. The walls were a pale red in color, matching the darker red blanket and pillows on the bed. A lounge chair was by a large viewing port in the corner.

Eventually, Padmé's gaze settled upon her luggage, which had been haphazardly dropped at the doorway. Slowly dragging herself off the bed, she put her luggage by the desk and wandered into the private refresher that was attached to the bedroom. Hazarding a glance in the mirror, Padmé sighed and shrugged at her slightly disheveled appearance. She attempted to make herself look as presentable as possible, but she doubted Vader would care. Still, she needed to keep up appearances, at the very least for the pilot.

Padmé briefly wondered where Vader might be. Her skin crawled at the thought that she had slept in the same ship as the man. He hadn't been anywhere near her, but she still felt violated somehow. Shaking off the shiver, Padmé exited the refresher and stared at the doorway to the hall. She might as well start interacting with the Sith Lord now.

Wandering into the hall, Padmé followed it to the main lounge. The diplomatic ship had several guest rooms and a lounge with a bar; all other areas were for authorized personnel only. Vader wasn't in the lounge, so Padmé felt slightly at a loss. She wasn't sure how long she'd been asleep, and the shuttle seemed completely abandoned. The only indication she had that she wasn't alone on this thing was that she heard the hyperdrive; at least there was a _pilot_ somewhere. She figured Vader was probably in his own room, but… blast it, she just wanted to get this over with. Still, she should take the break while she still had it; on Naboo there would be very little privacy between the two. She supposed she could just hide from Vader on Varykino, but somehow she didn't think that would help her predicament.

Still, at the very least, Padmé did want to know when they'd be arriving on Naboo. Walking to the edge of the lounge, she pressed a button that would signal the cockpit. A protocol droid would probably be dispatched to deal with whatever problem she had; she could get her answer then.

Instead of a protocol droid, the door to the cockpit opened to reveal Darth Vader. Padmé jumped, not expecting to see him, but then she hastily bowed. "Milord."

"What's the problem?" Vader asked.

"Uh… there's… where's the droid?" Padmé couldn't stop herself; the more she thought about her predicament, the more trapped she felt. She didn't want to be speaking with him right now. Well, she _did_ feel more energized than before; that was at least something.

Vader blinked. "Droid?"

"You know, the protocol droid. They always have one on diplomatic shuttles."

He blinked again. "It's dismantled."

Padmé blanched. "What happened?"

"It needed fixing."

"Oh," Padmé replied, awkwardly shifting her weight on her feet. "So… you're a mechanic?"

"When I need to be."

By the Force it was impossible to have a normal conversation with this guy.

Blowing out a small sigh, Padmé said, "I was just going to ask what our ETA was."

"We'll land at Theed in approximately four hours."

Goodness, she _had_ slept a while; the flight to Naboo was nine hours from Imperial Center. Of course now she was stuck in a confined space with Vader for four hours. Maybe she should just sleep for the rest of the trip.

"Why did you kiss me?"

Padmé jumped and felt her gut clench. Stang. Why the blazes was he so freaking blunt? It didn't make things easier for her, especially since she now jarringly remembered that she was supposed to be pretending to like him.

"I…" Padmé said in a slightly tremulous tone. Her mind was working on overdrive trying to throw a coherent sentence together that would be appropriate. Currently all she could hear was _I don't know – I still feel disgusting for doing it._ Eventually she managed to say, "I already told you, milord. I find you… intriguing. I just… I lost control back there. I hope you'll forgive me, but I wanted to make my point clear; I wanted to spend time with you."

Vader's brow twitched. "What does kissing have to do with spending time with someone?"

He _had_ to be kidding, right? Was he—surely he wasn't—Vader _couldn't_ be _that_ naïve! He was playing with her somehow; he was testing her in some manner.

"Like I said, I lost control of myself temporarily," Padmé replied carefully, trying to gauge his reaction. What was he up to?

This answer seemed acceptable to the Sith Lord, who nodded and turned to leave. Padmé watched him return to the cockpit, befuddled. What was _that_ all about? Why was he testing her like that? Was he trying to make her outright say that she liked him? Padmé had forced herself to say that before when she knew she could get away from him; she wasn't sure she could stomach spitting those words out at this point.

In either case, she was now stuck on the shuttle with very little to do for the next four hours. At least Vader was elsewhere. Sighing, Padmé walked to a chair and sat down, crossing her leg and leaning her head back against the wall. Suddenly, the door to the cockpit opened once more. Padmé's head shot up, and she watched the entrance area somewhat warily. Was Vader coming back, or was it the pilot?

Darth Vader reappeared in the lounge; well, that answered her question. She didn't bother standing; instead, she nodded her head in acknowledgement with a forced smile.

The Imperial stood motionless in the entranceway, staring at her. Padmé shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny. Eventually the silence became too awkward, and she asked, "Is something wrong, milord?"

He shook his head, but his eyes didn't waver. Eventually, he asked, "Do you like Theed?"

Padmé was completely baffled. His behavior was extremely odd, and his random questions even stranger. His voice held no emotion to it whatsoever, so it almost sounded like a statement rather than a question, as if he _knew_ she liked Theed but was asking anyway. On top of it, he still wouldn't look anywhere but into her eyes, tearing through her defenses and piercing right into her soul.

"It's a beautiful city. I've lived there for most of my life." Padmé answered carefully.

"I know," Vader replied, making Padmé even more nervous. "You've lived there since you were six."

"You're correct," Padmé nodded, her stomach doing somersaults. Why the blazes was he playing this game with her? If he wanted information, why was he going about it in the most bizarre manner? Trying to flip the tables on him, she asked, "Where did you grow up, milord?"

Vader paused, saying nothing. His eyes glazed over, and he _finally_ looked away from her. His gaze flickered somewhere beside her briefly, but eventually he seemed to decide something or remember something and he looked at her once more. "Imperial Center."

"I've always wondered what it would be like to grow up on Imperial Center," Padmé said conversationally, feeling a little better now that his blazing stare seemed to have grown less intense. "A city-planet is huge enough as an adult… it must have been monumental as a child. There are no boundaries to where you live… well, in a sense. Where in Imperial Center did you live?"

Again Vader was silent for a time. His eyes remained fixed on her, however. They seemed to grow icier as the seconds ticked by, and he eventually replied, "The palace district."

Padmé raised an eyebrow. "That's the most prestigious and expensive part of town. I presume your parents were high ranking military, perhaps? It would explain your… _unique_ skills in the Empire."

Although she had asked a question, it apparently wasn't direct enough for the man to reply. Vader didn't acknowledge her statement and didn't offer clarification. He just stared at her for a while longer as she stared in return, awaiting _some_ sort of response. They remained this way for almost a minute before the man finally looked elsewhere and turned to leave without another word.

"Where are we staying?" He suddenly asked, still facing away from her.

Padmé felt like smacking herself. She didn't realize she hadn't told him… honestly, she hadn't really told him much of _anything_ except that she wanted him with her on Naboo. Suddenly, she wondered if the pilot even knew where they should land. She supposed it was Theed since that was one of the largest spaceports on the planet, but she didn't want Vader anywhere near her family. "We're going to a retreat in the lake country. It's pretty far from Theed, so we should probably land somewhere closer to it. Would you like me to tell the pilot where to go?"

She hoped he would say yes. It would give her some sort of advantage; he could always just ask the pilot to tell him what she had said, but somehow it empowered her to think she knew something he didn't, and she wanted to keep it that way.

"I'm the pilot," he replied.

Padmé felt electricity surge through her at the small revelation. She was alone on this ship with him. "Y-you piloted? Nobody else is here?"

Vader shook his head.

She let out a shaky laugh, suddenly far more nervous than before. "Wow, you're a mechanic _and_ a pilot. Anything else you can do?"

"I do whatever is required."

Padmé felt a shiver go down her spine. The statement was phrased in such simplicity, but somehow it seemed to hold something odious and terrifying in it.

"Well…" Padmé tried to get a hold of herself. "We could—we _should_ land at Oxon; it's far closer to our destination."

Vader nodded and then returned to the cockpit. Padmé let out a shaky breath. She really needed to get herself together. First of all, she had to maintain the façade she had created; she had to keep acting as if she were interested in him to some capacity. He would suspect something if she suddenly grew cold and distant after the stunt she pulled back in the senate building. But his reactions just made no _sense_ – when she had kissed him, he had acted terrified and completely out of his element. Now that she thought upon it more calmly, it was rather surprising and just a little amusing… and empowering. To think she could catch him that flat footed was a refreshing notion. Vader was obviously a very private man who wasn't used to the feminine touch. It was rather surprising, actually; Vader was a military man, and while Padmé didn't approve of military men's morals, she was still quite aware of them.

Darth Vader always acted and seemed in control. To think she had managed to scare him _so much_ was a relief. It gave her some hope that maybe she could maintain the upper hand on this mission. Still, she couldn't push too far; she had already played a big card by kissing him. She was sure he'd be used to it or ready for it if she did so again, so what did that leave? She was most definitely _not_ going to take it _that_ far.

Blast, how in the blazes was she going to handle him at Varykino?

_Slow and steady,_ Padmé thought as she calmed herself. Darth Vader was obviously in no hurry to push any sort of relationship with her apart from predator/prey. She just needed to make sure she was nice enough to indicate she did still have interest in him, but distant enough to where she wouldn't push it too far. And she had to simultaneously prevent him from getting too comfortable and start interrogating her again. Terrific.

This was going to be a _long_ trip.

* * *

Tarkin sipped his wine with great pleasure as he listened to the inane conversation in front of him. With the start of the final recess for the year, the palace hosted a large party for political and military officials. The emperor often held it to see who would arrive and who would run with their tails between their legs as soon as the session was over. It was also a perfect occasion for one final opportunity to kick any rebellious fools in line. Also, the emperor did so love relishing in his power, prestige, and ability to do anything he wanted whenever he wanted. Not that Tarkin was complaining; the parties were typically rather interesting at best and at least amusing at worst.

The rain outside had finally stopped, so the night air was clear and fresher than it had been in a few days. The balcony was heavily populated by many of the guests; some preferred the cool night air after so many days of rain, while others couldn't breathe inside the palace where the emperor sat at the head table.

Noting a particular senator, Tarkin hid a devious smile as he slowly made his way over to the woman. Senator Mon Mothma noticed his approach and hastily excused herself from the conversation she had been having with Senator Bail Organa.

"Senator Mothma," Tarkin acknowledged with a nod as the senator bowed to him. "It's a pleasure to see you again. I hear this will be your last party here."

"You are correct, Grand Moff Tarkin," the senator conceded, keeping her face neutral. "I will be retiring."

"A pity," Tarkin remarked, drinking from his glass. "Your fiery spirit will be missed, senator. You've always reminded me strikingly of Senator Bel Iblis."

Mothma's features hardened, but she gave a very forced smile. Tarkin felt his pleasure increase significantly. Senator Garm Bel Iblis of Corellia had to witness his entire family be executed by Imperial soldiers due to his treachery. He hastily departed the senate and took refuge somewhere in his sector, though the Empire hadn't yet found him. Watching Mothma squirm as she recalled the events delighted Tarkin to no end; he and everyone else with any clout were almost certain of her own treachery, and the emperor was already planning on getting rid of her. Probably this very night, honestly, but Tarkin wasn't sure of that; that was Intelligence's job, not his.

It _was_ so much fun to torment her like that, though. Tarkin honestly had missed this; having the power and being able to just dangle it in front of those foolish enough to go against it brought him indescribable pleasure. His military duties as of late had prevented him from doing so. It was admittedly tiresome to deal with senators and other personnel in his sector, but it was worth it for all the times he could do _this_.

It was all the more delightful since he knew that the Rebel base had been destroyed. Darth Vader had discovered the coordinates and had ordered the base's immediate destruction. Tarkin would receive a report during the party about the details of the mission, and that would just be icing on the cake. It was too perfect.

"I'm sorry I would remind you of a traitor, governor," Senator Mothma finally replied after regaining her composure. "Have no doubt that my loyalty is with the Empire. Senator Bel Iblis got what he deserved, and I hope the Empire will soon find him and finish the job."

"Oh, I'm sure we will," Tarkin said, smiling. "The Empire will root out all of its traitors. Mark my words, senator: very shortly, the Alliance will fall."

Senator Mothma took a deep breath and nodded. "I will look forward to the confrontation, governor. I'm sad I won't be present in the senate for that day."

"You might yet be around for it," Tarkin replied. "I think it ought to happen very soon."

"You're certain?" the senator asked in a mildly curious tone. Tarkin almost laughed; was she probing for information now, despite all the scrutiny on her? The woman was a bold one; he would certainly give her credit for that.

"Quite." Tarkin watched her face carefully to see if she showed any indication of shock or panic. Despite the bad news he had just delivered, Senator Mothma's face was admirably flawless, devoid of any sort of concern. Instead, she gave a soft smile, and her eyes sparkled in the city lights.

"I hope you're right, governor."

Before Tarkin could say anything else, another senator softly called to Mothma in a tone of pleasant surprise. The senator excused herself from Tarkin with another bow and departed.

Tarkin watched her for a time before entering the main hall once more. It was an exceptionally large room with white tile floors, enormous floor to ceiling windows on the side with the balcony, and large mirrors on the opposite wall. The other two walls bore decorative paintings and entrances to different parts of the palace. Crystal chandeliers glittered overhead, floating lazily around the room. The majority of the floor was cleared for meandering and dancing, and the walls perpendicular to the balcony and mirrors were lined with tables that bore food and drink. An elevated table was dedicated to the highest officials, and the emperor's chair was in the center. Palpatine was meandering as well, however; Tarkin could tell by the Red Guards, who were slowly making their way around the room as they tailed the emperor. The grand moff let out a small chuckle; as if the emperor needed protection. He'd seen what the man had done to Vader; he knew the man was capable of handling himself.

Slowly wandering through the room, Tarkin finally finished his glass of wine and went to get a refill. Palpatine happened to be getting a glass at the same time, and so Tarkin bowed deeply from the waist, awaiting acknowledgement before rising once more. Palpatine acknowledged him softly after getting his drink, and Tarkin refilled his own glass.

"I trust you have received confirmation of the base's destruction?" Palpatine asked.

Tarkin felt his stomach suddenly knot, and his chest tightened. He had made no reports of the attack on the Rebel's base on Yavin 4. How did Palpatine—

Darth Vader. Of course he would tell his master. Tarkin swore internally; he hadn't wanted the emperor to know until he was certain the mission was a success. He supposed it was too late now. Kriffing foolish boy… didn't Vader have any idea what would happen if somehow the mission failed?! It wouldn't be Tarkin's fault—it _couldn't_ be his fault—but he was in charge, and he'd be blamed nonetheless.

_Sithspit!_

"I haven't received any confirmation yet, sire," Tarkin replied softly, lowering his gaze. "I immediately informed the nearest fleet as soon as I found out the location, though; it should be handled by now. I'll hear soon."

The emperor said nothing, making Tarkin a little nervous. What was the man scheming in that mind of his? If there was one mind that was even harder to understand than Darth Vader's it was Palpatine's. One would figure the emperor was your typical power hungry tyrant, but Palpatine was _insanely_ clever, far too much for anyone's own well being; he had spent years planning his way to the top, and he wasn't any duller for having obtained it. After all, he'd maintained his position despite all the political scheming, coups, traitors, and others for twenty-one years.

Still, there were times where Palpatine's logic made absolutely no sense to Tarkin… such as his reasoning for making Vader take his sweet time on the mission with Amidala when _he_ should be the one taking the fall if the Rebel base isn't destroyed. Maybe if Tarkin made Palpatine think about Vader instead it would at least take the scrutiny temporarily off of him.

"Lord Vader should almost be at Naboo by now," Tarkin said as a passing remark. Would Palpatine latch onto the subject, or just push it aside?

Palpatine glanced at him and then looked at his own wine glass thoughtfully. "Yes. It should be… productive."

Did that mean he actually intended his apprentice to finally finish the job? In either case, it wouldn't help Tarkin at this point. He'd find out about the Rebel base in a matter of hours, and Vader might not even be on Naboo. Still, he could manipulate this to his advantage. If he made Palpatine think he had aided Vader in his mission, he might be out of trouble just yet.

"Lord Vader was slightly confused with the parameters you gave him," Tarkin remarked, wording everything he said very carefully. He didn't want to dig his grave any deeper than it already probably was. "He came to me to understand the matter a little better."

"Did he?" Palpatine asked in a low, silky tone. Typically that indicated he was annoyed, but at this point Tarkin was fairly certain it was half amused curiosity. "And what exactly did he say?"

"He asked me how to get someone to like him. I trust that has to do with his current mission?"

Palpatine said nothing, so Tarkin didn't push his luck. He just continued his story. "In either case, I told him that he had to be more open and Human."

"What did he have to say to that?"

"He was still a little confused. I tried to break it down as best I could, sire." Tarkin answered with a smile.

Palpatine let out a very soft chuckle. "He'll no doubt take your advice. A pity we can't watch the interaction. It will all turn out as planned, but watching it unfold would be quite entertaining."

Tarkin grew curious. What was Palpatine intending anyway? He knew by now that Amidala was no doubt a traitor, even if they had little to no solid evidence. Granted, there was still a likelihood that she was only a sympathizer, but Vader's observations and deductions did seem to point to open treachery. So if Palpatine knew this as well as Tarkin, why was he still dancing around the issue? What lesson did he want Vader to learn? What test was giving him? How could Tarkin use it to his advantage?

Palpatine walked away, ending the conversation. Tarkin bowed once again until the emperor was far from him, but his mind was still abuzz with questions… and worries about his own future. If the fleet hadn't destroyed the Rebel base… well, no matter. He'd told them immediately. Everything should be fine.

Everything _would_ be fine.

* * *

**And thus begins the awkward shenanigans between Vader and Padmé. And a panic attack for Tarkin for good measure. Or for everyone. Just not a good day in general for anybody, lol. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it. :)**


	9. Delays

**Thank you all so much for your reviews! They help me improve the story and are always appreciated. :)**

* * *

The party had been going on for almost four hours. People were finally starting to depart, and Tarkin felt his insides churn. He still hadn't heard a report about Yavin 4. If it was taking them this long, there was little doubt in his mind that they were trying to rectify some sort of mistake that they had made.

Rubbing his sweaty palms against his tunic, Tarkin refilled his glass once more. He had been drinking steadily since his conversation with the emperor, and while he had been doing so at a slow pace, the alcohol was starting to take effect. The room was warmer than the set temperature, and what should have been a panic attack just felt like an uncomfortable pestering train of thought in his mind. And then finally, he heard it.

_Beep, beep._

Tarkin hastily walked out of the ballroom and entered a cavernous but blissfully empty hallway. Activating his comlink, he said with a minimal slur (which was admirable considering how much wine he'd had), "This is Grand Moff Tarkin."

"Sir, this is Admiral Ozzel. I'm calling to update you on the attack on Yavin 4."

_It's about bloody time_, Tarkin thought irritably. "Well?"

"We found traces of a Rebel base, sir—"

"_Traces?!_ Intelligence had _solid evidence_ that the Rebel base was _on Yavin 4_ and all you found were _traces_?!" Tarkin immediately snapped. Yes, _definitely_ too much wine… still, his hide was on the line and this was the _last_ thing he wanted to hear.

"Sir, they were already gone—"

"Enough!" Tarkin interrupted, feeling disgusted and panicked at the same time. He had to do something, somehow he had to do _something_—he wanted to teleport across the galaxy and strangle the idiotic admiral and then hunt down the Rebels himself. Anything that would get him away from here was a good idea at this point.

But wait… _Mothma_. That hag was still here, wasn't she? Tarkin knew she was a Rebel—yes, he would get _her_ to tell him, and if she didn't know he'd just _shoot_ her.

"You can explain your failure in the formal report," Tarkin said curtly and cut the line, immediately running back into the ballroom. His gaze flew from one end of the room to the other and out into the balcony, but he didn't see the red headed senator anywhere. He could have _sworn_ she was still at the party; he saw her before exiting the ballroom!

Rushing out of the room, Tarkin ran to the landing pad that was being utilized for the party. Entering it, he caught sight of a speeder departing. Tarkin immediately ran as fast as his legs would allow, shouting for them to stop, but the vehicle continued. He was already out of breath as it was as he watched the speeder leave, but his breathing hitched in his chest when he saw the passenger, Senator Mothma herself, glance in his direction ever so briefly. She looked slightly worried, but she seemed to have just enough confidence to offer a small smile and a nod.

"_Damn_ that woman!" Tarkin swore, rushing to the side area where the landing pad guards would be. Although the pad was rather large and the guards had to watch many different things, they had begun to notice the commotion and were already heading towards him. "Get that speeder and bring it back here immediately!"

The guards jumped and looked at where he was pointing, but the speeder had joined the myriad of traffic lanes and was quickly vanishing from view. By the time the guards had gotten aboard some swoop bikes, the speeder was long gone.

Tarkin swore even more harshly and then ran back to the ballroom. He immediately singled out the head of Imperial Center's security forces and walked purposefully towards him, feeling sweat trickle down his face from all the exertion. The chief realized something was wrong as the grand moff approached him and he hastily excused himself from the conversation he was having.

"Governor, what's wrong?" the chief asked.

"Senator Mothma is a traitor and must be arrested." Tarkin ordered. "She's just left the party—she's trying to escape—this is a matter of Imperial security and I need you to get all your forces working on it."

The chief looked at Tarkin in confusion. "Senator Mothma? This is awfully sudden, governor—is this approved by—"

"I am a _grand moff _of an entire _oversector_," Tarkin interrupted callously. "You are nothing more than the head of the planetary security force; a naval _lieutenant_ has more clout than you. Now _do as I say_. Every second matters!"

The chief's face flushed in anger and his mouth became a thin, tight line, but he clicked his heel, bowed, and departed nonetheless. Now, though, Tarkin had a _bigger_ problem…

How in the blazes was he going to explain this to the emperor?

Looking around wildly, Tarkin ensured that Palpatine was on the other side of the room, and then he took it as his opportunity to _leave_. He would have to organize his thoughts and ensure that Mothma was taken into custody—and probably sober up a bit—before he could face the Sith Master.

What a mess.

* * *

Padmé was exhausted.

It had absolutely nothing to do with her emotional state this time. No, it was the inevitable crash after a long trip. Padmé glanced at her chronometer, which still retained Imperial Center time whilst showing the local time beside it, and she groaned. It was midnight back at her apartment. She wanted to go to bed. That nap from earlier had helped her deal with her midday loss of energy after such a stressful day, but now she just wanted _normal_ sleep.

Unfortunately, her chronometer picked up the local Oxon time zone while the ship simultaneously dropped out of hyperspace, telling her that they had finally reached their destination.

Padmé tiredly looked out of the viewport in her bedroom, watching the kaleidoscope of hyperspace fade as if washed away by the dark waters of space. A bright light shone in one corner of her viewport, and she knew it was her homeworld glowing in the darkness. Standing, she grabbed her luggage and headed towards the lounge. As soon as she entered it she sat at a table and strapped herself in, awaiting the breach into the atmosphere. Glancing at her chronometer, she groaned; it was seven in the morning local time, which meant she'd have to deal with a new day without any sleep. Planetary lag was a pain sometimes.

The shuttle shuddered a little and the viewport clouded with a bright red color as they entered the atmosphere. The jarring movement was minimal, far less than Padmé was accustomed to; blast, Vader _was_ a good pilot. Padmé knew basic piloting, and entering atmospheres was always her biggest issue; even when it was a professional pilot, it was one of the hardest tactics to master.

Eventually the engines grew louder, raising their sound from a dull moan that was constant throughout the trip to a loud cry as they fought against gravity. Padmé glanced out the viewport once more and watched everything turn blue. Scooting closer she looked down to see villages and hamlets scattered across the forests and hills of the area. Despite her exhaustion, she couldn't help but smile; it was _so nice_ to see Naboo after being on Imperial Center for so long. Too bad she would be spending her time with a murderer.

Taking a deep breath, Padmé leaned back as the large city of Oxon came into view. The shuttle circled the spaceport a few times as Vader was no doubt trying to get clearance to land. Eventually the shuttle hovered over the large square shaped structure. The spaceport had three enormous non-overlapping circles that formed a quasi triangle. These circles were openings to deep underground trenches that were shaped just like their entrances, and they all led to four or five levels of underground docks where ships could land. The last side of the square was dedicated to the spaceport itself where everyone could meander and access or exit the docks.

The shuttle hovered in place and then began to descend straight downward into one of the large circular tunnels. The viewport grew pitch black as they flew underground and then bright blue lights emanating from ray shields began to blind Padmé. A red light shone at the edge of the viewport, which indicated one of the ray shields was deactivating so they could enter. The ship smoothly sailed into the dock and the engines gave one last roar as everything bounced on the landing gear. Then everything grew quiet.

Padmé unstrapped herself and stood, grabbing her luggage. The door to the cockpit opened and Vader entered the lounge. He walked by her without saying a word, leaving her standing there awkwardly waiting for him. The man returned quickly with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and he led her to the landing ramp.

After Vader lowered the ramp, Padmé was immediately hit with the smells of a dock: engine grease, burnt paint, fuel, and stale faux atmospheric air leaking out of the ships. She breathed it in gratefully; despite the unpleasantness of the aromas, they gave her some comfort in knowing that she was at least out of the confining space that had held her captive with Vader for nine hours. There were other people here, the dock was _enormous_, and she now had an entire planet in which to flee if she just finally _lost it_ while dealing with the Sith Lord.

Following the man's lead silently, Padmé walked to the dock manager's area. Vader spoke with him briefly, paying for the use of the dock, and then he led Padmé through the security scanning area and then to the turbo lifts. Once the two were in them, Padmé felt her heart rate rise a little once more. She glanced over at the man, but he wasn't paying her any mind. He was staring lazily at the door, his eyelids looking a little heavy. He was probably just as tired as she was.

"We should take a nap once we get to Varykino," Padmé suggested honestly. She was desperate for some rest, and Vader certainly looked like he could use some.

Vader nodded in agreement. Padmé was too tired to bother stimulating any actual conversation from the man, and so the rest of the lift ride was spent in silence.

The lift doors opened and the two entered a brightly lit hallway. The floor, walls, and ceiling were all durasteel grey, but it was somewhat welcoming in that the walls were lined with advertisements and pictures of the local attractions. The air was growing fresher as well since they were now above ground. Once they passed through a doorway, the walls finally turned into windows, allowing Padmé her first ground view of Oxon. The city wasn't as big as Theed, but it had similar architecture, though it held a less grandiose feel to it. Oxon was more industrial and, for lack of a better word, "city-like" than Theed; it was probably as close to Imperial Center as Naboo could get.

Vader and Padmé reached the end of the hallway and entered a room filled with queues. Thankfully they weren't too long, and most of the work was done without any prompting from personnel. Vader and Padmé quickly reached a customs console and checked themselves in. As soon as Vader entered his credentials, security walked over to them. The officers bowed deeply.

"Milord, we weren't expecting a visit," one of the officers said nervously. "We can arrange for some transportation for you if you—"

"I don't require transportation." Vader interrupted dully, grabbing his duffel bag and then waving his hand dismissively. "I was never here. Continue with your business."

"Yes, you were never here," the officer agreed, and his companion seemed just as compliant. "We'll continue with our business."

Padmé watched the exchange in bewilderment, but she had to quickly grab her luggage and chase after Vader, who had almost left her behind with his quick pace. She wasn't sure if Vader was trying to be subtle in telling them to back off or if he just wasn't interested in dealing with the lower ranking officials. When the two entered the spaceport proper, she saw no sign of any pomp and circumstance announcing Vader's arrival. There were no officials, no special treatment, or anything of the like. Did those officers take the hint, or was something else going on?

"What was that all about?" Padmé asked Vader as the two walked briskly.

"We don't need the attention of the entire planet." Vader replied.

For once, Padmé was surprised to find herself in agreement with the man. She definitely didn't want the queen or her people finding out that she was spending her vacation at a private retreat with the Empire's biggest enforcer.

The two exited the spaceport and Padmé blinked a few times. It was mid summer in Oxon, and so the sun was already over the horizon, imbuing the city with its light. Padmé stumbled slightly on some uneven pavement, sending her tumbling into the street where the numerous taxis flew by to snatch passengers.

Suddenly, Padmé felt a firm grip on her arm, yanking her off the street and back onto the sidewalk. She gasped slightly and looked at who had grabbed her to see Darth Vader. He immediately released her as soon as she was safely on the sidewalk once more, and his eyes never left the street. Considering how quickly he had grabbed her—her feet had barely touched the street—it was almost as if he had been reaching for her arm just before she fell. She shook her head subtly and tried to catch her breath – honestly, she was just being paranoid now. There was no way he could have known she was falling… unless he had intended to grab her for some other reason. A shiver ran down her spine, but Vader seemed completely unaware of Padmé's internal struggle, which made the likelihood of that motive very low.

"T-thank you," she stammered.

Vader said nothing.

Okay, she was too tired to do anything about it now, but by heaven Padmé was going to _make_ this guy have a normal conversation with her before this vacation was done. Yep, that's it; she now had a personal goal.

Vader waved over a taxi, which eagerly flew to them. He slid in with his duffel bag, leaving Padmé to handle her own luggage. A little annoyed, Padmé was then happily relieved when the taxi driver helped her. She then slid in beside the Imperial and was suddenly overcome with nervousness when she realized just how small the space was. Inching as far from him as she could, Padmé then couldn't help her indignation as she remarked, "Thanks for the help with my luggage, by the way."

Vader glanced at her, his face still neutral, and then he leaned his head back against the seat. Padmé took a deep breath and calmed herself; exhaustion was making her speak before she could hold herself in check. "Sorry. I'm tired. It looks like you are too."

After Darth Vader remained silent, Padmé just sighed again. The taxi driver entered the speeder once more. "Where we heading, then?"

Vader glanced again at Padmé, who gave the driver the address. It would take them to the lake docks, and there they could get a boat to Varykino.

The taxi driver flew the speeder along the road. Padmé glanced out the window and watched as Oxon passed by. They were at the edge of the city, so it didn't take long for them to get on a freeway and leave the city entirely. The road grew smaller and less traveled as time passed, and Padmé felt her head bobbing as her body tried to make her fall asleep where she sat.

Trying to keep herself awake, she looked over at Vader, who had barely moved since they had left. "Is this your first time on Naboo?"

Vader nodded.

"I hope you enjoy yourself here," Padmé said with a small smile.

The rest of the trip was spent in silence, and once they reached their destination Padmé happily slid out of the speeder. The taxi driver pulled out Padmé's luggage, making her quite content since it was one less thing for her exhausted body to handle, and then Vader paid the man. The taxi departed, leaving the two of them by the docks. There were about seven of them with a relatively large building and a myriad of different boats. A woman exited the building and asked if they wanted to rent a boat. Padmé, looking mischievously at Vader (Sithspit, she really _was_ tired now if she was getting playful with _him_ of all people), agreed to rent a boat.

"Have you ever driven a speeder boat before, milord?" she asked softly as the woman arranged everything.

Vader shook his head, his eyes locking with hers briefly. She recognized the dark circles that indicated his sleep deprivation and for a fleeting moment felt genuinely sorry for him. He somehow looked more exhausted than she felt. Still, it was _very_ fleeting; the next moment she relished in the thought that he felt that way; it was the least he deserved.

_Blast, stop it, will you?_ She internally admonished herself. Being vindictive to people she didn't like was Siri's job, not Padmé's. Trying to distract herself, she glanced at her chronometer and almost moaned. It was now 0710 locally (they had fallen back an hour from Oxon when they traveled to the edge of the Lake Country), which meant it was 0110 back on Imperial Center. She couldn't wait to get her circadian rhythm readjusted to the local time zone.

The woman returned with a small chip for the speeder boat and handed it to Padmé, who offered to pay for the rental. Vader didn't argue, and in no time the two were standing at the edge of the dock staring at the boat bob in the water. Padmé tossed her luggage into the back seat and motioned for Vader to do the same. Then she clambered into the driver's seat. Vader suddenly tensed his muscles and he stared at her.

"You're driving?" he asked.

Padmé smiled up at him, squinting against the sunlight. "Well you said you hadn't driven these before. I have."

The man didn't move. "I can drive."

Padmé let out a genuine laugh. "Don't tell me you're nervous?"

Vader stared at her almost glumly. Eventually, though, he climbed in and sat beside her. "I can still drive it."

"You've never even seen this kind of vehicle before," Padmé taunted him with satisfaction.

Vader looked at the machinery, his glum expression gone. Instead, his face was placid, but his eyes were darting quickly between different instruments. Suddenly, he started pointing to different handles, buttons, and dials and listed them off. "This is the accelerator. This here engages the repulsorlift. This is the fuel gauge, this is the information on the rotor if you choose to go on the water, and this is the speed gauge. The brakes are here, the piloting controls for flying are here, and the warning screen is there."

Padmé stared at him in shock as he spoke. When he finished, he lowered his hand and continued to stare at the dashboard for a moment before he finally looked at her. "I can drive it."

Feeling slightly out of control, Padmé suddenly clamped tightly onto the steering device. "No. I'm driving."

Vader's brow twitched. "I'm driving."

Padmé's gaze grew into a defiant glare. "No. _I'm_ driving. End of story. I don't care if you're able to decipher what all of it is, that doesn't mean you know how to drive it."

Now the corner of his lip twitched along with his brow. "You don't know anything about me. I _can_ drive this thing. I _will_ drive it."

"Do you have a boating license?" Padmé asked, a smug smile growing on her face.

Vader said nothing, looking away.

"Well, I guess that settles that," Padmé chirped happily as she activated the engine.

_Round one goes to me_, she thought delightfully, though why Vader would choose to fight over this was beyond her. Then she belatedly remembered she was supposed to be acting as if she _liked _him. Sighing, she reached her hand to pat him lightly on the arm. "Don't worry, milord; if it bothers you that much we can practice driving the boat after we both get some sleep. I think it would be fun."

The Imperial tensed at her touch and remained silent, but he at least didn't seem to be brooding. Instead, he just looked tired again, as if he had already forgotten the confrontation. It didn't matter; winning even such a small argument gave her a great amount of satisfaction, and it would end her day (well… start it, technically) perfectly before she went to bed.

It had been a long time since Padmé had been in a boat, and she was more than happy to just bounce along the water instead of hover over it. The ride was relatively peaceful rather than tense, and Padmé was finally beginning to relax as she saw Varykino quickly come into view.

"There it is," she pointed the island out to Vader, who followed her gaze. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

After receiving no reply, she figured she'd tried enough for the day. The two pulled in to a small unmanned dock and Padmé tethered the boat to it. The two climbed out, grabbed their luggage, and began the short walk to the retreat itself. Once they'd entered it, Padmé pointed out a room Vader could use before dragging her feet to her own room without another word; it wasn't as if he was conversational, anyway.

Padmé felt such an immense relief and joy in seeing her own bedroom and her own bed. She closed the door to her room and, just as she had on the shuttle, tossed her luggage carelessly to the side and collapsed on the large comfortable bed, immediately falling asleep.

* * *

Siri awoke with a jolt. The ground beneath her vibrated softly, and the gentle hum of the hyperdrive could be heard. She felt some of her hair moving rhythmically as someone breathed against it, and she felt her husband shift slightly beside her, his head comfortably atop hers. Siri's neck ached a little from leaning on Obi-Wan's shoulder for so long… what time was it?

…And what was that noise?

Siri belatedly recognized a low but loud sound clanging rhythmically from the level below. That must have been what had awoken her. Shifting slowly, she realized she was stuck in this position unless she woke Obi-Wan up.

Sighing, she nudged her husband with her shoulder. "Obi."

Obi-Wan didn't budge.

Growing slightly annoyed, Siri poked him with her finger. "Obi, _get up_."

"Hmm…?"

"Do you hear that?"

"Mmm…"

Siri grumbled and then shoved Obi-Wan. "Wake up, you big shaak!"

Obi-Wan jerked away from Siri with a gasp. "Ouch! What's wrong?"

"Do you hear that noise?"

Obi-Wan blinked blearily, rubbing a hand over his face. He paused as he seemed to register the sound as well. "What is that?"

"That's what I was going to ask _you_."

Obi-Wan looked like he was going to argue, but he just stood instead. Siri followed suit, and both went to the crew quarters and climbed down the ladder. The noise steadily took a more recognizable shape as they grew closer to the main floor until they finally realized it was ridiculously loud music playing from the lounge. Obi-Wan entered the lounge first, flinching at the volume, and Siri quickly followed.

Al was in the kitchenette making some sort of sandwich and was bellowing the lyrics to whatever song he was listening to.

"RAISE YOUR HANDS!" Al shouted even louder than before, throwing his hands in the air. Some of the butter he had been just smearing all over his bread flew across the kitchenette, but he didn't seem to notice. "When you wanna let it go—RAISE YOUR HANDS—"

"Al!" Siri yelled over the music. Al jumped nearly a meter in the air, scared out of his wits; the butter knife went flying, his sandwich toppled off the plate and onto the counter, and Al landed in a heap on the floor.

Al said something, his mouth moving quickly, but for the life of her, Siri couldn't hear it over the racket. "What?"

Al's mouth moved again, and Obi-Wan finally sighed and found the source of the music, shutting it off.

"You two scared the heck out of me!" Al remarked as he stood.

Siri snorted. "Yeah, well, your _music_ woke us up."

"Oh, sorry," Al laughed sheepishly. "I'm used to being on this baby by myself. I gotta keep myself sane _somehow_."

"It's all right," Obi-Wan sighed, making Siri even more annoyed; it _wasn't_ okay that she had been woken up. Still, she just let it slide, blowing out a breath and trying to force her anger out with it. Besides, his remark was also rather amusing; as Siri stared at the wall where Al had written math equations as long as the sofa she thought it was such a silly thing to say that he had _any_ sanity at all.

"So how long till we get to Salkende?" Siri asked.

"I'd say we're about…" Al referenced his chronometer briefly. "Ten hours out."

"Ten hours?" Obi-Wan repeated. "We were asleep that long?"

"Well it's about seven in the morning where we'll be landing, so you should be grateful for the sleep; your bodies certainly will be once we land." Al shrugged.

"So we'll be there around dinnertime?" Siri surmised.

Al nodded. "Yeah; I hope they've got some good food there; I've never been to Salkende before, so—"

Suddenly, the ship lurched harshly, throwing everyone to the ground. A high, loud grinding sound emanated in the air, piercing Siri's ears. The ship continued to lurch horribly even after the initial jolt, and Siri and Obi-Wan tumbled around the lounge, slamming into each other and the walls. Thankfully the furniture was bolted into place for situations like these… Siri sure as heck was wishing _she _was bolted in place, especially when she smacked her head harshly into the wall. Eventually the sharper movements stopped, but the grinding sound continued and grew steadily louder. The ship trembled violently, but it wasn't nearly as badly as before; everyone could at least _stand up_.

Al rushed to the cockpit, swearing the entire way. Siri rubbed her head, and Obi-Wan touched her shoulder. "You alright?"

"Yeah," Siri said through gritted teeth. "I'll just have a headache for a while…"

"_Kark!"_

Siri and Obi-Wan both jumped at the very strong expletive, running to the cockpit. "What's wr—"

Siri's question died in her mouth as she and Obi-Wan both immediately saw the problem. The viewports that lined the cockpit walls were filled entirely with Star Destroyers.

"What the hell is going on?!" Siri demanded. "How did we—what—where are we?!"

Al was frantically working with the many controls that surrounded him. "We're in the Outer Rim, but we're nowhere near the Tsograda Sector yet—I don't know what's going on—one of their _Interdictor_-class ships must have yanked us out—I don't know why—we're stuck, we—"

One of the consoles beeped loudly, cutting Al off. The three looked at it warily. Shortly after the beep, a voice was heard. "_Guaea_-class frigate, identify yourself immediately."

"I don't understand—I'm not on anybody's hit list, and you two—you don't think Athia…?" Al looked at them worriedly. "I mean, Athia—she wouldn't, right?"

"How would she know we were going to Salkende?" Obi-Wan asked, trying to think the situation through.

"Is this ship armed?" Siri asked abruptly.

"We can't take on an entire fleet!" Al yelled frantically.

"I didn't say _attack_ them; I was just asking if this ship is armed?"

"I've got one cannon," Al replied nervously.

"Better make sure it looks _disarmed_, then," Siri said quickly. "We don't want to make them jumpy."

"_Guaea-_class frigate, identify yourself immediately or you will be brought aboard one of our destroyers."

Obi-Wan looked worriedly at the console and then to Al. "You'd better do as they say; the last thing we need is to be boarded."

Al took a steadying breath and reached a tremulous hand towards the communications console. Pressing a button, he said, "Imperial fleet, this is the _Invariant Beauty_. I'm just passing through this system, sir; I have no business here."

"What is your destination?"

Al looked nervously at Obi-Wan and Siri. Obi-Wan sighed. "Just give the sector."

"Tsograda Sector, sir."

"What planet in that sector?"

Al paused briefly and then said, "Ferrasco, sir."

There was silence for a while, and the trio tensed. Al motioned for Obi-Wan and Siri to strap into the sofa (which thankfully had straps for occasions like this) in the lounge. "You'd better be ready for anything; I can't outrun a fleet, though… I don't know what we're going to do."

"Why are they here, though? How would they know we were here?" Obi-Wan asked no one in particular.

"They _can't_ know," Siri shook her head. "It makes no sense for them to be waiting for us in some random sector between Imperial Center and Salkende. If they were expecting us, they'd be waiting in the Tsograda Sector."

"You make a valid point," Obi-Wan conceded. "But then what's going on?"

"This route doesn't have any mandatory checkpoints," Al skimmed over his navigation console. "I planned it just so we would avoid Imperial problems like this. It was enough of a pain in the Coruscant Sector; I didn't want to run into _more_ of this."

"_Invariant Beauty_, come in."

The three jumped when the same voice spoke again. Al pressed a button once more to reply. "This is the _Invariant Beauty_."

"You may proceed. Leave the premises before reentering hyperspace."

"Understood." Al replied, cutting the connection and shrugging in utter bewilderment. "_Whatever_—just as long as we get the heck out of…"

Al's expression turned sour and alarmed in a matter of seconds, making Siri nervous. "What's wrong?"

"Those blasted Imperials!" Al slammed his fist down onto a console. "We'll never make it to Salkende at this rate!"

"Al, what is it?" Siri repeated, getting his attention.

"The hyperdrive was damaged because of their kriffing _Interdictor_-class ships! We'll be lucky if we can get anywhere at this point!"

"You said you wanted to go Nar Shaddaa to get some parts," Siri suggested.

Al let out a strained groan of frustration. "This _isn't_ the way I wanted to do it, though!"

"How far from Nar Shaddaa are we?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Depends on the route you take," Al replied, sighing heavily in resignation. "And with the state the hyperdive's in, we'll be lucky if we can get that far."

"Seriously?" Siri raised her eyebrows. "They did _that much_ damage? How do they expect us to go anywhere if they know their ships do that?"

"They don't," Al shook his head. "I mean, getting thrown out of hyperspace still does murder on the hyperdrive, but… my hyperdrive was already kind of crappy."

"Along with the engines?" Siri put her face in her hand, growing steadily more annoyed. "Seriously, Al… do you just let your ship fall to pieces before you finally do something?"

"Hey, business hasn't been that well since Kuna died!" Al snapped. "For the past two years I got most of my work from him!"

"All right, let's just calm down," Obi-Wan said a little loudly. Siri glanced at him; his eyes were sharp, and his muscles were taut. He was starting to grow irritated. "Al, how much longer will our ETA to Salkende be with this side trip?"

"Well, let's see," Al leaned back in his seat, glaring at the ceiling. "It's a rough trip to Nar Shaddaa. There are ton of planets between us and them, but they're definitely the safest place for us to be in comparison to every other place between us and them. I'd say eight hours to Nar Shaddaa if we can make it one piece. Finding somebody who can get the right parts and install them will probably take a good two to four hours… the installation itself will take a day at least. I'd say it pushes us four days back."

Siri was tempted to snap about the situation, but she held herself in check. It wasn't _entirely_ Al's fault, and it would do little good at this point anyway. Besides, Obi-Wan was finally starting to lose his patience as well; it was best she didn't set him off. Siri hadn't seen Obi-Wan legitimately angry since they were teenagers, but his temper could potentially be pretty violent, depending on where it was aimed. Siri wasn't in the slightest concerned that her husband would get violent with her or Al, but they also didn't need to make the situation escalate.

The console beeped again. "_Invariant Beauty, _what is your status? Why haven't you left?"

"Stang," Al muttered, pressing the communication button. "Just prepping for the jump, sir."

"Did your ship sustain damage?"

Siri and Obi-Wan both shook their heads fervently. The last thing they needed was the Empire offering its services to help a lost little freighter; they would vanish so quickly Padmé wouldn't even know what happened until the recess was over.

"No," Al quickly replied. "Like I said, just prepping. I'm leaving now. Sir."

Al sighed heavily after cutting the line and began to guide the ship out of the fleet. Obi-Wan and Siri tensed considerably, neither liking their predicament. At least if they got to Nar Shaddaa they'd be away from the Empire.

"Have you two ever been to Nar Shaddaa before?" Al asked as he began to plot coordinates.

"No, actually," Siri answered.

Al barked out a laugh. "Oh boy. You're in for some fun, then. Just stick close to me."

"We've been to the lowest parts of Imperial Center," Siri rolled his eyes. "Nar Shaddaa is only a microcosm of that."

"It's still not a good idea to be anywhere on that moon without a handy blaster." Al remarked.

"Pity we're not armed," Obi-Wan said mildly. Siri gave him an exasperated look; he didn't like violence and preferred not to carry a weapon, so their lack of blasters was far more agreeable to him than being armed.

"I've got some arsenal, relax," Al assured them as they finally left the fleet's direct visual field.

"Terrific." Siri nodded with a smile. Obi-Wan sighed. Looking at her husband, she said, "Oh come on, Obi; don't be foolish. Just because you don't like weapons doesn't mean you should run around without them when they're obviously needed."

Al pulled the ship far from the fleet and any sort of gravitational bodies and fiddled with the consoles a bit before muttering to himself and activating the hyperdrive. It gave a low moan, but it eventually brightened and grew loud, and the stars streaked into the familiar kaleidoscope of hyperspace. Al blew out a sigh of relief and then faced the two of them hesitantly. "Obi-Wan, you do know how to use a blaster, right? I _know_ Siri can; we ran into Imps on a deal one time. Not really fun, but krif can your wife shoot."

Obi-Wan said nothing, simply watching hyperspace thoughtfully and worriedly, so Siri answered for him. "Yeah, he's a pretty good shot. Really good, actually… still not as good as me, though."

Al acknowledged her remark with a grunt and then followed Obi-Wan's gaze. "Don't worry; the biggest problem is getting _into_ hyperspace. Once we're in it's pretty smooth sailing."

"That's fine," Obi-Wan replied softly. "But still… I wonder what that fleet was doing there. What sector were we in?"

"We're near the Gordian Reach," Al replied as he glossed over the information on his consoles. "The Gricho Sector."

"Gordian Reach?" Obi-Wan and Siri exchanged glances nervously.

"Yeah. Why?"

"That's where the Yavin System is, right?" Siri clarified.

Al paused, pondering it. "Oh… oh _shavit_. You don't think they…?"

"I have no doubt they've already hit Yavin 4," Obi-Wan leaned against the wall heavily.

"It's okay," Siri tried to reassure them as well as herself. "Dantooine was hit first; the Alliance would know that Yavin 4 was compromised. They'd be long gone."

They'd _better_ be long gone, at least. If the base was hit… no, no, _no_ they _couldn't_ have hit it.

"I suppose you're right. They wouldn't have fleets acting as stop and search parties if they had already destroyed the base." Obi-Wan noted.

"Wait, we're _in_ the Gricho Sector?" Siri suddenly registered Al's earlier remark. "Why aren't we on the Hydian Way?"

"The Hydian Way?" Al looked at her with raised eyebrows. "I keep forgetting you two are rookies when it comes to traveling."

"We've traveled quite a bit, actually," Obi-Wan said. "We were part of a service corps that served many planets."

"Well, a service corps can travel where it pleases as it pleases." Al replied. "I'm a _smuggler_; I don't take conventional trade routes. Why would I want to go along a route that forces you to stop because it passes so close to planets that your ship would get yanked out anyway? Then you get taxed or scanned or whatever else the Empire wants to do to you."

"Ships are programmed for certain routes depending on where you're going." Siri noted. "That's _why_ trade routes exist; they're the safest paths through certain corridors."

"Yeah, that's how they get you," Al pointed to the viewports. "Every ship you buy has certain routes programmed in their navi-computers, and unless you have a droid or _really_ know your space coordinates you're stuck with what you've got. After all, nobody wants to risk plotting hyperspace coordinates and flying right into a star or a planet. _But_, if you're really smart like me, you can figure out your own routes."

"Or hear about them from other smugglers," Siri remarked shrewdly, folding her arms.

Al shrugged with a smirk. "Okay, you caught me. Maybe you're not such a rookie, after all."

Obi-Wan's sigh interrupted their conversation, and the two glanced at him. "Relief corps can't go where they please as they please. There were plenty of times where we were denied access to certain worlds, depending on their standing with the Empire."

Al hissed in disgust. "Of course. Kriffing Empire. Can't wait for it to be gone."

"No kidding," Siri shook her head.

"Four days…" Obi-Wan muttered. "That's almost a standard week. We'll have burned half of the recess just getting there. Then we still have to talk to Tlenden and get back to Padmé before the recess is over."

"How long is it from Salkende to Naboo?" Siri asked Al.

Al laughed mirthlessly. "The conventional way is a day. The unconventional route is about a day and a half."

"So basically we have four days to talk to Tlenden," Obi-Wan surmised.

"That's still a good amount of time," Siri assured her husband.

Obi-Wan didn't look very happy with the prospect. "It depends. We still have to figure out why he won't join the Alliance, and then we'll have to try to solve his internal problem for him. _Then_ the negotiations can begin."

"Or we can tell him to get his act together and realize there's more out there than just his planet." Siri grumbled.

"This galaxy is a very large place, Siri," Obi-Wan said. "People often just look out for what's closest to them. It gets too daunting otherwise. Why do you think _we're _so stressed? We're among the minority of insane people who want to look out for _everyone_ and not just their own people."

Siri laughed. "Yes, we are _definitely_ insane."

"Well heck, I knew that already." Al noted. "But since we're all in agreement about our insanity, let's go to the kitchen and get a bite to eat, eh?"

Neither Siri nor Obi-Wan could argue that they were starving, so the trio exited the cockpit and went to the kitchenette. As Al talked excitedly about how wonderful a cook he was, Siri glanced at Obi-Wan, who looked at her in return. She could practically feel his own concern spilling into her. She herself was worried as well; both of them were hoping they could back to Padmé quickly, possibly in a little over a week, if not within the first week. At this rate she'd have to spend the entire recess alone with Vader.

Siri sure hoped Padmé was up to it.

* * *

**Ok, several things. First off, there will be _a lot_ more Vader/Padmé interactions in the coming chapters, so don't fret about how brief their appearances were in this one. They're just tired. Anybody who's ever had a long plane flight will understand, lol; jet lag _sucks._ Secondly, the song Al was singing was an homage to (and basically the same as) Bon Jovi's song called "Raise Your Hands," and an homage to that introduction to Lone Star and Barf in Spaceballs - love that movie, lol. If you haven't seen it, I have two possible things to say to you: since I don't know the age demographic of my readers, let me just say that if you're younger than sixteen or seventeen, I'd wait, haha, but if you're older than that and haven't seen it, check it out. It's hilarious. XD Thirdly, I'm not sure if everybody's as nerdy as I am and knows a few things about how hyperspace works, but supposedly when you're in hyperspace any sort of large gravitational body will yank you out of your travel, which is why hyperdrive routes have to be planned carefully (though if that's the case, why can you still crash into a planet in hyperspace? Exit velocity is too fast to stop...? Hm...). In all honesty, what Al and Siri said about preprogrammed routes are my best explanation as to why a galaxy of interstellar travelers would still have "highways"and "taxation"on "trade routes." Roads aren't two dimensional in space, but neither are planets, so the route would still have to be set a certain way.**

***cough* That absolute nerdiness/geekiness aside (anybody want to explain to me what the difference between a nerd and a geek is, anyway?), I hope you enjoyed the chapter. :)**


	10. At Varykino

**Ugh why do I always write these things at ridiculous hours of the morning? _ It's 5am where I am, so if there are typos, I'm sorry; I'll look this over later. Also, this chapter is _insanely_ long, lol, so you all should be pleased. You can probably tell the point where I started getting really tired, though. XD**

* * *

Padmé's eyelids felt incredibly heavy. Her neck was a little sore, and her body felt stiff. She shifted slightly, moaning in discomfort, before sitting up and rubbing her face with her hand. Opening her eyes blearily, she glanced around the room. It was extremely odd to be waking up to a room that was brilliantly lit with midday sunlight. Glancing at the chronometer, Padmé noted that it was 1600 local time. Sighing, she stood and stretched slowly, feeling her body ache as she did so. At least she felt a little better; she'd still have to go to bed early to adjust, though.

Glancing at herself in the mirror she was rather set on just abandoning any pretenses at looking respectable. Her hair was tousled everywhere, frizzy beyond belief, and her clothes were wrinkled. Well, she should at least wash her face.

Going to the refresher, Padmé looked herself over once more. She was wearing a simple blue dress that went almost to her ankles. Pale blue silk embroidery was woven throughout the bodice, and billowing sleeves flowed to her elbows. It was a very comfortable outfit and she wasn't keen on changing it, but it was time she started doing what she had been intending from the beginning: getting Vader's attention.

But not today. Today was adjustment time. She was just going to be concerned about _herself_ today, since she figured it would be the last bit of sanity she'd have for a while.

Staring at herself, Padmé suddenly felt incredibly alone. It was a feeling she sometimes was a little too familiar with, and she hated it. She'd grown up in a loving and wonderful family, but the Naberrie clan was also very oriented to caring for others and had instilled that quite firmly into Sola, Obi-Wan, and Padmé. As a result, they'd all spent their time doing community service, politics, or anything else that involved most—if not all—of their time, and as Padmé grew older she saw less and less of anybody she knew and more of _everybody_ she didn't know. She was in community service throughout most of her primary school years, joining the Youth Refugee Movement (a branch of the Junior Service Corps) at the age of eight, then the Legislative Youth Program two years later, then she became Princess of Theed at thirteen, Queen of Naboo at fourteen, and Senator of the entire Chommell Sector at eighteen. Age wasn't as much a concern on Naboo as was maturity; anyone was able to emancipate themselves by the time they were twelve, if they so desired (and if their families deemed them ready), and everyone in Padmé's family had done so.

Padmé wasn't sure when her loneliness had started, but she knew it had never quite left. Obi-Wan, being the eldest, had left the home when he turned twelve after joining the Naboo Service Corps and was gone for two year periods. Sola remained with the refugee movement, constantly going on trips. It was no wonder that by the time Padmé herself turned twelve, she felt ready to get out of the house and take on the galaxy; she'd essentially already been fending for herself. She didn't regret anything she had done, she still thought her parents had been amazing to her, and she was eternally grateful for the lessons they had taught her, but… she still sometimes felt _empty_. It was practically miraculous when Obi-Wan had returned to be close to home when she became queen, and the addition of having her friend Siri as a handmaiden seemed to be a dream come true… but she was always _so busy_ just dealing with the _generic_ day to day routines, let alone any sort of crises that may have occurred during her tenure, that she spent all of her day focusing on anything but herself. Her duty and her love for her people always motivated her, and she told herself that she was leading a very fulfilling life, and she always believed that. She _still_ believed that. But there were times when her hectic life would pause just long enough for her to start wondering what the blazes fulfilling even meant.

Even having Obi-Wan and Siri around her now still didn't quite make her stop feeling empty. It had most certainly helped, though; whenever she felt uncertain, she knew she could always turn to them. But they had each other, and she was still just left… alone.

Padmé sighed heavily and splashed her face with some cold water. She needed to snap out of her little pity party. There were infinitely more important things for her to worry about than herself.

But the problem still remained: what was she going to do while stuck at Varykino?

_One thing at a time_, Padmé thought to herself as she dried her face. Running some water through a comb she attempted to make her hair at least look like it hadn't exploded in all directions, and she pinned down anything that refused to be tamed by the comb. Nodding to herself, Padmé exited the refresher and looked outside the window in her room. The day was absolutely gorgeous; she could see the breeze playing with the grass, and there were just enough clouds in the sky to bring comfortable shade to multiple parts of the island.

Blast, she wanted to be outside.

Indulging herself, Padmé smiled and rushed out into the hall before she stopped abruptly. Where was Vader? Would he be outside too?

Padmé remained still, her senses alert. She didn't hear anything apart from the breeze, and it enticed her all the more. Still, she didn't want to be caught off guard; now that she was well rested she was far more concerned with what kind of stunts Vader might pull… especially since _he_ probably had gotten enough sleep too.

Although she stood for a few minutes, she still heard no indication of the Sith Lord, and she eventually began to relax a little. Making certain, Padmé crept over to the guest room to see if he was in there. She wasn't sure she should peek in; if she intruded and he _was_ in there that would bring a whole host of problems and questions and headaches that she didn't want to contend with now. Still, she just had to be sure…

Padmé quickly reached the door that led to the guest room. It was closed, but she could see it wasn't locked. Pulling at the handle, she slowly opened it and poked her head around it.

Vader was asleep; that was immediately clear from the lump under the covers. Padmé flinched, pulling away as if just staring at him would awaken him. But then she grew curious; what did a sleeping murderer look like?

Padmé quickly shook her head. _Okay, first off, you don't know if he killed Sabé, so stop calling him a murderer. But at the least, he did murder an Intelligence agent… more importantly, though, don't be stupid. Or crazy. Or both._

But blast it, she _had_ to look.

Peeking once more, Padmé opened the door just a hair wider. Darth Vader was indeed thankfully still asleep. Padmé wasn't sure if she had any expectations as to what he would look like while sleeping, but if she did have any, they didn't match what she saw. Vader was curled in a tight little ball, barely taking any space up on the bed. He had the blanket wrapped just as tightly around him, and his face was barely visible on the pillow. His expression somehow seemed to convey more when asleep than it ever did when he was awake; it looked… so, _so_ young. He looked like a child.

Padmé suddenly felt awkward looking at him in such a vulnerable state. And intrigued. And terrified. She actually felt like a little kid trying to enter a forbidden room, and her nerves were making her heart rate rise and her stomach do somersaults as if her parents would come around the corner any minute now and catch her in the act.

Good grief, this was weird.

Holding her breath, Padmé slid away, closing the door silently. She felt like she had witnessed some sort of once-in-a-lifetime sight, but she still felt like she had done something she shouldn't have. In either case, she was glad Vader hadn't awoken.

Once she was a few steps away from the guest room, Padmé hastily went outside. The summer heat enveloped her gently as if she had fallen onto a warm pillow, and then a breeze blew it away. She slipped her shoes off, letting the soft, cool grass tickle her toes.

It was so odd being back at Varykino. The last time Padmé had been here she had been in primary school. The entire family had been with her; it was their last vacation together. After that, Padmé had graduated primary school, become Princess of Theed, and the rest was history. It wasn't like she hadn't seen her entire family since then, but they just hadn't _all_ been together since then. Her parents came to visit her occasionally while she was queen, and she spent time with Sola, Darred, and little Ryoo (who had been an infant back then… by heaven, time flew…) between her term as queen and the start of her term as senator. Still, the place gave her a strange mix of peace, loneliness, and nostalgia.

It didn't help that Darth Vader was snoozing inside.

Sighing, Padmé pushed the thoughts out of her mind. Surely she could just enjoy being alone and in the moment. It felt _wonderful_ outside. The breeze played with her hair and dress, and she smiled, closing her eyes.

And then she realized just how _kriffing hungry_ she was.

Chuckling to herself, Padmé reentered the building to go to the kitchen. She could make a sandwich for herself for now, she supposed; she had dismissed the servant who typically looked after the place long before their arrival, so they were on their own out here.

As Padmé practically skipped to the kitchen, starting to finally relax, she almost ran headfirst into Vader.

"M-milord!" she stammered, startled. Her heart rate was probably close to a thousand beats per minute at this point… "I—I'm sorry, I—I didn't see you!"

Vader watched her silently. He looked much more alert now than before, and his appearance was well groomed as if he had never been in bed. He must have been up for a while… probably _just after_ Padmé closed his door. The thought of whether he had awoken while she was still watching him made her get a shiver down her spine. Despite all these thoughts, Vader gave no indication of knowing what she had done earlier. Instead, he stepped to the side to let her pass.

Padmé didn't let his offer go to waste. She hastily walked by him and entered the kitchen, almost slamming the door behind her. Trying to catch her breath, Padmé leaned against the door and moaned. If her entire vacation with him was like this, she'd have a nervous breakdown before it was over.

As the adrenaline began to wear off, Padmé slowly stepped away from the door and looked around the kitchen. She was safe and alone for now; might as well make something to eat. And stay here. By herself. Without Vader.

Wandering the kitchen, Padmé grabbed some ingredients to make a sandwich and then paused, looking at the door once more. Was Vader hungry? What was he doing? Where was he going? She suspected that his entire reason for joining her was to keep an eye on her (after all, he had shown no interest beyond acting like a predator ravenous for its food), so he no doubt was either lingering nearby or plotting some way to keep her in his sight… or worse. Padmé shuddered.

But then that image of him sleeping crept back into her mind, and the shiver down her spine vanished for just an instant. It was only an instant, but it was long enough to make her wonder what in the blazes was wrong with her. Just because he looked cute and cuddly when he was asleep did _not_ mean that was what he was actually like.

_Come on, Padmé,_ she admonished herself internally as she shook her head. _Start thinking._

Appearances were _not_ how one was to judge somebody. If one judged Darth Vader simply based on appearance, they'd see he was a calm, cold man who had impeccable self control and was highly intelligent.

Well, stang. That _was_ him.

"Ugh, that doesn't mean anything," Padmé muttered irritably. It certainly didn't mean that he had a soft, adorable interior just because he looked cute when he was sleeping.

Shaking her mind of the disturbing thoughts, Padmé tried to ponder other issues. She wondered if Obi-Wan and Siri had reached their destination yet. Would they be able to figure out why Senator Tlenden wasn't willing to help the Alliance? Would they be able to convince him to assist nevertheless? Would they be able to accomplish all of this quickly so they can come help her out? Padmé could admit she was headstrong at times, but she wasn't unwilling to ask for help when she needed it… and stars did she need it right now. She thought she would at least have today to herself, and the one encounter she'd had with Vader after the nap didn't even involve any conversation… but her thoughts were lingering too much on the man and she didn't like it. One minute she was calling him a murderer and the next she was imagining him cuddling in his bed.

_Cuddling_. She just used the word _cuddling_ with context to Darth Vader.

"I need food," Padmé moaned. Maybe if she increased the amount of glucose in her system it would make her think logically again.

She finally made her sandwich and munched on it happily. As she did so, her mind began to go over what had happened before the nap. Although she was fairly certain Vader's reason for joining her was to find a way to kill her, he had saved her back at the spaceport. Why? She hadn't been in any immediate danger, honestly, but it was still obvious that his intent was to prevent her from getting hurt. At least that was the impression he gave.

And then it clicked. _He still needs information from me_.

Padmé barked out a laugh and then jumped, looking at the door to ensure Vader didn't hear her. So he was trying to wring as much info about the Alliance out of her as he possibly could. As if she'd ever tell him anything.

As she cleaned the dishes, Padmé decided it was probably time she leave the kitchen. She couldn't hide from him forever, and this new defiance that blossomed within her made her confident. She could face the Sith Lord now.

Exiting the kitchen, Padmé looked around the lake retreat, but Vader was nowhere to be found. His bedroom door was wide open, the bed neatly made. There was no sign of him anywhere. As Padmé exited the building to see if he was somewhere outside, she heard a speeder boat flying over the water. Turning, she peeked around the building down the stairs that led to the dock. The speeder boat was missing.

"What in the…?" she muttered as she hurried down the stairs. Once Padmé reached the dock she looked around confusedly. Where was the boat? What was going on?

She began to walk back up the stairs when she heard a speeder boat coming close. Turning around, Padmé caught sight of the boat she had rented, but she couldn't see who was driving it. Had someone hijacked it for a joyride? If that was the case, it was pretty stupid of them to drive it near the people they had stolen it from.

The speeder boat came close, hovering above the water. As it turned to avoid crashing into the dock, it disengaged its repulsorlift, plopping into the water right as it was turning. This sent a huge wave of water flying towards Padmé, who quickly fled the dock—though not fast enough to avoid getting soaked. Now thoroughly annoyed, she ran back to the dock yelling at whatever blasted delinquent had decided to prank her like this when she suddenly recognized the driver.

It was Vader.

The Sith Lord was sitting in the speeder boat, which he had piloted just beyond the dock before stopping and looking back at her calmly. That smug son of a Hutt did that on purpose!

"I told you I can pilot this." He said nonchalantly.

Padmé was fuming. "It's _driving_ and why in the blazes did you feel the need to get me _wet_?"

"Water is essential to life." Vader remarked in his usual dull manner, though Padmé could _swear_ he was trying to annoy her even more. "Getting wet isn't dangerous."

Trying a different angle, Padmé folded her arms, growing even more angered when she heard the squishy sound her clothes made. "It's certainly _unnecessary_. Surely _you_ can understand that."

"True," Vader conceded with a nod. "It wasn't necessary to get you wet. But it wasn't unnecessary, either."

What in the blazes was _that_ supposed to mean?!

Vader's expression changed, his brow furrowing slightly. "You don't like getting wet, do you?"

Padmé's jaw tightened. "No, what gave you _that_ idea?"

Vader sighed, looking at the controls and then back at her. "I would expect someone who vacationed in the lake country to like lakes."

"Liking a lake isn't the same as wanting to drown in it!"

"You're not drowning."

"I didn't say that!"

"You implied it."

Padmé stomped her foot. "_Don't_ assume what I'm implying."

"You're awfully grumpy for a senator."

Grumpy?! "I am not!"

"Grumpiness is a form of irritability. You're displaying it. Or should I just say you're irritable? Either word implies the same meaning."

Storming to the edge of the dock, Padmé said, "So if we're playing 'guess each other's temperament' can I say you're rude, intimidating, and completely unlikable?"

Her anger immediately vanished. Did she just say that?!

Vader blinked, staring at her for a moment. "I'm unlikable?"

Seriously? Did he _seriously_ just say that? He almost sounded legitimately puzzled! Padmé couldn't help it—she laughed out loud. "Sorry, milord—I'm sure there are some people who don't mind being interrogated and bullied, but I'm not one of them."

Oh, blast it, she had spoken before thinking _again_. "Uh—I—what I meant to say was—"

Well, screw it. She _had_ meant to say that, so she just dropped whatever cover up she was going to spit out.

"I'm only proving I can drive," Vader replied. "That's not bullying."

They were really having this discussion now? "I meant _before_ just now, milord."

"That was Imperial Center. This is Naboo."

"So your temperament changes on different planets? You didn't seem that different on the ship."

"I didn't interrogate you on the ship. _You_ were interrogating _me_."

"No, I wasn't!" Padmé immediately replied, growing irritated again. He had the gall to say such a thing after all the crap he'd put her, Obi-Wan, and Siri through?!

"You were asking me personal questions."

"That's _not_ interrogating, that's just curiosity!"

Vader shrugged. "Same thing."

Honestly, if Padmé had been in her right mind she would have been astonished that she was capable of having an argument with Darth Vader without getting strangled… but she was frankly too pissed off at this point to be thinking such a thing. "You seriously believe that's the same thing?"

"Interrogation is simply a means of obtaining information."

"A forceful means!"

"Prying questions can seem forceful."

Padmé opened her mouth to reply when she suddenly stopped. Surely—no—surely not—Vader hadn't felt like she was being _aggressive_ when she'd been asking those questions, had he?

Well, to be fair, she had forced herself on him back at the senate building. But… he was _Darth Vader_. Surely he wasn't intimidated by her. _Surely_. No, it was far more likely that her questions annoyed him or made him a little uncomfortable, but not nervous. Honestly, what _did_ he think of her?

Taking a deep breath, Padmé calmed herself as best she could. "I'm sorry if my questions seemed too personal. My queries were simply for curiosity's sake; I had no ulterior motive."

"Then why would you ask them?" Vader sounded surprisingly sincere with this question.

Padmé shrugged. "Because… I just wanted to know."

"Why?"

"Just… because." Again, Padmé shrugged. Getting acquainted with someone was just something you did; it felt odd trying to explain it. Admittedly, sometimes her questions towards him were to throw him off guard, but other times she really was legitimately curious.

Vader only looked confused. "That doesn't make sense."

Padmé sighed, shaking her head. "Why don't you bring the boat back over here and we can talk about it?"

Vader watched her for a moment, deciding whether he should return to the dock, and then drove the boat back slowly. When he pulled in front of the dock, he didn't get out of the boat. "We can talk about it here."

"At the dock?"

Vader pat the seat beside him.

Padmé suddenly felt claustrophobic. She'd rather have the entire island than just being confined in a boat. That inner defiance began to peek out again, however, and she suddenly grew sick of being scared of Vader. Bolstering her confidence, she agreed, hopping into the boat and sitting beside the Sith Lord.

Vader reengaged the boat and began to drive it away from the dock. Despite her best efforts, Padmé still felt slightly nervous, and so she asked, "Where are we going?"

Vader shrugged. "Anywhere."

Folding her arms, Padmé quirked an eyebrow. "Isn't that unnecessary?"

The Sith Lord paused, unable to answer. Ah, it was so satisfying beating him with his own logic. He may be a masterful swordsman, military strategist, assassin, and Sith Lord, but wordplay was Padmé's arena.

"I guess it is," he replied, his voice very quiet. He almost sounded _dejected_.

Suddenly feeling guilty, Padmé touched his arm lightly. "It doesn't matter. You can, uh, practice driving. That's got a purpose to it. Also, we can see the perimeter of the island this way."

Vader gave her a glance as he pulled his arm from her, his eyes a brilliant blue in the sunlight. His face was smooth and placid, but not cold. Her words seemed to legitimately cheer him up. This was kriffing _weird_.

"I suppose there's merit to that." Vader finally replied, steering the boat around the island.

Padmé smiled and nodded, feeling odd. She had just reassured him that it was okay to do something trivial. Never mind the rest—she had just _reassured_ him. Either she was going crazy, or he was. Or both.

Or maybe he was right; maybe he just acted differently when he was away from the stifling atmosphere of Imperial Center. But he hadn't acted much differently back at the spaceport. Tired to be sure, but not different.

Finally just throwing caution to the winds, Padmé asked, "Why do you act so differently?"

"Differently from what?"

"From _anyone_."

Vader looked at her briefly, his neutral mask back on. "Why do you ask such questions?"

"Curiosity."

"What's the purpose of that?"

"If you're not curious, you won't learn anything," Padmé replied.

"You learn for a reason." Vader rebutted. "If you need to understand how something works, you learn everything pertaining to it. What are you trying to understand, senator?"

"You." Padmé said matter-of-factly. "You're a mystery."

"Mysteries are unknown, unsolved. Sometimes they're meant to be kept that way."

"And sometimes people find them all the more appealing _because_ they're mysteries."

Vader was silent for several minutes before he finally stopped the boat at some obscure spot near the island. He faced her. "You are the strangest mix of contradictions I've met."

Padmé jumped slightly, befuddled by his description. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"You said back on Imperial Center that you found me intriguing. I presume now that it has to do with what you said about mysteries… but then you stated earlier that I'm unlikable. Why would you want to solve the mystery of an unlikable person? Why would you find someone unlikable and intriguing at the same time? From what I've seen of people, they don't associate with things and beings they don't like."

Sithspit. Now _he_ had cornered _her_ with her own logic.

"I suppose it's because I… don't understand you." Padmé said carefully. "Sometimes I find you interesting… and sometimes I find you frustrating. It's natural for someone's opinion of a person to change as they get to know them better."

"You don't know me."

Padmé laughed. That was what she had been trying to say! "That's because you won't tell me anything."

Vader watched her for a very long time. Her mild mirth began to fade, and she squirmed uncomfortably. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I don't like you." He said abruptly.

Padmé jumped. "Oh… uh, why not?"

Vader continued to watch her, his eyes hard. "I don't trust you."

Padmé felt a smile tug at her lips. How ironic, considering she didn't trust him farther than she could throw him. She had to admit: at least he was being honest. Still, she_ needed_ to make him trust her, and considering they were going to be stuck together at Varykino, she needed to make the vacation somewhat tolerable. "You can like someone without trusting them implicitly; I like several people, but I don't know them well enough to trust them too much."

Vader cocked his head to the side just a hair. "Explain."

Instead of going through some tiresome explanation, Padmé tried a different angle. "Who told you that you needed to trust someone to like them?"

"The governor." Vader replied, as if that was self explanatory.

Governor? What governor? "You mean… Governor Tarkin, perhaps?"

Apparently she guessed correctly; Vader nodded.

"Do you trust him?"

Another nod.

"So by your logic, you like him."

Another nod.

Gazing at the Sith Lord intently, Padmé then asked, "Do you like the emperor?"

Vader nodded again, though his eyes hardened a little.

Padmé held back a sigh. She didn't want to get into _that_ right now, so she just let it slide. "So why don't you trust me?"

"I don't know you."

That was a fairly amusing and ironic statement, considering she had said the same about him earlier. She suspected he assumed she didn't trust him either, then. Smart man. Not that she thought he had made any sort of preconceived notions, but… in either case, she needed to swing this conversation to her favor. Besides, his statement was a little too fat of a lie for her to swallow. "You have all of Imperial Intelligence at your fingertips. You're telling me that with all those resources you don't know me? Every time you ask me a question you already know the answer."

Vader folded his arms. "Then perhaps I know you too well."

Sithspit, she had opened herself up to that one. Time to fix that. "I think the former assumption might be correct, actually. I thought I knew everything possible about you from your exploits, but you're quite different in person. Why don't you give me a chance?"

The Sith Lord grew pensive, finally looking away from her. Padmé released a breath she didn't even realized she had been holding. These conversations were going to age her a decade. It would be nice to have a conversation where she didn't feel like she was back in the senate dealing with some untrustworthy politician, but she supposed this would be the norm until Obi-Wan and Siri could rescue her.

Blast, those two couldn't come fast enough. Still… she seemed to have won this match. Vader continued to gaze elsewhere, leaving Padmé a little relieved. She leaned back into her seat, relaxing, and she gazed out onto the lake. Suddenly, she heard the sound of a stomach growling. Clutching her own she let out an embarrassed chuckle (as if Vader would even bother to notice such a trivial thing, anyway), but then she remembered that she had just eaten. She wasn't hungry.

"Milord?" Padmé looked at him. Vader glanced back at her, saying nothing. She assumed he was waiting for her to speak. "Are you hungry?"

The question seemed to wash over him as if he wasn't expecting it, as if the thought of being hungry was a novelty. Then he nodded, almost sheepishly. His behavior soothed Padmé's rattled nerves like a balm, and she gave him a smile. "Let's go back to the retreat, then. I'll make you a sandwich."

"I'll make my own meal." Vader replied, returning his attention to the controls. He drove the boat back to the dock in silence. Once they arrived at the dock, Vader hopped out, not bothering to wait for or help Padmé. After she clambered onto the dock once more, she looked up to see that he had already vanished.

Climbing the stairs, Padmé wandered onto the balcony, watching the slow descent of the sun. Was it dusk already? How long had they been out on the water? Looking down at her dress, she was at least happy to see that her clothing was finally dry. Padmé entered the retreat in contentment, glancing towards the kitchen. Should she go check on him? Probably not. He seemed like he'd had enough socializing for one day, and honestly, Padmé felt the same. This was supposed to have been her day to avoid him, anyway. Sighing, Padmé walked to her bedroom and closed the door. Pulling off her shoes, she laid across the bed, blowing out a deep breath and pondering the day.

Her interactions with Vader after that nap were probably the closest to normal she'd ever had. She guessed there was some merit to what he had said earlier, then; being on Imperial Center bogged down everyone, apparently, even Sith Lords. Or was that just a ploy? If it was, it didn't make sense to be likable now. And even so, he hadn't necessarily been likable today; just tolerable. Or maybe Padmé was growing used to dealing with him. She didn't know. She just knew it hadn't been that bad.

Hopefully the rest of her time with the Sith Lord would be like this. It was still a little stressful, but it at least wasn't as bad as she had originally presumed.

She still couldn't wait for Obi-Wan and Siri to come to her aid, though.

* * *

Despite only being in her early twenties, Siri had seen many worlds. Her four years spent in the service corps had taken her to no fewer than fourteen planets. They had all been badly affected by some sort of catastrophe, whether natural, war-related, or Imperial. Due to this experience, she tended to think she couldn't be surprised by much.

Blast, was she wrong.

Siri coughed harshly. The most noticeable and pungent thing about Nar Shaddaa was its _smell_. She literally felt her lungs fill with gunk as she took a step down the ramp. "Don't they have air scrubbers here?"

Al laughed. "Yeah, near the Promenade, maybe. You buy your own for your apartment, if you can afford one."

"How do people _live_ here?" Siri asked, covering her nose with her sleeve. Obi-Wan hadn't spoken; he was too busy trying _not_ to inhale the air.

"One day at a time," Al sighed. "I've been here a lot because of business, but I've never liked this place. Setting foot here is like seeing the worst of the galaxy all thrown into one moon. It's really kriffing depressing… though I'll admit the women are blasted gorgeous."

Siri shot Al an irritable look, and he quickly added, "I mean the ones at the casinos—the ones betting—not the slaves—I—"

"You're only digging your own grave all the more," Obi-Wan sighed.

Al laughed shakily. "True. I'll just shut up."

Known as the Smuggler's Moon, Nar Shaddaa was similar to Imperial Center in that the entire moon was one big city. _Unlike_ Imperial Center, which—to the Empire's credit—was relatively clean and well kept through most of its levels, Nar Shaddaa was a cesspool of criminals, pollution, and poverty. People on Nar Shaddaa typically fell into two categories: those who made trade there, and those who couldn't afford to get the heck out of there. Unfortunately the latter was the dominant population, and it led to a miserable atmosphere all around.

Siri coughed again. The smell was almost unbearable. It reeked of fuel, exhaust, sweat, sick, and other smells that she couldn't even identify… probably different kinds of spices and stims. Blast, at this rate she'd either get high or catch some disease just standing here.

"Let's just find somebody who can fix the ship." Siri said through her sleeve. "The sooner we get off this moon, the better."

"Tell you what: I'll find the mechanic. You two take a taxi to the Promenade before you pass out." Al smiled sympathetically. "It takes a little while to get used to the atmosphere."

"How many times have you been here?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Enough to know that I can't die from the stench."

"That's debatable." Siri remarked sarcastically.

"The Promenade's much better, I promise."

"Why?"

Al shrugged. "It's where most of the people with money interact. Just be careful; if you're seen there, you're either a customer or a slave. Be the former. Please."

"You think we're stupid enough to get ourselves into _that_ bad a situation?" Siri rolled her eyes and then she pat the blaster that was sitting in her holster. "I told you, we can take care of ourselves."

"All right, then." Al nodded and smiled. "I'll meet you at the Slippery Slopes Cantina. You'll see it when you get there; biggest joint in the area."

Siri nodded and wandered out of the hangar. It was amazing to her that they were _inside a hangar_ and could smell the city to such a degree. She couldn't imagine how horrible it would be once they got outside.

The spaceport itself was surprisingly decent. Although the corners were filthy and the walls, floor, and ceiling were colored in a grungy brown, the place was still lit relatively well and populated enough to make it respectable. There were guards who bore insignias of different crime lords for whom they worked. Most of the insignias were the same, indicating that the spaceport was owned by one crime lord with some lower level lackeys lending a hand. Because that's who ran this moon: crime lords. Lots of them.

Siri and Obi-Wan were both dressed in traveling clothes, so neither held any indication of their status. Both were also noticeably armed. In any respectable spaceport, this would immediately catch the attention of security, but here it was stranger to _not_ be armed.

Obi-Wan paused, sniffing tentatively. "Is that food?"

"Probably nothing that's actually edible." Siri replied.

"I have no intention of eating here," Obi-Wan smirked. "I was just relieved to smell something that didn't make me nauseous."

Siri laughed. It felt nice to laugh. After everything that had been happening, she had barely felt any mirth. Between losing Sabé, leaving Padmé with Darth Vader, finding out that Yavin 4 had an Imperial presence, and getting sidetracked by maintenance issues, she hadn't had much to laugh about. Despite wanting to be with Padmé to help her, Siri was glad she was with her husband. Obi-Wan always managed to make her smile.

Squaring her shoulders, Siri walked alongside her husband as they exited the spaceport (there was of course no customs to go through, so they could just enter and go as they pleased). Two burly Weequay guards watched them warily before looking elsewhere, and that was essentially the most attention they garnered as they waited for a taxi to arrive.

Siri stretched and was tempted to lean against the railing, but heaven knew what kind of diseases were on it… or other less savory stuff. Shuddering, she didn't even want to think about it. She had to admit; of all the places she'd been to, this one definitely took the spot for being the dirtiest.

"Kind of like when we went to Kerlin 7, don't you think?" Siri remarked, recalling the little known planet.

Obi-Wan pondered it for a moment and raised his eyebrows slightly. "Yes, I suppose. Except that wasn't the entire planet."

"Well it's as close as it gets."

Obi-Wan offered a small nod as Siri remembered the planet. She had gone when she was fourteen years old; she and Obi-Wan had been part of a group sent there to help house and supply the refugees. A disease had slammed the population, and entire cities were under quarantine; people were fleeing the cities to make camps in the outskirts, and doctors had to check them over to ensure they weren't infected. If they passed the numerous exams, they were processed at refugee camps, where people like Obi-Wan and Siri helped take care of them, organize them, and supply them. The camps had been overcrowded, dirty, and full of terrified or angry people who were ready to snap at anybody who got near them.

Siri remembered one night specifically where she was on dinner duty, serving meals to the people there: one of them had suddenly collapsed and started seizing. Siri had called for help, and doctors had rushed in from everywhere. Every person in that room had been placed under quarantine, and Siri had to undergo what had seemed like a million different checks, immunizations, and exams to ensure she didn't catch the disease too. It hadn't been a pleasant experience, to say the least.

But it had been totally worth it to get all the pampering from Obi-Wan following her release from medical custody. He had been frantic the entire time she had been under quarantine, and all the doting she had received afterwards just made her laugh now. And melt from the sweetness. Not that she'd tell _Obi-Wan_ that.

A taxi finally arrived, relieving Siri; she really was relying on Al's word that the Promenade had more air scrubbers than the spaceport area. Obi-Wan and Siri were about to step in when the taxi droid stated that the fee had to be paid up front.

"_Settah do tchutta._ State your destination." The droid ordered.

"The Promenade." Obi-Wan answered, trying to hide his Coruscanti accent; the last thing they needed was to be identified as Imperials. Most people outside of the Empire didn't speak a lot of Basic, let alone with an accent that denoted high education and status.

The droid held out its hand. "Fifty-two bronze peggats."

Siri and Obi-Wan exchanged wary glances. Al hadn't told them what currencies they could and couldn't use.

"Do you accept other kinds of payment?" Siri asked.

"The following are the acceptable forms of payment: bronze peggats, silver peggats, gold peggats, death sticks, bloodcurlers, slaves, the express, and indentured servitude."

Siri groaned. "Well that helps."

"Is there an exchange in the spaceport?" Obi-Wan asked the droid.

"My programming is for the taxi service. If you are not taking a taxi, move along." The droid replied.

"Thanks," Siri muttered. "Come on, Obi. We can find an exchange."

"Perhaps not so much like Kerlin 7, then," Obi-Wan sighed as the two reentered the spaceport.

"Yeah, well, back then the service corps took care of the details for us." Siri replied. "Miss those days?"

Obi-Wan chuckled. "I suppose. It's amazing how much _simpler_ our lives were. Still, there's no point in lingering on it."

The two finally managed to find a place where they could exchange some Imperial credits for peggats. After doing so, they obtained a taxi and finally arrived at the Promenade. As promised, the air was much fresher here, bringing great relief to Siri. The two ventured around the large plaza, which was centered by an enormous golden statue of some big name Hutt, before finding their way to the enormous cantina Al had mentioned. The place had about five floors, which were all completely full of people enjoying drinks and socializing with fellow clients. Slaves were everywhere, dancing for the clients' delight. Siri sighed heavily, looking away from the sight. "I need a drink."

A red skinned Twi'lek female who was barely wearing anything walked slowly to them, swinging her hips as much as physically possible. A thin slave collar dangled around her neck, decorated with jewelry. Sitting on the counter where Obi-Wan and Siri were, the Twi'lek rubbed Obi-Wan's thigh with her foot. "Hey there, handsome."

Siri stiffened, and her hand slipped to her blaster. "You've got two seconds to get lost."

Obi-Wan jumped, noticing his wife's action. "Siri, calm down." Turning to the slave he gave a small, polite smile. "I'm taken, I'm afraid."

Looking at Siri, the slave smiled. "You can share, can't you? I've got a friend just for you."

Motioning her head, Siri felt rather than saw another slave approaching behind her. She didn't bother turning her head; she was too busy burning holes through the slave woman's skull with her glare. "I said _get lost_."

Obi-Wan slowly stood, putting a hand on Siri's shoulder. "We'll move."

The slave seemed to notice her life was in danger and departed before Obi-Wan could coax Siri to get up, so the situation resolved itself. Siri still felt her blood boiling, though, and she threw a death glare at anybody who dared breathe in their direction. Obi-wan sighed heavily. Siri ignored him. She wasn't mad at him; she knew her husband well enough. Obi-Wan never had eyes for anyone but her; he had had at least three other girls who had been crushing on him during their time in the service corps, but he had shown no interest in them. He had shown little interest in Siri beyond a friendship, honestly, until they had almost died on a mission. It was amazing what facing your mortality would do to you.

That didn't mean Siri wouldn't get seriously pissed off when flirtatious woman got near her husband, though. Because she did. Every kriffing time. Obi-Wan was harmless, but he was also _way_ too polite, and women would take advantage of that.

"You shouldn't be so jumpy, you know," Obi-Wan admonished. Siri detected a little annoyance in his tone.

"It's not that I don't trust you," Siri shook her head, knowing why he was growing irritated. "It's that you don't seem to know how to be _firm_ with people."

"I'm quite capable of being firm with people." Obi-Wan said indignantly.

Siri laughed at the slight whine in his tone. "Yeah, right. You can convince people to eat out of the palm of your hand with appeasing words and the like, but if somebody refuses to stop butting heads with you, you don't know what to do."

"Well I certainly don't do what _you_ would do."

"What's wrong with pointing a blaster at them? Gets the point across. That slave wouldn't have backed off unless I did so."

"You can diffuse such situations _without_ threats, you know."

Siri laughed again and then motioned to a drunken patron stumbling over. "Sure. Let's see how well that goes."

Obi-Wan followed her gaze and stiffened slightly. The man sat in the chair beside Siri and flashed a lopsided grin. As he exhaled, Siri was blasted with the smell of alcohol. This guy was totally plastered.

"Hey, sweetheart," he greeted. "Can I buy you a drink?"

Siri looked over at Obi-Wan pointedly. "What do you think?"

"Kindly leave my wife alone," Obi-Wan said coldly.

"Aw, I'm just offering her a drink!" the client replied jovially. "What's the harm in that?"

Siri continued to watch her husband, placing her elbow on the counter and leaning her head on her hand. It was too amusing watching Obi-Wan struggle with this situation.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath. Siri recognized that look. He was starting to lose patience. When he opened his eyes and locked his gaze with hers, she gave a sly smile and tapped her blaster with a finger. _Come on, I told you this was the only way. Just admit it._

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and gave the man stern look. "I said _leave_."

"Free drinks for everyone!" the man shouted, lifting his arms in triumph. People nearby cheered, and Obi-Wan's brow twitched.

"You don't _want_ to give us free drinks. You want to _leave_." He said sternly. "Now _go_."

The man suddenly paused, making Siri's smug smile falter. What was wrong with him? Too much to drink? His eyes clouded for a second, and then he shrugged, standing. "Yeah, I don't want to give you free drinks. I want to leave."

The man stumbled away before tripping over some stairs and landing on top of some other clients. There was a large raucous and people started yelling at each other angrily, but Siri ignored it, gaping at her husband. "What did you—how did you—"

Obi-Wan seemed similarly baffled at the man's sudden change in attitude, but then he just smiled in triumph. "Well, there's your proof, Siri."

"That was a fluke!" Siri snapped.

"Well don't start bringing the entire cantina over," Obi-Wan muttered as he finally got the bartender's attention.

As the two ordered their drinks, Siri and Obi-Wan turned in unison as a fight broke out between the people the drunk had fallen on. Security rushed in to break the fight up, but most of the cantina just ignored the fiasco, though some who were closer to the action watched in amusement. As some Gamorreans pulled fighters apart from each other, Siri caught sight of Al slipping through the crowd.

"Hey, what did I tell you? This place is the best watering hole on this dump of a moon." Al said with a big smile. "Also, I managed to get in contact with some friends who told me how things are going with our fellow Rebels."

Obi-Wan and Siri immediately gave him their full attention. "You found out what happened on Yavin 4?"

Al nodded. "Yep. As soon as they figured out Dantooine was compromised they packed up and cleared house. Maybe an hour or two later they found out the Imperials were there. Talk about a close call, huh? Anyway, they tried to get the word out to everybody on Imperial Center, but with Athia out of commission they couldn't reach us."

"They couldn't contact you?" Siri asked curiously.

Al shook his head. "Not how it works. I was recruited to get supplies by Kuna, who was recruited by you guys. Athia is the only other Rebel I've had contact with, apart from the poor sod who was drowning his sorrows out there. I'm totally with the cause, but I'm technically still an outside party. It's better for business."

"Business?" Siri raised an eyebrow. "You're not a fan of your business."

"But it pays the bills," Al shrugged. "And I haven't gotten a lot of jobs from the Alliance recently, anyway, not with the mess that's been going on. Hence why my ship's falling apart. And speaking of which, I did find a place that can fix her up, but it's going to take a day."

"A day?" Obi-Wan repeated. Siri glanced at him. His tone was relatively neutral, but it held that _you've got to be kidding me_ edge to it. His jaw muscles were tight, and his finger was tapping the bar incessantly. He wasn't expecting this delay. Siri was, though; a day was actually better than she expected. She placed a hand on his knee and gave him a small smile.

"Afraid so," Al replied as he sat beside Siri and ordered a drink.

"So the ship's in the shop," Siri sighed. "We have to find a place to stay, then."

"I think I'd rather stay here all night," Obi-Wan said with a shudder. "I can't imagine what their sleeping accommodations are like."

"The places near the casinos are pretty good, I hear." Al offered.

"You got enough money to afford a place like that?" Siri asked shrewdly.

Al laughed sheepishly, rubbing his hands together. "Well…"

Obi-Wan sighed heavily and then downed his drink in one gulp. Siri leaned her head against him. That was enough for his muscles to relax, and she felt herself calm as well. She understood his concern, though; they wanted as little of a delay as possible. A day wasn't too bad, though. Besides, it would give them time to figure out what was going on with Tlenden and Salkende in general; if they figured out what the problem was before they got there, they could solve it much faster. Siri didn't like sitting around doing nothing, anyway; not when there was work to be done.

"We can sleep when the ship is fixed. Let's find out what we can about Salkende." She said to Obi-Wan, closing her eyes.

She felt him nod. "I agree."

Al groaned. "I hate all-nighters."

* * *

Tarkin rubbed his head, sighing. His hangover was _finally_ departing, allowing him to actually look at the information provided for him earlier in the day. As he leaned back in his chair, he read the first few lines and immediately smiled, all previous inconveniences forgotten.

They had Mothma.


	11. Sleuthing

**Hm, I've come to the realization that my story is starting to mirror AotC: Plot starts on Coruscant with all characters, Ani and Padmé go to Naboo together, Obi (and friends!) goes on his own little quest and investigation, etc... well, yeah, then there's Tarkin. Lol. Hopefully my dialogue isn't as terrifying as the romance dialogue from that movie, though. I love the prequels, but by heaven was that romance dialogue cringe worthy sometimes...**

**Anyway, here's another very long chapter. These keep getting longer, lol; I had to cut it off before it got too crazy.**

* * *

It wasn't very often that Tarkin graced the interrogation rooms with his presence. First off, there were those who had training tailored just to the art of breaking people; the Empire was known for getting answers from its prisoners. Secondly, he preferred not to dirty his hands. He had more important matters to attend to, and was only interested in the results, anyway.

But in this instance, he made an exception.

Mon Mothma sat stiffly, her face bleeding from a previous blow. An interrogation droid hovered in the corner, its drug contents depleted. The former senator was deathly pale, but she hadn't spoken anything of interest to Tarkin the entire time. They had been questioning her for two hours, and all she had ever responded was that she was innocent of all accusations.

Tarkin felt his reserved emotions slip; his calm and callous demeanor cracked just enough. He backhanded the woman harshly. "Where is the Rebel base?!"

"You have the wrong person," Mothma replied in a soft tone, her voice weak after screaming from an earlier interrogation method. "I'm a loyal citizen of the Empire."

"Just as Senator Amidala is?" Tarkin probed to test her reaction. Mothma barely flinched; it was enough of an indication to confirm that Amidala was most likely in league with the Alliance… but Tarkin already knew this.

This woman was too stubborn. Intimidation would not work, drugs would not work, torture would not work – the professionals were failing at their jobs. They needed to do _more_.

This required a Sith's expertise.

Blowing out a frustrated sigh, Tarkin waved off the interrogator and the droid. "Enough for now. Be sure she doesn't eat, but don't let her die just yet."

"Yes, sir," the interrogator replied with a curt nod.

Tarkin left the prison rattled. He did at least have Mothma in custody, and everyone knew she was a traitor; that much was not in question. However, he had failed (more like _Ozzel_ had failed) to destroy the main Rebel base, and he could no longer hide this failure from the emperor. He began to deliberate the possible outcomes of this encounter, and none of them were good. Palpatine might have him killed for incompetency (not that this was _his_ fault), or he could have him demoted in some manner.

Things would be much more manageable if Vader was in charge of the military as was his duty. Tarkin was on his last nerve, and this operation would be going much more smoothly if the Sith Lord were aiding him. He wasn't incapable of handling difficult situations without help, but blast it, Tarkin also never had to juggle the _entire military_ alongside his other duties. There was a _reason_ militaries this big were divided between many high ranking officials, not just _one_. How in the blazes did Vader manage without losing his mind?

Tarkin let out a bitter laugh. As if the boy had a sane mind in the first place.

Reaching the palace, Tarkin hastened to his quarters so he could organize his thoughts and information for the briefing to come. He contacted an aide, ordering her to request an audience with the emperor, and then he sat and brooded over everything he knew… or, to be frank, what _little_ he knew.

Well, here's what he _did_ know: Mon Mothma was a traitor, but was a worthless informant. The Rebel base _had_ been on Yavin 4, and they had _literally just missed them_. Judging from the fact that the scum had two bases, their numbers had grown exponentially. Senator Amidala was their best lead to find the base since Mothma was of no use.

And that was it.

The conclusions were obvious, then. Darth Vader was needed, and he could either interrogate or just kill Mothma. While he was at it, he could bring Amidala in since she was with him. Tarkin would then have control of the situation once more; he'd much rather have Vader under his own thumb than under Palpatine's. The one time the emperor had allowed Tarkin to borrow Vader for an assignment, it had been the most satisfactory experience in his life. He hadn't had to worry about anything at all; the boy was efficient, quick, and obedient.

Sighing, Tarkin checked his appearance in the mirror as he prepared for his audience with the emperor. The aide returned just in time, saying Palpatine was ready to see him. Nodding, Tarkin walked to the throne room. The Red Guard allowed him through, and he went down on one knee before the throne as the doors closed behind him.

"Report." Palpatine immediately ordered.

Tarkin spoke quickly, repeating everything he had just reviewed. He refrained from giving his own conclusions until asked, however; he was the failure in Palpatine's eyes at the moment, and so he had no right to be making suggestions on how to proceed.

"So the Rebels are still at large, and their numbers are greater than we could have ever expected." Palpatine surmised, entwining his fingers slowly. He leaned back in his seat, his face hidden under his trademark hood. Tarkin's hand on his knee stiffened into a grip that clawed at his trousers. It was judgment time.

"I was expecting the Alliance to be in pieces by now," Palpatine said quietly. Tarkin shuddered as he felt the room grow colder. "Why is this not the case?"

Tarkin took a steadying breath. "I informed the nearest fleet as soon as the knowledge came to me, Your Imperial Majesty. It… appears that we got the information too late."

"Your destruction of the base on Dantooine seems to have been a miscalculation, then," Palpatine deduced, and the room grew even colder. Tarkin felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as if static were all around him.

Despite his fear of possibly being electrocuted (or perhaps because of it), Tarkin attempted to plead his case. "Your Majesty, if I had not attacked at Dantooine, we would have had no information at all. They were getting ready to leave – that was the only reason I gave the order. I had to seize the opportunity. The Intel we gained from the attack has more than made up for the rashness, sire. We wouldn't have known about Yavin or the size of the Alliance if not for it."

"Did you obtain any information as to safe locations? Recruitment areas? Supplies? Communications?"

"Intelligence has cracked several communications codes, sire, but the Alliance has already changed them. If they knew of the attack on Dantooine—"

"Then all the information you supposedly gained is useless," Palpatine interrupted, his voice growing tight with annoyance. "Anything you obtained has immediately become obsolete."

"But not the information on their numbers, sire," Tarkin argued. "And that _is_ a gain for us; we had no idea they had gotten this out of control. And if I may say, sire, this did not all happen under my watch."

He attempted to phrase that last sentence as delicately as he could without losing the scathing meaning. His stomach still churned, though, both at his brashness and at who he was accusing. He had just pondered earlier how it was impossible for one person to handle the entire military considering all that was going on, and now he was placing the blame on Vader as if he expected him to do the impossible.

Well, to be honest, that _was_ Vader's specialty. The boy always excelled when he was told he wouldn't be able to handle the situation. Although the young Sith Lord never claimed to have any likes or dislikes, Tarkin could tell that he _always_ eagerly proving people wrong when it came to his ability. Whether this was because he was defiant, daring, rash, or anything else was beyond him, though… if he was even aware such emotions existed within himself.

Palpatine was silent for a long time, considering Tarkin's words. The governor held his breath as the emperor debated the matter. Eventually, Palpatine said, "Keep Mothma under strict surveillance. Don't let her die just yet; keep her at the precipice. Make her wonder whether she is even alive or not. Leave her to her own thoughts. Lord Vader will interrogate her upon his return."

Did that mean—was it actually going to happen—was Palpatine going to recall Vader?

"Contact Lord Vader and inform him of the situation," Palpatine continued. "Advise him that his mission is now paramount."

Wait, what?

Tarkin had already pushed his luck today, so he wasn't going to argue, but he felt his chest tighten as he grew steadily angrier with the circumstances. "Yes, Your Majesty."

Tarkin rose to his feet and then bowed deeply, backing out of the room. As soon as the throne room's doors closed, he stormed to his quarters, muttering curses under his breath.

This was preposterous. After everything that had happened, Palpatine _still_ wouldn't lend Vader to Tarkin's mission? Honestly Tarkin should feel extremely grateful he hadn't been punished, but he knew he was walking on the blade's edge now – one more mistake and it _would_ be the end of him.

Once he reached his quarters, Tarkin snatched his comlink, squeezing it, before throwing it down once more. No, he'd call from his desk; the holoprojector would allow for a more face-to-face discussion.

Keying in the correct frequency, Tarkin took a step from his desk and clasped his hands in front of him, squeezing until his knuckles popped. He wasn't even sure where he'd start from this point; Mothma was now untouchable until Vader's return, and he had very little information to go on. As Palpatine had astutely pointed out, all the information they had obtained was now obsolete.

Well, _almost_ all of it. There was no way they could warn _everyone_ in time. They might be able to track distant operatives and suppliers. Perhaps Vader knew of a few as well; he hadn't told anybody about the operatives on Naboo, after all, until he had eliminated them.

The holo communicator continued its attempt to reach Vader, making Tarkin wonder if the young Sith Lord would even answer. Checking his chronometer, he noted that it would be roughly 21:30 at the coordinates Vader had provided. The man would certainly still be awake.

Finally, he heard a distinct click and the holoprojector came to life, forming Darth Vader. The young Sith Lord bowed. Tarkin examined him briefly. He was dressed as usual: a black tunic, trousers, cloak, and a dark brown belt. His expression was, as far as Tarkin could tell over the holo, alert.

"There's been a situation here, milord." Tarkin explained. Vader listened attentively. "The senator of the Bormea Sector, Mon Mothma, has been arrested for treason. She is currently being held prisoner in our high security facility. Interrogations have yielded little, so you will be in charge of breaking her upon your return at the end of the recess. This also means that Senator Amidala is now our central lead; you _must_ get information out of her."

"You want the location of the Rebel base." Vader surmised.

"I want _everything_," Tarkin replied. "As does the emperor."

"Have my mission parameters changed, then?"

Tarkin paused. Should he lie and tell Vader that the parameters had changed? Should he tell him that he had to get the information at all costs by any means necessary? He certainly _wanted_ to say such a thing, but he was in enough hot water as it was; if Palpatine found out that he had manipulated Vader so obviously… but then again, if Vader broke her, Tarkin could just convince Palpatine that there was no other option. At this point it was the logical approach. Still, Palpatine's logic didn't quite fit with Tarkin's, and if he was adamant that Vader continue as ordered, then there was some puzzle piece that Tarkin was missing… one that he really needed to figure out.

Come to think of it, that was becoming Tarkin's priority now.

"No," Tarkin finally answered. "The mission still stands. Just understand that the fate of the Rebel Alliance and the Empire rests in the results."

Vader bowed his head in acknowledgement. For having such a heavy burden placed on him, he looked completely calm… but that was expected. Interestingly, though, Vader didn't immediately cut the channel. That typically indicated that he had something to say or ask and wasn't quite sure how to do so. Tarkin had learned to read his little subtle communications over the years, and this was one of his most obvious.

"Is there a problem, milord?" Tarkin asked, folding his arms.

Vader sighed, lowering his eyes. "I recall your advice: share the senator's likes and dislikes. Be more open. But I don't understand how that will help. The senator said today that I was unlikable."

Tarkin raised an eyebrow. "How did you merit that sort of response? As I remember, _she_ was the one who invited _you_."

Vader's eyes shot to Tarkin's immediately; this was what was bothering him. "Yes, she did. I don't understand her, governor. How can I get her to like me when I can't understand her?"

Tarkin smirked, leaning back on his heels. "She's a woman, milord. I never said they make any sense."

Vader stared at him, not catching the joke. Tarkin sighed.

"Women are… more difficult to comprehend," Tarkin said honestly. "At least depending upon the woman. Intelligent women are difficult to comprehend because they _want_ to keep you guessing. Others… are just too stupid to bother with. I don't think Amidala is the latter; you'll just have to work at it. Follow my previous advice and things should improve."

"Share her likes and dislikes," Vader muttered, looking away, lost in thought.

"That includes more than just hobbies, milord," Tarkin noted. "That includes ideals, political values, _ethics_. What have you done so far?"

"I planted some thoughts for later discussion," Vader replied. "I implied that I act differently when away from Imperial Center. It might make it seem like the emperor is manipulating me, and I'm trying to get away from it."

His statement was couched in so much truth it felt like a punch to the gut. Yes, Palpatine _was_ manipulating him. Vader's lack of emotion in his sentence almost made Tarkin laugh; did the boy truly not realize this, or was he so indoctrinated that he didn't care?

"That's a promising start," Tarkin eventually said. "You can lead Amidala to believe you really are capable of changing sides."

"Governor… how open should I be?"

"What do you mean?"

"The senator asks… very private questions."

Tarkin hid a smile. She was a bold one, to be sure. "Maintain restriction over what you see fit, milord. Use your discretion, but only if you absolutely have to. Otherwise, answer her."

"But how am I supposed to be open and lying at the same time?"

A lie was a lie. What was so hard to comprehend? "What?"

"I can sense that she's very intuitive, governor. I'm not sure full out lying will work."

"You must get passed that, Lord Vader," Tarkin shook his head. "That _is_ your mission."

Darth Vader bowed once more. "I understand."

The hologram disappeared.

Sighing, Tarkin sat in front of a window in his apartment, pondering the issue. His main objective was shifting, and it was probably for the best. He still had to worry about finding the Rebel base, but Palpatine and Tarkin were both waiting for and relying on Vader at this point. So now Tarkin's priority must change as well; he had to figure out what Palpatine was planning with this mission of his. Why was he so insistent upon manipulating the senator instead of just interrogating her? What made her so important, and why did it _have_ to be Vader who had to do so?

It was time to get answers.

* * *

Obi-Wan sighed heavily, leaning against a wall. People were still milling about, though their numbers were far fewer than before. It was three in the morning local time, and he was really starting to feel it.

Al groaned. "We haven't really found much of anything. Most of the people haven't even heard of the Tsograda Sector, let alone Salkende."

"Well I guess that tells us that they keep to themselves," Siri shrugged, rubbing her eyes. "But that's not much to go on. We've searched high and low on the Promenade. We need to widen our search radius."

"That requires money," Obi-Wan noted. "We would need to take a taxi."

They could just walk, but they had to do so _after_ leaving the Promenade; like Imperial Center, Nar Shaddaa built its cities vertically, and so the buildings were hundreds, if not thousands, of floors high. Sometimes the buildings were connected with bridges at different levels, and sometimes they weren't. The Promenade was a floating monolith with enormous repulsorlifts holding it in the air. One could feel the ground vibrate softly as the repulsorlifts kept the massive structure from plummeting. They were on a floating island; there was no way they could _walk_ anywhere.

"We still have a lot left over," Siri replied in a quieter voice so as not to attract attention; the Promenade may have been the most respectable part of town, but that didn't mean it was harmless.

"But it's already so late," Al pointed out. "How are we going to cover any more ground? Do you have any idea how big each building is? How many levels there are?"

"Then we'll have to split up," Siri surmised.

Obi-Wan jumped, startled to alertness. "No, that is a _very_ bad idea."

Siri rolled her eyes. "Obi, I can handle myself better than both of you. I'm a trained combatant, remember?"

"Hey, what is that supposed to mean?" Al snapped, his tiredness making him irritable. "I can handle myself in a fight just fine."

"Well then that just leaves Obi," Siri replied, looking at him.

Obi-Wan sighed heavily. His wife was just as grumpy as Al. He wanted to argue the point that Nar Shaddaa was still extremely dangerous, and it was a _very bad idea_ for any of them to be wandering around a place like this _on their own at three in the morning._ That plan screamed of suicide _and_ stupidity. Then again, they were noticeably armed, so maybe it would detract most. But…

"Siri, can't you at least stay with me?" Obi-Wan asked.

Siri raised an eyebrow. "You're not _actually_ that scared, are you?"

"It's not wise for a woman to be wandering this place alone this late." Obi-Wan said reluctantly. He knew she'd blow up the instant he pointed it out.

He was right. "What the _hell_ is that supposed to mean?"

"I'm just saying—"

"You know _perfectly well_ that I can kick anybody's asteroid, so don't feed me that load of—"

"Splitting up, it is!" Al hastily interrupted. Looking to Obi-Wan he whispered, "Blast, you _are_ tired. Have you lost your mind?"

"I have perfect faith in my wife," Obi-Wan replied softly. Al probably was right, though; this normally wouldn't concern him as much if he weren't so kriffing exhausted. "But the rest of this moon doesn't think like me."

"So they'll get shot to pieces, big deal." Siri snapped.

"It _will_ be a big deal if you start some sort of gang war," Obi-Wan retorted.

"Tell you what," Al hastily stepped between the two irate spouses. "Siri can go to the Nikto Sector. It's close to the Promenade, so it's not too bad. _I'll_ go to the Red Light Sector."

At this, even Obi-Wan looked at Al uncertainly. "Are you sure about that?"

"I might actually be more suitable for that place," Siri noted.

"Hey, just 'cause I don't like shooting doesn't mean I'm not good at it," Al reminded them. "Also, I've been here before."

Obi-Wan and Siri both had to concede the point there. Obi-Wan then asked, "So where will I go?"

"The Corellian Sector," Al answered. "That's close to the Promenade too. Same building as Siri; just bear in mind that just because you guys are on or in the same building does _not_ mean you're anywhere near each other. That building is bigger than ten Promenades put side by side… and that's just _width_."

Obi-Wan nodded a little reluctantly, and then Siri laughed. "Corellian sounds more civilized than Nikto – you got the baby sector, Obi."

"Don't bet the villa," Obi-Wan muttered.

With their destinations decided, the trio distributed the money evenly. Al left with a tired smile, and Obi-Wan placed his hand on Siri's shoulder to bid her safety. She knew what he was going to say before the words formed in his mouth, pulling him into a hug and kissing him. The two hugged far more than they kissed, so he was a little caught off guard, but he welcomed it nonetheless. Obi-Wan was never particularly affectionate; he typically had to remind himself to hug those he loved to show he cared (if he hadn't witnessed and experienced the action so much growing up in his adopted family, he probably wouldn't even have considered it). Siri was one of the few who didn't need words to know he cared about her, but he also knew she was very physical in her way of relaying emotions. Still, kisses were few and far between; in a sense it made them more special, but in another sense it made them more awkward. In this instance, though, it was appreciated. Nothing mattered in that moment, and his worries were lost in the ocean of life around him. The two breathed each other in, and then pulled away.

Siri smiled at him, but before he could say anything, she walked away. Obi-Wan sighed, regaining his focus. It was time to get to work. He made his way to the taxi pad, dreading the return of the polluted atmosphere; at least the Promenade had good air scrubbers, just as Al had noted.

After Obi-Wan requested to go to the Corellian Sector, he expected the driver to ask more specific questions, like a specific address or some sort of public area, but apparently Nar Shaddaa had specific locations where taxis would drop people off. There were places even taxis wouldn't go. Obi-Wan shuddered at the thought.

Eventually the taxi approached a landing pad. They had flown down quite a ways, and the pad led into an opening in the building which served as an open hallway of sorts. There were no walls to the outside, only walls to indoor areas. It was like a covered balcony hidden within the massive building. Goodness, Nar Shaddaa _was_ very much like Imperial Center in its layout.

Obi-Wan disembarked and then looked around hesitantly. He wasn't sure what he would find here; most respectable people were asleep, so he figured he'd have to look for an information broker. That would _also_ require money. He hoped he'd have enough left over to get him back to the Promenade at this point.

The Corellian Sector reminded him strikingly of one of the reasons why he didn't like Imperial Center. All the levels, except for the very top, made him feel claustrophobic. The air was typically stale (and here it was mixed with smells that Obi-Wan didn't even want to think about), the people pale and sickly depending on the level, and everywhere he looked he was surrounded by duracrete. He didn't know how people could stand it. He knew some couldn't help it; the term "cloudhead" had been created by people who lived in these levels on Imperial Center and who couldn't afford to ever see the light of day; the sky was some abstract concept to them. It made Obi-Wan's skin crawl. He had never been a particularly adventurous person (joining the service corps had been out of duty and principle, not thrill seeking), but even _he_ couldn't imagine a life where you were stuck in the same slab of duracrete your entire existence.

The streets were mainly empty at this point; pale street lights lit the path, burning into Obi-Wan's tired eyes. The area was dead quiet, making his skin crawl a little bit, and his hand once more fell to his blaster. As he continued to walk down the path, Obi-Wan felt a shiver run down his spine, and his gut clenched. He wasn't sure if he was suddenly feeling ill because of the smell, but then he suddenly heard rustling and he dove for cover. A Human male walked down the main street casually, a blaster strapped to his leg. There was something about the way the man walked that caught Obi-Wan's attention; he stood very upright, his shoulders squared, his stride perfect. His eyes were very alert for this time of the morning, and he had a bearing of control.

This man was an Imperial.

Obi-Wan watched him carefully, staying hidden in the shadows. The man walked over to an alley that was close by, folding his arms impatiently. When he spoke, his Coruscanti accent confirmed Obi-Wan's suspicions; no intelligent or respectable person on Nar Shaddaa would speak with an educated accent unless they _wanted_ to get robbed. Even _Obi-Wan_ dropped his accent while he was here.

"You'd better be here," the Imperial whispered. Obi-Wan leaned in to hear him better, but he said nothing after this. Instead, he just stood and waited, presumably for whoever he was supposed to meet.

Why were there Imperials on Nar Shaddaa? This moon was controlled by the Hutts, who were neutral to both the Empire and the Alliance. They didn't care which side won so long as they had a profit. It didn't make sense for the Empire to be doing any sort of covert operation… unless the Alliance had operatives on Nar Shaddaa as well? Obi-Wan wasn't sure; he didn't know all of the inner workings of the Alliance. He just helped gather what information he could on Imperial Center.

A silhouette became barely visible down the alley. It eventually formed into a Twi'lek female; he could tell from the lekku and the body shape. Beyond that, though, he couldn't see anything.

"You called?" the woman asked in a gravelly voice.

"I've been told you're very good at acquiring things," the Imperial stated. "I require a specific item."

"Specifics cost more."

"Yes, I'm aware of that," the Imperial waved an impatient hand. "I want you to get me some Kelathik serum."

"The Kelathik serum?" the woman repeated. "What would you need that for, Mr. Imperial? Do you know what that stuff _does_?"

"I am _perfectly aware_ of what it does," the man hissed. "I don't have to tell you _why_ I need, just that I need it. Can you get it or not?"

"Yeah, I can manage that," the woman replied. "But I'll need some reassurance up front. This stuff can get you executed in the Empire, you know."

"We're on a neutral moon. You have nothing to worry about."

"Yeah, but I'm dealing with an Imperial. It's not like you guys actually make laws that make sense."

Obi-Wan bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing.

"You have my word." The Imperial replied. "I'm a member of Intelligence; I can ensure you never have any issues with the Empire."

"Never, huh? Never is a long time, you know. I think I'll take that as my payment."

"What?"

"You make sure the Empire and I never cross paths in an unpleasant manner, and I'll get you what you need. Deal?"

The Imperial was silent for a time. Obi-Wan detected an unusual amount of nervousness from him. And what was Kelathik serum?

"Very well," the Imperial finally said.

"Perfect. Same time same place in two days and I'll have your order."

The Imperial nodded curtly and watched the female go. As he turned to leave, Obi-Wan decided it was time to get some answers. He watched the Imperial depart, memorizing his features, before he scampered down the alley to find the woman. She had vanished, however; she knew this area incredibly well. She no doubt had scouted the spot before choosing it as a meeting place. Sighing, Obi-Wan turned and searched for the Imperial again; he was far less subtle in his departure, simply walking down the main drag. What was Obi-Wan going to do? He couldn't confront the Imperial. That was suicide. But this man was obviously doing something clandestine, even by the Empire's standards; he doubted Intelligence was aware of this transaction, and that placed circumstances in Obi-Wan's favor if he played his cards right. He could tell Al about this, and Al could arrange for someone to stage the area.

Watching the Imperial for a moment longer, Obi-Wan turned to go down the alley when he heard his comlink beep softly. Jumping, he snatched it and squeezed it to prevent the noise from traveling. Peeking into the street, he saw that the Imperial was gone. Answering it, he heard Al speak.

"Hey, I got some good info at the Red Light Sector. We should meet back up at the Promenade."

_That was awfully fast_, Obi-Wan thought to himself. "Did you tell Siri?"

"Yeah, she knows. Be quick!"

"I'm on my way."

Obi-Wan cut the connection, still confused and curious as to what he had witnessed in the alley, but then he put the matter aside for the time being. Maybe Al would know something more about it.

* * *

Padmé lay in bed, pondering. She didn't want to get up, but her body was used to waking early, so it was about 0800. Today was her first day, the first actual day that she would spend on Varykino with Darth Vader. All twenty-four hours.

Rising, she sifted through her closet. It was time to get his attention. She _had_ to get his attention. His words from yesterday, how he didn't trust her, echoed in her mind. She couldn't have that. She had to make him trust her. She had to make him _want_ her. If she couldn't have that hold over him, she had no hope of keeping everyone alive and perhaps even getting information out of him. It was a dangerous game she was playing, but she had long since come to terms with playing it.

Smiling, Padmé pulled out a yellow layered gown that turned into a shade of orange, then purple, then lilac. This would do perfectly.

Time for a new day… time to get to work.

Padmé cleaned herself up and donned the gown, putting her hair up in a conch shape with some headbands. Twirling in front of the mirror, she nodded to herself. She didn't mind the seductive look, though exposing all of her back to the Sith Lord's eyes did make her skin crawl a little. Still, if he was anything like he had been yesterday, then it shouldn't be too bad… just tiring.

_Sabé_. The name appeared in Padmé's mind, and her gut clenched like she'd been punched. She suddenly felt sick. She was flirting with her friend's killer. Then she took a deep breath and violently shook her head, moaning. She had decided on this plan long before Sabé had been involved. She would do this to make up for that, to prevent any more _accidents_ from happening.

Nodding to herself, Padmé exited her room. She glanced at the door that led to Vader's room and noted that the door was slightly ajar. She peeked in and saw that the bed was neatly made. Glancing around the villa, she didn't see any sign of him until she looked outside. The Sith was walking down the balcony, getting ready to leave the villa.

Walking onto the balcony, Padmé placed one hand on the rail and called out to him with a soft smile. "Good morning."

Vader turned and was probably going to offer some sort of acknowledgment when he paused, just staring at her. Padmé took a small step closer to him. His mouth fell slightly ajar, his eyes widening slightly, before a small blush appeared on his cheeks and he looked away.

"Did you sleep well?" Padmé asked, leaning against the rail.

Vader nodded, gulping.

"I did too," Padmé added, since she knew he wouldn't ask. "It's so nice being here. The scenery is beautiful, and we get to be alone together."

Vader's gaze slowly returned to her and his muscles seemed to tighten. He bowed abruptly and turned to leave.

"Milord, wait," Padmé took a few steps closer to him. "Where are you going?"

"Walking."

"Oh, that's a wonderful idea," Padmé laughed. "It is a gorgeous morning. Have you eaten breakfast yet? We could eat together after we walk."

Vader turned so he stood in profile to her. He glanced at her, his blush gone and his eyes growing a little stormy.

"I have not eaten."

"Perfect! May I join you on your walk, then?" Padmé asked as she began to walk down the steps of the balcony, ready to stand beside him.

"No."

Padmé stopped. Before she could try to argue with him, however, Vader had vanished around the balcony wall, walking away from the villa. Instead of following him, she simply walked to the edge and watched him. His tense muscles began to relax as he moved, and though his back was to her, she was sure his face was resuming its usual neutral look. She supposed he was a bit of an introvert and just needed his space, but she wasn't supposed to let him be comfortable like that. Still… it was probably wise to not push the point too much. She'd see him for breakfast, anyway.

Turning, Padmé reentered the villa and walked to the kitchen to make some breakfast for herself and the Sith Lord. She hummed softly as she worked, enjoying the time alone. It was rather nice to just be doing something with her hands and not worry about anything at all. Padmé loved to keep herself busy, but sometimes she wondered if that was either because she didn't want to stop or because she _couldn't_ stop. Her older sister Sola had always told her that she worked too hard and needed to settle down eventually. She recalled the last time she had spoken to her sister. Padmé had been helping her take care of Ryoo, who had been a newborn at the time, and Sola had pointed out that Padmé should eventually slow down the hectic pace of her life so she could enjoy having a family as well.

Padmé laughed bitterly at the memory. At this rate she'd be lucky to survive the year, let alone settle down and have a family. And what would happen if she _did_ settle down? At this point she'd made enough enemies to get her brother and sister-in-law in trouble – the Empire didn't trust her, and she had political enemies back on Naboo who were in support of the Empire so they could further their own agendas. Using a royal surname was not enough to hide her from the galaxy; just because she was publicly known as Padmé Amidala didn't mean that people couldn't quickly figure that she was the same person as Padmé Naberrie.

She supposed she could always leave Naboo. But she _definitely_ didn't like that option. She loved her family and her homeworld, even if it did unfortunately spawn the current dictator.

Palpatine. Just hearing his name in her mind made her skin crawl. She loathed that man. In her very young years she had heard in school (the brain-washing academy as she had begun to call it as she grew older) that Palpatine was the end goal that people should strive for, especially those who wanted to pursue a political career. He was strong, a brilliant leader, determined, and would do anything to protect his Empire. _His_ Empire. Did people even realize what the blazes they were saying? What made _anybody_ think that Palpatine was a decent ruler when he had proclaimed himself dictator over the galaxy? Why had they gone along with it? Padmé had reviewed the history of the late Republic over and over and still didn't get it. Logically, one could deduce that people were in desperate need of a strong leader. The Clone War had shred the galaxy to pieces; the Republic hadn't experienced a full scale war in over a thousand years, and then suddenly the Clone Wars started up and deprived people of money and freedom for almost ten years. By the time the war was supposedly coming to an end, most of the Jedi Order had been wiped out, Kamino couldn't resupply the army at the same rate it was being depleted, and both the Separatists and the Republic were almost bankrupt. But where did the blame go? To the senate. To the prattling bureaucrats and politicians. Because obviously the _man in charge_ had nothing to do with it. Somehow the people's opinion of Palpatine seemed to _improve_ as the war progressed because _somehow_ he had the media in his pocket, and they made him look immaculate despite all the atrocities occurring.

Krif the media. Padmé knew they were a necessary evil but she still despised them.

Sighing, Padmé took the breakfast she had made out to the dining area and set it on the table. She wondered what Vader's opinion of Palpatine was, anyway. He had said yesterday that he liked Palpatine, which was his way of saying that he trusted him, apparently—Padmé was definitely going to have her work cut out for her reading into his strange way of expressing himself and his ideas—so she supposed he'd have a similar opinion as the fanatical Republic idiots.

Padmé shook her head. Look at her, calling them idiots. As if she hadn't made mistakes in her time. As if _anybody_ hadn't made mistakes. Sure, it was a serious one, and it still blew her mind that _nobody_ had tried to oppose the movement to reorganize the Republic into an Empire, but… she supposed they were all just imperfect beings. But the imperfection of Palpatine's rule would be fixed—_that_ was a promise. Padmé often wondered what would happen once the Empire did return to a Republic, once the Rebels _did_ win. Despite her earlier dark thoughts, she still believed in the old system – the only reason it had all gone wrong was because they began to change the rules by giving Palpatine emergency powers.

Of course this was all assuming the Rebels actually won the war. At the moment, she wasn't sure. She felt isolated, alone – she hadn't heard anything from the Alliance since she had spoken to Organa. All other contact had been through Obi-Wan and Siri, who had spoken to the Alliance through a contact. It was all so distant sometimes it didn't seem real.

Moaning, Padmé rubbed her face. She was rambling.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard footsteps from outside. Glancing at the chronometer, she was surprised to see that an hour had already passed.

Darth Vader entered the villa, immediately coming into sight since the dining area was right by the balcony. His eyes were glazed over, and he looked lost in thought. He didn't seem to notice Padmé was there. Clearing her throat, Padmé said, "Welcome back. I've got breakfast for you."

The Sith Lord paused, looking at her. Then he glanced at the food and nodded, walking to one side of the table. At least he wasn't arguing.

Sitting across from him, Padmé gave him a smile and encouraged him to eat. "All our other meals give me the impression that you don't eat much, milord, but the food here is too good to waste."

Vader didn't reply, picking at his food carefully. Padmé wasn't sure if he was a picky eater or if he was still pondering something. In either case, he eventually began to chip away at the plateful she had given him. She turned her attention to her food, but she was wondering how she could get his attention next. She'd wait until after they ate, that much was for sure. Maybe she could talk to him about previous dates; she recalled that Siri had brought up the issue at dinner and Vader had brushed it aside, but maybe she could reopen the issue.

Before Padmé could say anything, Vader spoke first. "You seem very familiar with Varykino."

"My family used to come here a lot when I was younger," Padmé explained. "Did your family take you on vacations when you were little?"

Vader paused in his meal, staring at her as if she had spoken in a foreign language. Then he returned his gaze to his plate. "No."

Was he acting guarded, or was he just being his usual antisocial self? She wasn't really sure.

"Not a single one?" Padmé prodded further. "No trips to the park or anything? Surely at least once…?"

"Do you like parks?"

Padmé quirked an eyebrow, confused by his random question. "Well, yes, I do. I love nature in general."

"It's certainly quieter and calmer than the city," Vader remarked.

Padmé almost fell out of her seat – had she just heard him make a somewhat normal remark? If that's what a good morning walk did for him, Padmé would force him to walk all kriffing morning – it would give her alone time and help him act like an actual person.

"So you prefer nature to the city too?" Padmé asked, daring to hope that he might actually declare an opinion about _something_.

Darth Vader looked up. He watched her carefully for a short while, gazing into her eyes. Padmé began to wonder if her outfit had caught his attention again or if she had said something strange to him. After a few seconds, though, he nodded.

Padmé was floored. He _liked_ something? "I thought you said preferences were trivial."

Vader's finger jerked slightly on his utensil. Something was off about this… "I… what I meant was… it depends on the situation."

Now Padmé was just confused. "What?"

"I—we were on Imperial Center. And the representative was there. And the handmaiden."

Padmé laughed. "You're telling me you're shy?"

Darth Vader sighed. "I haven't been in many situations like that."

Surprisingly that seemed to be the most honest thing he'd said all day. He really did seem to be acting differently than he had on Imperial Center, so his words from yesterday seemed to hold some merit… but she couldn't shake the feeling that sometimes it felt a little _too_ different. Maybe it was just time she really took control of this conversation. It was also time she got some straightforward answers.

"Milord, I'm curious," Padmé began slowly, getting his attention. "What do you think of the current state of the Empire?"

Oh, what a loaded question that was. His reaction would tell her a lot about him. If he immediately replied that he thought it was amazing, he'd fit snugly into the stereotypical Imperial category, but there were subcategories to that as well – was he a fanatic or just power hungry? If he took his time, he may be a little uncertain, or he may be gauging her reaction just as she was gauging his.

Vader was silent.

Padmé watched him carefully. He looked at her, his hand frozen above his plate balancing some food on the utensil. He took a deep breath and leaned back in his seat, lowering his hand and putting the food down. His gaze remained on his food for a long time. He seemed conflicted; was he really that unsure about the Empire…? Padmé thought it strange that she could read someone so wrongly, though; back on Imperial Center he had seemed like the usual attack dog that the Empire employed.

So if that planet really did make him act so radically different, why was that the case? Again, Padmé couldn't shake the feeling that something felt off about this conversation.

"The Empire… could probably use a bit of cleaning up." Vader finally admitted quietly.

Padmé stared at him, surprised. That statement was unexpectedly open. _Let's see where this leads…_ "What do you mean?"

Once again, Vader took his time, finding the correct words. "Well… the treatment of non-Humans isn't entirely… fair."

Padmé felt her heartbeat increase. This was _not_ a side of Vader that she was expecting to see. "The anti-alien laws, you mean?"

Vader nodded. "I see no reason in discriminating according to one's species. There's no point to it. It's impractical."

Padmé felt a bright hope shimmering in her, but it shifted slightly at his wording. "What do you mean impractical?"

"Why waste resources?" Vader looked at her, folding his hands in his lap, his food forgotten. "If a Twi'lek can do a job just as well as a Human, perhaps even better, then why forsake the Twi'lek?"

Padmé considered his words, sipping her milk. "You do seem to have quite an obsession with practicality, milord. Still, I understand your point. I agree with you, too – the anti-alien laws are unjust."

The Sith Lord's eyes grew harder in an instant. They held something strange… though they were sharp, they were also bright, as if he was happy, but perhaps not in a mirthful way…

"So what do you propose to do about that, senator?" he asked.

"Well, I did do a bit to change the matter here first." Padmé replied, slipping into a casual conversation unknowingly. "I got rid of many of the anti-alien regulations on Naboo; some are still in effect, unfortunately, because Imperial law overrules planetary law, but it's not nearly as bad as in other places. It was one of the reasons I wanted to be queen; I wanted to help others, to defend freedom and justice. I just…"

Padmé sighed, shaking her head. She was about to continue when she froze. What was she saying? She was getting _far_ too comfortable talking with this man when she still wasn't sure of his motives. Just because he disagreed with some of the Empire's laws didn't mean he'd betray it in a heartbeat. When she glanced at the Sith Lord, she noticed a familiar look on his face. His eyebrows were raised ever so slightly, his eyes intense and focused. He knew she would say that. He already knew what she had done as queen.

He was leading her on.

Padmé felt her stomach lurch, and her appetite immediately vanished. Abruptly standing, she smoothed her dress, looking at the floor to avoid his gaze.

"Not hungry?" Vader asked, keeping his voice sincere. Just how sincere _was_ he? Did he actually care at all? Blast it, she was getting invested already; she needed to stop this.

"I'm fine." She answered. "I just—let's get some fresh air, shall we?"

As Padmé stepped onto the balcony, she heard Vader's chair move as he stood. She hugged herself, trying to get her thoughts and emotions together. She felt like they had taken a step back from yesterday – like he had been more honest yesterday and today was just trying to manipulate her. She had hoped yesterday would become the norm; as awkward and exhausting as the conversation had sometimes been, it was at least a _conversation_. Today… this… this was a _duel_.

Darth Vader approached her, standing to her left. He kept his eyes on the scenery, bringing her a little relief. Padmé leaned forward onto the railing. Changing the topic, she took a deep breath and smiled. "Mm, smell that fresh air. So you said you've never been on a vacation before? What about a school trip? I remember when I was in school we would take trips out here – we'd swim in the lake and then lie in the sand for hours to let ourselves dry."

Vader looked at her as she spoke, his gaze drifting from her arms to her shoulders to her back. Then he looked away. He said nothing.

Sighing, Padmé prompted him again. "Did you take any school trips?"

"No."

"Where did you go to school?"

Vader was quiet, and he shifted his stance a little.

"Well?" Padmé pushed; she wasn't going to let him think about a reply.

"Near the palace," Vader answered.

"Did you like it there?"

"It was adequate."

Padmé did genuinely laugh at that. "Was that how you viewed it back then? Adequate? Your parents instilled quite the pragmatic mind in you, Lord Vader."

She received no reply, but she wasn't really expecting one. Instead, she leaned towards him, her arm touching his. Moving her left arm slightly, she brushed the back of her hand across his hand. His fingers twitched, moving away from her as his head snapped in her direction.

"Oh milord, don't be so shy," Padmé whispered, gazing into his blue eyes. "It's just you and me here."

The Sith Lord stiffened, but didn't pull away.

"Be honest with me, milord," Padmé smiled at him, her face a breath away from his. "I really do want to be with you, and I think you want to be with me… so why can't you just talk to me? I won't bite, I promise."

Padmé leaned in further, closing her eyes slightly as her eyes watched his lips. She wasn't sure she wanted to kiss him again, but it had certainly worked quite well last time. Vader, however, seemed to recall what had happened last time and took a step away. Padmé placed her hand behind his head, running her fingers through his hair. "Maybe we can work together to reverse some of those discriminatory laws, milord. Would you like to work with me?"

"W-work with you?" His voice was a little higher than usual.

"Yes," Padmé smiled again, putting her other hand behind his head so her arms were around him. "We would get to be around each other a lot, and we'd both be working for a common goal. I'd always be there to help you."

Vader suddenly gripped her arms. The hold was firm, making her jump, but it didn't hurt. He pushed her away from him.

"Do you not want that, then?" Padmé asked carefully, her heart racing. He hadn't acted like this before.

Vader shook his head, taking several steps from her. "Just… stop. We can talk about stuff but just stop… _that_."

"Why?" Padmé asked curiously. She was again astonished at just how _different_ he was; any other man would happily oblige when a woman acted the way she had. It wasn't like her flirting _didn't_ have an effect on him, just not the one she expected.

"It's weird." Vader replied awkwardly. Padmé laughed—hard. His face flushed a little. "It's _not_ funny."

"Can you tell me why it's weird?" Padmé asked, finally calming herself.

Vader shook his head, blushing even more. Without another word, he turned and hastily went down the stairs, walking away from the villa. Padmé figured she'd let him go. She might have to reconsider her strategy, anyway; he seemed more timid of her flirting than enticed. While making Darth Vader scared of her was a rather amusing thought, she knew that eventually he would retaliate if he got scared enough – he had almost done that just now. She needed to be gentler. But how could she be gentle and obvious at the same time? Vader didn't notice her subtle flirtations, but he was _very_ uncomfortable with her blatant ones.

She supposed the best way to start was to figure out _why_ he was uncomfortable. It was rather obvious at this point that he had never encountered the sort of interactions she was providing… and it made sense, honestly; no one in their right mind would do what Padmé was attempting. It was just a testament to how desperate she was… and to be frank, she _was_ actually curious. Siri would automatically dismiss Vader as a monster, Obi-Wan would withhold any opinion until he had examined the situation more closely, but Padmé would _go_ and figure it out for herself by actually talking to him.

So was that it, then? He was uncomfortable because it was different? Maybe. Maybe it was just _too much_ at once. It was odd enough that someone was acting like they were attracted to him, let alone trying to seduce him. Yes, Padmé supposed she would have to be far gentler with him.

But blast it all, he just seemed so _clueless_ sometimes. How was she going to get this done in the little time she had?

_Baby steps, Padmé…_ she advised herself. She just needed to take it one day at a time. She'd change her approach when he returned… if he returned. Judging from his behavior she wouldn't be surprised to find him fleeing the island at the moment. Returning to the villa, Padmé sat and finished her breakfast, waiting for the Sith Lord to return.

It was lunchtime when she finally heard him. Going to the balcony, Padmé was surprised at his appearance. His face was sweaty and his cheeks were flushed from exercise. He was panting slightly, and his hair was soaked.

"What happened?" Padmé asked.

Vader looked at her with an expression denoting confusion. "Nothing."

"Obviously _something_ happened," she motioned towards his frazzled appearance. "It wasn't my fault, was it? I'm sorry about earlier, milord; I didn't mean to scare you."

"Scare?" Vader repeated. His calm expression was back, but he did some genuinely puzzled when he repeated the word to her. Shaking his head, he just continued to walk to the stairs. "I did what was necessary."

Now _Padmé_ was confused. Instead of asking, she just let it drop. His strange phrasing would be a problem for another conversation. Then an idea popped in her mind. "Did you go swimming?"

Vader finally reached where she was and shook his head.

"Well, what did you do?"

The Sith Lord paused, holding the same look that he had when he was beginning his walk that morning. It held reluctance, irritation, confusion, concern—and then it vanished. "I sparred."

"You what?"

"Sparred." Vader repeated before entering without any other acknowledgement.

"You can finish your breakfast if you like," Padmé called after him; she figured it would be better to not follow him. "I can make some more food for you since it's lunchtime."

When she got no reply, she sighed. Perhaps she had pushed him too far already. Well, it would be best to just leave him alone for a while, then. They could meet again at dinner.

* * *

**I feel like I'm making these chapters really dense... but hopefully it's not too bad, I trust?**


	12. Common Ground

Obi-Wan held back an enormous yawn. It had been hours since Al had contacted him, and he was only just now getting to the Promenade; an accident had occurred right at the taxi pad, and Obi-Wan either had to walk to a different sector or wait for the accident to be cleared. Considering it took on average three hours to _drive_ through a sector, he figured waiting would be the better option. Since he was by fire and security personnel he knew it would be a little safer than lounging elsewhere. He was right, but it somehow left him even more exhausted… no doubt because it was _seven in the morning_.

The dreary hazy atmosphere didn't let in too much sunlight at this hour, but it was enough to make Obi-Wan feel even worse. He hated seeing the sun rise when he hadn't slept at all the previous night. It somehow struck him as a huge smack in the face from the galaxy as if to say _well you may feel exhausted but we're just going to drag you through the mud and force you to endure another day!_ Or maybe that's how Siri had put it once. He wasn't sure.

Al and Siri were already aware of the situation, but there wasn't much they could do, honestly. Maybe Al's ship would be ready by the time Obi-Wan finally got back to the Promenade. He'd be eternally grateful if it was; he could just _go to sleep_ if that were the case.

When he heard the security officers telling someone the delay would only be a few more minutes, Obi-Wan finally sat up. He had been leaning against a wall near the taxi pad for hours, and his body was slightly stiff. Standing, he stretched and did his best to keep his eyes open. After a few minutes (that felt like _hours_) he finally hopped aboard a taxi and notified Al and Siri of his approach.

When the taxi arrived at the Promenade, the hazy morning made the place look different. It was chilly and far more abandoned than it had been four hours ago. Obi-Wan hastened to the enormous golden statue of the Hutt in the center of the lower area, getting a little splashed by the fountain that surrounded it. He caught sight of Siri and Al and went to them.

Al looked like a wreck. His black hair was sticking out in all directions, and despite his very dark complexion Obi-Wan could still see shady circles under his green eyes. He stifled a yawn behind a slightly tremulous hand, and he swayed on the spot. Siri didn't look much better, her eyes bloodshot and her face red as if she'd been rubbing it incessantly.

"About time you got here," Siri muttered, her voice rough.

"I couldn't exactly help a traffic accident," Obi-Wan remarked.

"None of this would've been an issue if we didn't have to pull a kriffing all-nighter…" Al grumbled.

"You think I'm any happier about it?" Siri snapped.

"It was _your_ idea in the first place!"

"Enough," Obi-Wan cut in tiredly. "What did you find out in the Red Light Sector?"

Al blew out an irritated breath. "Just give me a sec, I'm trying to get my half-conscious brain organized…"

As Al squinted at nothing in particular before rubbing his eyes with a groan, Siri looked at Obi-Wan. "You don't look that great, either."

"Yes, well, I'm not as young as I used to be when we'd stay up all night in the service corps," Obi-Wan replied. He briefly recalled the long nights that they'd sometimes spend, planning for the next day and then just partying because they never had time to relax while on assignments.

Siri laughed. "You're only twenty-five. That's not ancient, you know."

"Right now I _feel_ ancient," Obi-Wan groaned.

"Right, got it," Al snapped his fingers. "So! Salkende is at war."

Obi-Wan blanched. "What?"

Siri rolled her eyes. "You couldn't have just told me while we were waiting?"

"I wanted to just say it once," Al replied indignantly. "You know how annoying it is to repeat yourself?"

"Why is Salkende at war? Who are they fighting?" Obi-Wan interrupted.

"It's a civil war," Al explained. "Salkenden culture surrounds the family – clans to be exact. These clans are central to all life on that planet, and they can get to be kriffing _huge_ sometimes. Apparently this one clan started a war with the ruling clan so they could take over the planet and they're still fighting."

"I wonder which side the senator is on?" Siri thought aloud.

"Probably the ruler clan's side," Al surmised. "Otherwise he wouldn't be a senator right now."

"Salkende isn't the only planet in that sector." Obi-Wan noted. "The other worlds have to be in agreement. From what I know of Tlenden, he's very popular with his sector."

"That's because he visits everybody and listens to their complaints, and anybody who bothers to watch senate sessions knows that he is pretty outspoken when he thinks something is stupid or wrong." Siri said. "Yet he won't join the Alliance. We could help him squash whoever the upstarts are."

"At this rate, I'm not sure the Alliance can do much of anything," Obi-Wan sighed. "We've lost both our bases, supplies have probably come to a halt…"

"So how are we going to join them at the end of the recess?" Siri asked.

Obi-Wan felt his gut clench. He'd been wondering that for a long time now. "I don't know."

As the three stood there listening to the sound of the large fountains around the statue, Obi-Wan recalled what he had witnessed before Al had contacted him. "By the way, I saw something very odd back in the Corellian Sector."

"What do you mean?"

"There was an Imperial there. He was dressed in civilian clothes, but you could still tell – and he spoke with a Coruscanti accent. He met up with some woman and asked for a serum of some sort—Kelathik, I think."

Al gasped. "_Kelathik_? What the krif would an Imp want with that?"

"What _is_ it?" Obi-Wan asked. "I've never heard of it."

"It's designed to mess with certain tests," Al answered. "Force detector ones, most notably. It makes your midi-chlorian count go haywire – at least that's what they claim it does. I did a bit of research into it because it was in really high demand in the core worlds – what it actually does is it _masks_ them. Makes it seem like you've barely got any in your cells. Doesn't take much, either; midi-chlorians are _insanely_ tiny, even for microcellular purposes."

"Wait, what the blazes are midi-chlorians?" Siri asked.

"They're Jedi makers is what they are," Al replied in a whisper as if it were a top secret topic. "Scientists used to think they were how the Jedi used the Force. See, the Force was this big energy field thing, and the midi-chlorians were the way the Jedi could hear and use the big energy field thing."

"Big energy field thing?" Obi-Wan repeated dully, staring at Al.

"What, you can explain it better?" Al accused. "Anyway, the more midi-chlorians you had, the better you could hear the Force. Like having more receivers, you know? Nobody figured out how midi-chlorians worked or the genetics of them or anything – _huge_ research topic that's unexplored because the Empire made it illegal to study."

"So why haven't we heard about it?" Siri folded her arms.

"Because the Empire erased all knowledge of it, _except_ that it's how you can find out if somebody has the ability to use the Force." Al said. "And you know what happens when somebody is Force sensitive."

"They kill them." Obi-Wan supplied. "I can see why it would be popular in the core worlds."

"Yep! They've got mandatory midi-chlorian counts on all children born in the core worlds," Al nodded sagely. "I heard they were trying to expand it, too."

"They are," Obi-Wan nodded. "They didn't say anything about midi-chlorians, but I recall the senate mentioning that it would alter a law to expand a test to the expansion region and mid-rim. They were making a decision on the funding of it. But that was in the form of a security bill—they were just debating the finer points of it right before the recess."

"A security bill?" Siri repeated. "Wait, yeah, I _do_ remember that… _that's_ what they meant?"

"That's still really weird that an Imperial would want it," Al noted, rubbing his chin. "Unless he's trying to hide some Force sensitive kid of his or something."

"But why would he make himself so obvious?" Obi-Wan asked no one in particular. "His behavior made no sense."

"So they already did the trade?" Al asked.

Obi-Wan shook his head. "No. He was just arranging for the trade. They're meeting back there in two days."

"I can have a friend stage the place," Al offered.

Siri jumped. "Friend? If you had a friend, why didn't we stay at their place?"

"Because this friend lives on the streets and is just a very good informant," Al answered.

Siri sighed heavily.

Obi-Wan pondered the matter for a while longer and then he agreed with Al's suggestion, telling him the time and place they would meet.

"Kelathik serum…" Al muttered. "I could really get into that. If they're spreading the tests, the demand's going to skyrocket."

"So glad we didn't have to worry about that," Siri laughed.

"We were born before the Empire," Obi-Wan pointed out. "It wouldn't have mattered, anyway."

"True." Siri conceded before looking at Al. "So when's the ship going to be ready?"

Al looked at his chrono. "About five more hours."

Obi-Wan and Siri both groaned in dismay.

* * *

The kitchen of the lake retreat was well stocked with plenty of food to last the entire recess. Frozen nuna and shaak were the main meats provided, but there was also pikto, nivobo, and even some haava meat, a rare delicacy on Naboo. Along with these meats, there were so many fruits and vegetables Padmé couldn't even begin to list them. Some bread was readily available, and she had been using it alongside nuna eggs and some nutty pastes for meals so far. Dinner yesterday hadn't been too much of a concern since neither person had seen each other; also, both were still tired from their odd sleep schedules, but today… today they were going to dine together.

Padmé didn't know why she was suddenly nervous. She'd certainly shared plenty of lunches with him and even breakfast this morning. She supposed it was because the last time they had dinner it… hadn't gone so well in her favor.

This time would be better. It would finally be the real rematch she had been looking for. She'd keep things simple while still probing to just figure out who this guy really was – honestly that was her goal at this point. She'd let the attachment form itself; she just was determined to be nice to him and learn about him.

Except there was no dinner prepared.

Padmé was suddenly reminded of Sabé again; she had made the dinner for them last time. Sabé had always loved to cook.

Shaking the thoughts out of her mind, Padmé sighed. She could do this. She could manage to be nice to the man who killed her friend. She could. She _had_ to.

That still left the matter of what the blazes they were going to eat. She supposed she could make some sandwiches, but that didn't seem very dinner-like. Or polite, for that matter; she had invited him here, so she might as well feed him properly.

Padmé hadn't seen Vader since he had returned from sparring (though what or who he'd be sparring with was beyond her), and that was five hours ago. She wondered if he was even going to show up for dinner. Surely he was hungry, especially if he had exercised.

Staring helplessly at the food in the freezer, Padmé pondered on what she was going to make. She could thaw the meat quickly, but it would get rid of a lot of the taste – she remembered Sabé ranting to Siri about doing such a thing after a handmaiden training session when Siri, completely exhausted, had thrown some meat into the thawer without a second thought.

The door to the kitchen opened, making Padmé jump and whirl around. Darth Vader entered, seemingly unaware of Padmé's presence. Or maybe he already knew she was there. She didn't know. She didn't know how Sith figured everything out; the only facts anybody knew about Sith Lords was that Vader was the only one and that meant he could use the Force. Not exactly much to go on, honestly; there hadn't been Force users since the Jedi were wiped out twenty-one years ago.

Just in case he hadn't noticed her, Padmé cleared her throat softly. Vader either didn't hear her or just ignored her. He walked straight to the refrigerating unit and pulled out some bread rolls, nut paste, and a jam. Slathering the paste and jam on the rolls, he munched away silently.

"That's not much of a dinner, milord," Padmé noted, closing the freezer to face him fully.

Vader glanced at her and ate another bread roll in response.

Padmé sighed. "No meat?"

"Nothing's thawed," Vader pointed out.

"I know."

"Didn't plan for dinner, then."

"You didn't plan?"

"No, _you_ didn't plan."

Padmé felt her ire rise a little. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"It means you didn't plan for dinner," Vader repeated slowly, as if to a little child.

"I _know_ what it means—"

"Then why did you ask?"

"Never mind," Padmé cut in, annoyed. It was suddenly becoming very difficult to be nice to him. Maybe he was just getting her back for her actions earlier… though honestly, judging from the dull expression on his face as he ignored her once more, she wasn't even sure he remembered what had happened earlier.

Though she _did_ notice he was armed once again. Blast, had she scared him that much?

Motioning towards his lightsaber, she asked, "Expecting something?"

Vader paused and glanced at his weapon. "No."

"Then why are you carrying it?"

"Because."

Padmé felt her ire return. "You're just _trying _to annoy me, aren't you?"

Vader shook his head, his mouth full.

Sighing, Padmé turned around to face the freezer once more. "We could always just quick-thaw something."

When she got no response, she glanced behind her, but this time she said nothing. Vader was looking at her exposed back, a slight blush to his face. Hiding a chuckle, she returned her gaze to the freezer. She grabbed some nuna meat, but just before she could close the freezer door, Vader asked, "Is that ice cream in there?"

Padmé paused and stepped aside so he could see into the freezer. "I believe so. It looks like chocolate."

Vader watched it for a while and then simply nodded, returning to his snack.

Padmé smiled. "You like ice cream?"

Vader paused and looked at her. "Do you?"

Padmé shrugged. "It's okay. I prefer pastries… especially those made by Nilbau at her shop near the senate. Have you ever had her pastries? They just melt in your mouth."

The Sith Lord didn't seem to know what to say at her remark, so he continued to eat until he finished all the bread rolls. He turned to grab some more when Padmé laid a gentle hand on his arm. "I'll make you something more substantial, milord. Let's just thaw some of this meat and we can at least have nuna sandwiches."

Vader pulled his arm from her touch, but he nodded in acquiescence nonetheless. Stepping back to let her work, he stood in a corner, motionless and silent. Padmé worked quickly to make the food and then put it on two plates. She grabbed the plates and then turned to face him with a smile before nodding towards the door. "Let's eat in the dining room."

The two settled at the table as they had done at breakfast. As the two began to eat, Padmé noted that he was eating far more delicately now. She didn't know why that observation was significant, but it just stuck out to her; he had been practically stuffing entire bread rolls into his face earlier, but now he seemed the pinnacle of etiquette.

Dinner was spent mostly in silence until Padmé brought out some wine. "I know we only had sandwiches, but it's too good a wine to waste. Have you ever had Naboo wine?"

Vader glanced at the bottle and then her. Then he shook his head. Padmé belatedly remembered that he claimed he didn't drink back on Imperial Center. Still… was that because he _actually_ didn't drink, or was it because of his supposed behavior change? He didn't protest as she poured the wine, so she figured maybe he was a little more casual when off Imperial Center.

Handing him the glass with a smile, Padmé raised hers in a toast. "To the Empire, milord."

Vader tipped his glass towards her in response and then sipped. Padmé was busy swirling her wine and sniffing it in delight when she suddenly heard him cough softly. Looking up, she saw him staring at the wine with a furrowed brow. "Is something wrong?"

Vader jumped, not noticing her scrutiny until now. Then he quickly shook his head and put his glass on the table.

Padmé raised an eyebrow at his odd behavior, but she let it slide. Instead, she began a conversation. "So, I wanted to apologize again for earlier. As I've said before, I can get… carried away sometimes. But that aside, what you said about the anti-alien laws really does warm my heart. I'm glad you share my belief on that. It's a pity you're not involved in politics, or you could help me and the representative on this matter. Though honestly, milord, what _were_ you doing in the senate tower all that time?"

Padmé knew his true reason for being there, but she was still curious how he would answer. He had never really given her any sort of explanation; the one time she had asked (the first time they had actually held a conversation, she now realized), all he did was confirm that the senate wasn't in danger.

"The emperor wished me to be there," Vader answered after a brief pause.

_I'm sure he did._ "Ah, I see. Well I'm glad you were – we would have never met, otherwise."

She knew by this point that Darth Vader would not speak unless directly asked a question, so she didn't expect him to carry the conversation beyond that. Instead, she changed topics. "I can't get over being here. It's been a long time since I had a chance to relax. You said your family never went on vacations? How could you survive that? I think even I would go crazy, and I always maintain a busy schedule."

"You have been busy," Vader noted. "You've been in public service since you were thirteen."

"Well, yes, I have, but I was asking how _you_ managed," Padmé prodded, not letting him change the focus of the conversation.

"I…" Vader shifted in his seat, looking at the table. "I have ways of managing."

Before Padmé could ask, Vader looked at her. "How do you relax?"

Sighing, Padmé indulged him. "A lot of times I visit family, if I can. If not, then I… I dance."

Vader blinked. "You dance?"

Padmé let out an embarrassed laugh. "Well, yes. I love it, it's so much fun. I used to torture poor Obi-Wan for hours making him practice dancing with me. Siri used to joke that I danced with her husband more than she did."

"So why did you come here, then? This is neither of those methods."

"Well, it's still being around people I care about," Padmé replied as cheerfully as she could; she didn't want to scare him any more than she had. "As for dancing…"

Getting an idea, Padmé stood and left the room, grabbing a music chip. Placing it in a receiver, Padmé picked a nice waltz and then put the receiver on the balcony rail. She then beckoned Vader, who had been watching her actions. "Care to dance with me, milord?"

She knew it was a long shot. He didn't like being touched at all, let alone having constant contact. Still, since it was customary to never touch people you weren't familiar with on many core worlds, there were also plenty of dances that didn't include any sort of physical contact.

Darth Vader watched her silently, looking conflicted. He'd glance at the stars, then the wall, then the receiver, then back at her. His brow would tighten, then relax. He took some deep breaths. Eventually he said, "I don't know how to dance."

Padmé gave a gentle smile. "I can teach you."

The Sith Lord was silent for a long time. To Padmé's surprise, however, he nodded and stood, walking to her.

A new waltz started with string instruments slowly bringing the piece in. Padmé placed Vader right in front of her, and she could immediately tell from his stiff muscles that he was nervous. Instead of comforting him, though, she just held her right arm at an angle in front of her, her palm up. She then motioned to his right arm, advising him to do the same. Vader raised his so it was hovering a few centimeters from hers. Then Padmé raised her dress slightly so he could see her feet move as she counted aloud with the beat of the music. _One two three, one two three, one two three…_ Padmé took a step backwards with her right foot, staying on her toes. Her left foot joined her right, placed just behind it, and then she took a small step with her right to place it just behind her left in beat with the music. _One two three…_ She motioned for Vader to follow her. He took two large steps to catch up to her, and she laughed. "Do it like me, milord. I go back with my right, you go forward with your left, and vice versa."

Then she did the same motion, starting with her left foot. Vader hesitantly followed her lead, placing his right foot first. After doing the motion a few times, he finally seemed to be getting the hang of it. The man was surprisingly graceful; once he realized he was supposed to mirror her, he became as smooth as silk in his movement. His gaze moved from his feet to hers before he finally looked into her eyes. Padmé changed directions to prevent them from running out of room, and she felt her arm tire a little. As she stepped forward, she lowered her right arm and raised her left in the same position. Vader followed suit. The two wordlessly danced back and forth to the waltz, gliding to one end of the balcony or the other. In that moment Padmé finally did feel at peace; she hadn't been lying when she said she found dancing to be one of the most relaxing things she could do, even if it was with Darth Vader. She was surprised how comfortable Vader seemed as well; the two were making direct eye contact, but neither felt awkward or compelled to say anything. She let herself grow lost in the deep blue irises, and her thoughts became blissfully free. There were no concerns over anything or anyone; just the two of them dancing.

Eventually the waltz ended and Padmé let out a small laugh, curtseying. "You're a very fast learner, milord."

"I've done similar to this." Vader replied.

"Well you have the Coruscanti waltz down well." Padmé remarked. "Perhaps we can learn some more complicated moves?"

Vader nodded, and the two were dancing once more. Just as before, he learned quickly, though sometimes they would almost bump into each other, garnering a startled look on his face and a laugh from her. Eventually the two were waltzing calmly once more.

"This is nice," Padmé said honestly. "It's been a while since I've been able to dance."

"There are parties at the palace."

Padmé snorted. "I don't typically get invited to those – I'm not quite important enough. Besides, I think those parties probably get too crowded anyway. It's also very hard to talk to higher officials when all they can do is speak so highly of themselves."

After a pause, Padmé asked, "Do you go to those parties often?"

"Occasionally."

"Do you enjoy them?"

"I can tell you don't."

"But I'm asking if _you_ do."

"No."

"Why not?"

Vader grew silent. He didn't seem to have a proper response to this, so he just shrugged.

"So," Padmé began, mulling over information in her mind. "You've known the emperor for eighteen years and have been in the military for eight years. Judging from your pragmatism, you strike me as very duty bound to the Empire… yet you agree that it could use some cleaning up. If you're so dedicated to the Empire—and quite determined to never give yourself some down time, apparently—then why don't you do something to improve it?"

"I do as the emperor asks. Nothing more."

Something in his tone made Padmé shudder a little. His statement seemed so completely honest, as if he were stating his core belief in creation.

"Wouldn't the emperor appreciate some feedback?"

Vader stopped dancing. "Feedback?"

"You know, your opinion," Padmé suggested. "I'm sure he'd be happy to lend you an ear since you seem so close to him. How exactly did _that_ happen, anyway? No one heard of you until you were already the top dog. I presume that's how it always is in the military, but eight years is an awfully short time to climb the ranks, if I may say so."

"I served my purpose."

It was an odd answer, to be sure, but Vader said it quite curtly, so Padmé let it drop. In fact, as soon as the dance finished, Vader offered a small bow and left.

"What did I say…?" Padmé muttered to herself. The question might have been a little prying, but it wasn't really much worse than anything else she had asked or said. Well, she supposed she'd have to find out later. Strolling back into the dining room, she sat at the table and sipped her wine in solitude. Eventually she cleaned the table and went to bed, too tired to worry about it for the day.

The next morning, Padmé rose and cleaned herself up quickly. She dressed in something far more modest while still having some playful flirtation to it. It was a yellow dress with pink flowers embroidered into the bodice and white flowers in the skirt. It was a thin strapped gown with a lace shawl that fell off her shoulders. She used some colorful ribbons as armbands, and she arranged her hair in loose buns with some hair nets and smiled at her reflection. She liked this outfit better than yesterday's.

As she walked towards the balcony to see the beautiful morning and enjoy the crisp air, she noted that Vader's room was once again unoccupied. When she arrived on the balcony, she saw him walking down the stairs.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Walking."

Again? "Do you do this every morning?"

"Yes."

Vader hadn't even looked in her direction this time until she asked, "May I come along?"

He paused and glanced at her. His eyes examined her, and his face seemed to soften slightly before he shook his head and left. Padmé sighed. She didn't quite understand, but she was starting to get the impression that these morning walks were some sort of private ritual, so she'd stop offering to join him on them. In the meantime, she could at least make breakfast for them both… and then perhaps enjoy a good book. Heaven knew she hadn't had time for a relaxing read in ages.

As she did these things, she couldn't help but wonder about Obi-Wan, Siri, and Al. She hoped they were alright; at this point they should have been at Salkende, at least for a little while. Hopefully they were figuring out whatever was wrong with the place and why the senator refused to join the Alliance. Even more hopefully (but at the rate things were going, even less likely), they were also convincing him to join anyway, and offering some sort of alternative to overcome whatever issue he had.

Then she thought about their predicament in general. At the end of the recess they were going to join up with the Alliance permanently. There would be no going back to Imperial Center. Padmé had no fondness for that planet, nor did she enjoy having the nail biting stress of playing spy in the heart of enemy territory, but she still worried that they were abandoning their posts. They hadn't run their decision by the Alliance, anyway, and… it just felt wrong. She didn't want to stop helping – she felt like she was doing something useful, something with purpose. She wasn't sure if she'd feel that way if she wasn't spying, despite both Obi-Wan's and Siri's misgivings on the matter.

Sighing, Padmé lounged in a chaise for a while, ignoring the book she had grabbed. Her mind was too busy with other thoughts to be reading. Her musings were interrupted when she heard Vader returning from his stroll.

Rising, she left the lounge and entered the dining area, where he was entering from the balcony.

"Milord, I was wondering," Padmé began carefully. "Since it's a beautiful morning out, perhaps we could have brunch outside? I've got plenty of materials for a picnic. We _are_ here to relax and enjoy the scenery, after all."

Vader nodded in acknowledgement, turning on his heel to walk back outside. Padmé laughed. "Well, wait; I have to get everything ready."

Grabbing all the necessary items, Padmé picked up the basket and followed the Sith Lord outside. The morning was comfortably warm, which meant it would probably be relatively hot by noon. Padmé led Vader through the grass towards the edge of the island where there were plenty of waterfalls nearby. It was her favorite spot in the whole retreat. She placed a tablecloth on the grass and then sat, putting the basket on it. Patting the spot beside her, she invited Vader with a smile to sit down. He did as requested, gazing at the surroundings.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Padmé prompted.

Vader looked at the waterfalls, then her, then at the food. "What's for breakfast?"

"Some egg sandwiches," Padmé answered, pulling the food out. "Along with some fried atpeks."

Vader took the plate she offered him and ate silently. Padmé breathed deeply, enjoying the smell of the waterfalls and the breeze they provided. She allowed for the silence as the two ate, but once they were finished and she put the dishes back in the basket, she stood without grabbing anything else. "Come on, let's go the falls."

Vader watched her, his face neutral, but he didn't hesitate for too long. Rising, he followed her to the edge of the island and the two removed their shoes and dipped their feet in the water. Padmé gasped at the coldness and then laughed. Vader barely flinched.

"I see you're accustomed to the cold, then?" Padmé giggled.

Vader looked at her. He didn't seem to know what to say, so he returned his gaze to his feet. Padmé happened to glance at his feet too when she noticed something odd; his right foot had some dusty pink mark on it that stretched like a tree or a leaf from beneath his pant leg to the middle of his foot. It branched a few times and then faded into his skin. Motioning to it, she asked, "Is that a tattoo of some sort?"

Vader followed her gaze and looked at his foot. "No."

"What is it?"

Vader said nothing, stepping out of the water and sitting on his feet. He stared at his reflection silently. Padmé got an odd feeling and decided to not push the matter. Instead, she sat beside him.

"Sometimes I wish my life was more like this, and less like what it is on Imperial Center," Padmé sighed. At this point, she was just trying to bring forth any conversation. He was unusually quiet today.

"What _is_ your life like on Imperial Center?" Vader asked, looking at her. "All I see is your time in the senate building."

"That's basically my life right there." Padmé moaned. "But I guess it's for a good cause."

"What does that mean?"

Padmé glanced at him, wondering if he really meant what he was asking. Well, she supposed she could be sincere in her answer. "I… sometimes wonder if I'm making a difference. I already know democracy has died, but I just wish it was still there in some form… like being a senator really meant something beyond being…"

"Being what?"

Should she complete her sentence? She wasn't planning on saying anything treasonous, but it was still pretty controversial. Well, Vader _had_ admitted that he though the Empire wasn't perfect, so maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

"Being a pawn." Padmé finally said. "That's basically what we are. We're just Palpatine's little playthings. He makes all the decisions. We don't really do much of anything except argue on the details of whatever the emperor thinks is unimportant."

"Such thoughts lead to actions that could rectify the matter."

Padmé jerked her head to face him once more. Was _he_ suggesting treason? No, that couldn't be it. Padmé had to remind herself that the entire purpose of her interacting with this man was because he was assigned to ensure _she _wasn't a traitor. He just wanted her to slip up.

_You'll have to be sneakier than that._ She thought to herself. But as she heard herself saying these words in her head, she sighed heavily. She wasn't sure what she could believe; he had seemed sincere in his thoughts about the anti-alien laws, but if he was just trying to trip her up, did he really mean what he said? Or was he actually being sincere _now_? He was acting so radically different from Imperial Center, she wasn't confident in any sort of conclusions she was drawing.

Instead, she just decided to voice her concerns… sort of. "Why are you so different away from Imperial Center?"

Vader shifted, watching the water intently. "I… have to act differently there."

"Because of the emperor?"

Vader paused. Then he nodded.

"Do you prefer to be away from Imperial Center?" Padmé asked. "Or are you just happy to be doing your duty?"

"I can tell you don't prefer Imperial Center."

"I can't imagine who would," Padmé replied. "But that doesn't answer my question."

"I don't."

"You don't prefer Imperial Center?"

"No."

Padmé nodded slowly, taking the information in. She still wasn't sure if he was telling the truth or not.

Then Vader took the initiative. "You said yesterday that you became queen to help people, and you're a senator to try and maintain democracy. Yet you prefer to stay on Naboo. Why deal with the conflict? Why not just stay here?"

"I wish I could," Padmé said honestly. "But then I wouldn't be doing everything I could to help others… I try to place everyone before myself. My needs aren't nearly as important as an entire galaxy's… or my family's for that matter. And family always comes first."

Vader looked at his reflection. He whispered her words. "Family comes first."

"Yes," Padmé said firmly. She'd drop everything in a heartbeat if anything ever happened to her family. Seeing as two members of her family were in the Alliance, though, and the rest were maintaining relatively low-key lives, she didn't see that becoming an issue.

As she pondered these issues, Vader continued to watch the water, staring at his own reflection with quite a bit of intensity. Padmé eventually turned the conversation to him. "Do you feel the same about your family?"

Darth Vader said nothing, but this time Padmé wouldn't change the topic or ignore his silence. She would wait. She really wanted to know the answer to this. Vader had so far revealed these strange tidbits about himself that didn't seem to fit into a coherent picture, and she was starting to grow a little tired of the mystery that she had claimed to be so tantalizing two days ago.

She watched him for almost two full minutes, and it felt like an eternity. The crashing waterfalls were actually beginning to fray her nerves as she watched him – why wouldn't he just say anything? Padmé honestly didn't know why she was expecting something important to come out of his mouth; he could easily just lie, as he seemed to be doing that a lot… which was very odd because he had been quite frank back on Imperial Center. She supposed that went back to the whole Palpatine issue, but it didn't make sense; he should be _less_ inclined to lie when he's away from the man.

"I don't have a family."

Padmé jumped, not expecting him to speak. Then his words washed over her, and she stammered slightly, trying to come up with a response. "You—what do you mean?"

"I don't have one." Vader repeated, still watching his reflection.

Padmé wasn't sure what to say. If he didn't have one, then why did he say they approved of his career choice? They weren't _never_ there, then, right? "Were… did they die?"

Darth Vader was silent.

Padmé suddenly felt pity fill her. She had seen many orphans before, and every time she did she couldn't imagine just how terrible it was to lose all one's family. This made Vader's devotion at least make a little more sense – perhaps he saw the Empire as his family? Flawed but still there for him? "I'm really sorry."

"Don't waste your breath on the matter, senator," Vader said calmly. "I've no use for a family."

"You—what is that supposed to mean?" Padmé gaped at him, stunned by his harsh words.

Vader finally looked up from his reflection to stare at her. "I've no use for a family."

Any pity she felt for him vanished, replaced with anger. Padmé scoffed. "Well I figured you wouldn't be the type to settle down and get married, but what about your parents or siblings? Didn't you care about them? Didn't you love them?"

Vader's mouth slacked open a little, his eyebrows rising. "Love? _Love?_ Love is a useless and weak emotion; there's no room for it in life."

Immediately after saying this, Vader leapt to his feet, storming off, but Padmé was _not_ going to stop the conversation there. Standing, she ran after him. She'd had enough of this insanity. She couldn't tell whether he spoke truth or lies, she couldn't tell if she had to be more or less obvious, she couldn't tell if she was making him like her or just being ignored… she was at her wit's end. She was kriffing tired of his strange ways of speaking or thinking.

Catching up to him, Padmé stood in front of him, cutting off his line of escape. Throwing caution to the winds just to see how he'd react, she said, "And what if I were to say I love you?"

"Then you're pathetic and deserve to be crushed like everyone else," Vader answered coldly.

Padmé felt anger sear through her like fire. "Well it's a good thing I was lying, then!"

Vader's hard look suddenly vanished. He stiffened and stared at her, his gaze suddenly clouding. His brow furrowed a little, and then he looked away. Padmé was baffled by his behavior; why was he bothered by her _refuting_ her declaration of love?

Padmé said, "You… surely you didn't actually _believe_ me, did you? You don't… you're not…"

She couldn't even finish her statement. If he was bothered by her apathy towards him, then did _he_ have some sort of attachment for _her_? She hadn't _actually _succeeded in what she was trying to do, had she?

Vader seemed to catch what she was implying and he immediately looked at her. "I have no such pitiful feelings for you, senator. I just…"

Vader looked away once more. "I made a mistake."

At that, he turned to another direction and started to walk away.

Made a mistake? "What do you mean you made a mistake?"

Vader paused, but he didn't face her. He remained like this for a while, and Padmé didn't make any motion to go to him. He seemed rather reluctant to answer her, but he also seemed like he had already made his mistake. After all, if he hadn't wanted her to ask what he meant, he really shouldn't have said that, and they both knew it.

Eventually, without turning, Vader said, "The governor… the governor told me to never believe or trust politicians."

The governor? "Governor Tarkin?"

Vader nodded.

"What was your mistake, then?"

Vader finally turned and looked at her pointedly. "I believed one."

Padmé stood there, stunned. It was so odd that this was bothering him so much. True, one didn't declare their love lightly or toy with other people's emotions, but he obviously wasn't torn up about not being loved—just being duped. Had he really taken her so seriously? Had he really believed her that much? She thought it would be rather obvious that she didn't actually love him—even someone she was trying to seduce would know that it was just lust or some other motive that was causing her behavior, not love.

Suddenly Padmé started to feel guilty. Vader was a hard man to read (which was putting it _insanely_ mildly) because he never gave straightforward replies unless they were so blunt that they both held no room for argument and really said very little anyway. But just this once, he was dead serious and honest, and she had apparently just broken what little trust he did have in her. But it was an _obvious_ lie—blast it, she was _so_ confused.

"I…" Padmé began to say, trying to figure out what it was she _needed_ to say. Then she just got even more confused. "You said it was weak, though! Why would my lie bother you?"

Vader sighed. "It's the principle of the mater. I shouldn't have made the mistake."

He was admitting weakness—this _couldn't_ be a lie. There was no reason for him to destroy his dignity if he didn't actually mean it, right? Trying to piece together what little rapport they had, Padmé ran over to him as he started to leave once more. "Milord, wait. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you; it wasn't my intent. I just… it's such a foreign notion to me, hearing you speak the way you did about love. Who taught you to think like that?"

"It doesn't matter. This conversation is over." Vader said curtly, and he moved passed her and departed.

Padmé sighed heavily. Heavens had she messed up. But honestly, how was she supposed to know he'd be so bothered by that? Besides, she _had_ been telling the truth just now—she was so caught off guard by his awful words about family that she just _had_ to push him to his limits like he was pushing her.

By heaven, when were Obi-Wan and Siri going to get here?

Shaking her head, Padmé calmed herself as best she could. She stood still, letting the sound of the waterfalls soothe her nerves. After about ten minutes she decided she needed to find Vader and try to make amends. Returning to the water, she grabbed her shoes and then his – since he left them it would be a perfect excuse to start a conversation. Slipping her feet into her own shoes, Padmé began wandering the island in an attempt to find the Sith Lord.

A strange sound was heard over the distant noise of the water. It was like a low pitched humming that would grow louder in a quick spurt and then become quiet again. Padmé had never heard such a sound before, so she followed it slowly until she turned a corner.

Darth Vader had managed to find the only shady spot on the island and was doing some strange but enthralling form of martial arts with—was this his lightsaber? She'd never seen one activated before. It was bright red, and when he would move it in a quick motion it would leave a trail of light behind it. Padmé watched, amazed at the technique; it was no doubt deadly, but it also looked beautiful. Eventually, she cleared her throat to get his attention. "Milord?"

Vader whirled around and his blade angled horizontally. In a heartbeat, it was singeing her neck. Padmé jumped with a yelp, her body immediately freezing afterward. The heat of the blade stung, and it had come so fast it felt like a smack. Vader's eyes were yellow and red—or was it just the reflection of his weapon?—and glowered at her. And then, in an instant, the look was gone. He deactivated his blade and took a hasty step back.

"Apologies, milady," Vader said in a thin voice, as if he himself didn't know what he had just done.

Padmé took a few gaping breaths to calm herself and then rubbed her neck, wincing at the slight burn that was left behind. "I-it's fine… you—you left your boots at the water. I was returning them."

As Padmé held them out like a peace offering, Vader hooked his weapon to his belt and took a step towards her. Padmé said, "Also, I wanted to apologize again. Truly, I am sorry, milord – I didn't mean to upset you."

Vader paused, his hand reaching for his boots, and he gave her a funny look. He hadn't already forgotten the argument, had he? It didn't seem likely. So why was he confused by her apology? Was he not expecting it? Did he think so little of her?

After his brief confusion, he took the boots from her and offered a nod. He slipped his feet into his shoes and then bowed, turning to leave.

"Milord," Padmé called hesitantly. Vader stopped, but he didn't face her. "I hope I'll see you at dinner. I promise we'll actually eat something substantial tonight."

She added the last statement to try and lighten the mood, but Vader only nodded and continued to walk away. Had she messed up that badly? At this point, she figured it wasn't that; he just needed his space. Judging from what she was discerning about the man, Vader was quite the introvert, on top of being almost emotionless—_almost_. Look at her; she was already changing her mind about him. Originally… well, what had he been to her originally?

A target. A threat. A challenge. A danger. A mystery.

So what was he now? Still a mystery, to be sure, and still most definitely dangerous. Padmé wasn't sure what else, though. She felt dirty thinking of him as a target at this point, and considering what he had stated about family, it was finally starting to make sense how he could do the atrocious things he did. Was he just inherently evil, then, or had someone instilled that into him? Padmé didn't know how old he was—he looked like he was around Obi-Wan's age, maybe a little older—but it was likely he was mostly raised and indoctrinated by the Empire. After all, he'd said he'd grown up in the Palace District.

Wait… what?

Now that she was really starting to think about it, a lot of things weren't adding up. Vader claimed that he grew up in the Palace District of Imperial Center. That area was for the highest ranking Imperial officials. But if Vader didn't have a family… it was possible they were dead, but it just didn't feel like she was getting the entire truth of the matter out of him. Honestly, that wasn't surprising, but it was frustrating. Sometimes the Sith Lord seemed quite sincere, but other times she wasn't sure. On top of all that, he denied basically anything that would indicate a normal life; was he in some rigorous military training? The most prestigious academy to train youth for the Empire was still a secondary school, so he would have at least had a normal childhood up to that point. Again, this wasn't adding up. And then he stated that he'd known Palpatine for eighteen years but had only been in the military for eight. So… did he know the emperor because of his parents? _That_ did seem plausible, at least. But how had he risen in the ranks? How did he become a Sith?

Padmé shook her head. She'd have to sort these issues out with him, though probably not within the next few days. Just thinking about all of it was giving her a headache. Groaning, she headed back towards the villa; she needed to make dinner, anyway.

* * *

Thanks. Be. To. The. Gods.

Siri sighed as she fell onto the bed in heavenly bliss. Al had _finally_ gotten his ship back, and they were just waiting for clearance to leave the spaceport at this point. She was eternally grateful for a shower and a bed. And her own kriffing refresher in general.

She heard Obi-Wan collapse on the top bunk (she had stolen the bottom since it was faster to access) and smiled, her eyes remaining closed. "You think Al's going to be conscious enough to get us out of here?"

"Hopefully," Obi-Wan replied in an exhausted voice. "He can sleep after we go into hyperspace."

"True," Siri conceded with a yawn. "Night, Obi."

"Good night."

Siri let herself go limp, completely relaxing. She was so bloody exhausted. She tried briefly thinking about how they were going to solve a civil war and convince Salkende to join their cause… but blast it, she was too kriffing tired.

She hoped Padmé was alright.

* * *

Padmé had to admit she was proud of herself. The dinner table was set beautifully, and there was enough food for twice the amount of people eating it. In the center was roasted shaak meat in a sauce, and four different vegetable sides, along with freshly made bread (which was a little singed, but Padmé never claimed to be the best cook). A lovely wine was already on display, and chocolate ice cream sat in two bowls in the freezer. It would be a great dinner.

Padmé stood facing the table and the balcony, waiting expectantly for Vader. He eventually arrived close to sunset. Padmé was a little annoyed when he simply took a seat and made no remark, but she also wasn't surprised; she was starting to grow used to his odd behavior, even if she didn't understand it.

Sitting across from him, she asked, "Did the sparring help?"

Vader looked at her confusedly.

"You know, to relieve stress," Padmé prompted. "Blow off some steam and the like."

"…Steam?"

Padmé sighed heavily. "Never mind."

The two ate in silence for a while, but Padmé's curiosity eventually pestered her too much to remain quiet. Instead of asking about him, though, she began by talking about herself. Maybe if she revealed more about herself, he would open up to her—and not just the _get information out of you_ kind, but the sincere kind that would lead to conversations and less awkward interactions and… well, company.

"Milord, have you ever felt lonely before?" Padmé asked. Before he had a chance to answer, she continued. "I have. It's… I just… it's such an awful feeling, you know? It's like you're surrounded by people but you feel like you're not one of them. You feel like you don't know them, like they don't know you. It's as if you're in a different world from them, or you're a ghost. I keep myself so busy, but somehow it doesn't solve the problem. And Obi-Wan and Siri have each other… and I just have me. I represent billions of people—they all rely on me so they can be heard—but nobody… nobody hears me."

Padmé stared at her food helplessly. She had intended to elaborate on her question a little, but that had all come out way too fast. She hadn't meant to speak _that_ freely. But blast, it felt so good, so _freeing_ to say that. She never spoke about her loneliness to anyone. Sola would rub it in her face as a reason to give up her work, and she didn't want that. Obi-Wan would show that adorable awkward concern where he would try to give advice and sound like he had solved the problem without somehow saying anything that helped. Siri would take her out for a girl's night out and they would have a good time, but it was only a temporary fix.

Hesitantly, Padmé looked up, expecting to see a blank look or perhaps a confused one. Instead, Vader was staring at her, frozen. His eyes were slightly wide, his mouth a little slack, his hand paused with food on the utensil. He looked floored, enthralled, terrified, and bemused all at once. It was like some sort of world shattering realization had hit him, or like his philosophy of life had suddenly changed.

"That's… that's loneliness?" he asked quietly, almost urgently.

And then it hit her. He knew that feeling. He _lived_ that feeling. And he hadn't expected her to know it too. But… he didn't know it was loneliness?

Padmé nodded silently. Vader looked down, putting his food back on his plate. He looked lost all of a sudden. Abruptly, he stood, ready to leave.

"Milord, wait," Padmé said softly as she stood. "What's wrong?"

Vader shook his head, and he began to walk away.

"Milord," Padmé called again. Walking to him, she motioned to the balcony with a tender smile, as if she were reassuring a youngling. "Let's dance first. You did so well yesterday."

Vader was hesitant, but eventually he nodded, following her to the balcony. Padmé started some music and the two took the same poses as yesterday. Padmé led, as was tradition for Coruscanti dances, and the two waltzed across the floor, smooth as flowing water. No words were exchanged – none needed to be. After realizing that Vader shared _something_ with her, especially something that intrinsic to her, Padmé finally found some common ground. She didn't need to interrogate him anymore; she didn't need to force herself on him. And somehow, despite his lack of emotion, he seemed to see it too. He was far more relaxed than before, and he eventually closed his eyes as they danced. Although they weren't touching, he somehow knew where to go, how to follow her. He was trusting her lead. _Trusting _her.

Padmé was breathless.

When the dance ended, Vader opened his eyes and bowed slowly. Padmé bowed in return. Neither said anything. They only looked at each other for an instant before Vader left, but it somehow didn't break the spell. Instead, Padmé made her way back to her bedroom before pausing and backtracking. She went to the kitchen, grabbed a bowl of the chocolate ice cream, and then left it in front of Vader's door before going to her own room.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed the chapter! :)  
**


	13. Salkende

Padmé woke up exhausted. She didn't necessarily feel sleepy; just worn out. As she stood and cleaned herself up she could barely focus on anything. Yesterday had been such a whirlwind of emotions and situations and realizations that she felt like she needed a vacation from her supposed vacation.

Glancing at her wardrobe, Padmé laid eyes on her swimsuit. Well, if she wanted a proper vacation, she should plan today out like it _was_ one. Padmé put it on and then threw an outfit on over it. Exiting her room, she wandered the villa in an attempt to find Vader. After realizing he was already up, she went to the balcony; as she had suspected, he was already heading down the stairs to go for his morning walk. She didn't say anything this morning; she'd learned at this point that for whatever reason, this morning ritual of his was a very private one. Instead, she watched him go, and she was surprised when he didn't seem to notice her at all. He was lost in his own thoughts, apparently.

After he'd left her sight, Padmé went to the chaise in the lounge and thought about what they would do today. She came up with a list of possibilities that she'd run by Vader and see if he had any suggestions as well (hey, she could dare to hope that he might actually have a _preference_ for some activity or another – he had been acting as normal as was possible for him lately), and then she ate breakfast and waited for his return.

Unfortunately, Padmé's mental exhaustion translated into physical exhaustion, and as she lounged on the chaise, she dozed off. She hadn't even realized she fell asleep until she awoke with a start and heard music playing on the balcony. Standing, Padmé went to the source of the music and was stunned to find Vader waltzing alone on the balcony, his eyes closed.

Padmé watched him, entranced by the odd scene, but it only lasted an instant before he stopped. He opened his eyes and looked directly at her; although she hadn't made a sound, he'd known she was there.

Vader bowed. "Senator."

"Padmé," Padmé corrected him. "We're on vacation; we don't have to use titles. May I ask what your name is?"

"Darth Vader," Was the blunt reply.

Padmé crossed her arms, leaning against the wall. "That's your title, isn't it?"

"It's my name."

"Your parents had an odd way of naming their children," Padmé noted. "So is Darth your first name, then?"

"No. It's a title."

"But you just said—"

"Vader is my name. Darth is the title."

"So what's your given name?"

"Vader."

"Then what's your surname?"

Vader blinked. Then he blinked again. "I don't have one."

Now Padmé was _really_ confused. "What? What was your parents' surname?"

Vader said nothing.

Sighing, Padmé pushed the matter aside. "Okay, so your name is Vader."

"Lord Vader."

"So Darth is a title but lord isn't?" Padmé asked sarcastically.

Vader stiffened. "Just call me Lord Vader."

Padmé chuckled softly. "All right, all right. But you can still call me Padmé if you wish."

Her wording seemed to confuse him, and he just shook his head. This conversation was getting perplexing and irritating for both of them, so Padmé quickly changed the subject. "I'm glad to see you practicing the waltz. I didn't think you'd like dancing so much."

Vader waved his hand towards the radio and the music abruptly stopped. Padmé stood straight once more, glancing from him to the radio, wondering what in the blazes had just happened. Her nervous thought process was interrupted when the Sith Lord asked, "Why do you dance?"

"It's fun." Padmé replied with a shrug. Then she asked, "What just happened to the radio? Was that you?"

Vader didn't seem to hear her question. Instead, he just stared at her, his brow furrowed slightly. "Fun?"

Was he confused because he didn't think dancing was fun? "Yes… you get to spend time with someone one on one, it's good exercise, it's exhilarating, the music is always wonderful, and it's just… fun."

"So you do it for the exercise," Vader surmised.

Padmé shook her head. "Did you not hear the rest of what I said?"

"The only practical things you mentioned were exercise and social interaction." Vader replied, folding his arms across his chest. "But if you need to speak with someone, you can just do so; we don't need to dance right now to talk. So your main reason must be the exercise."

Padmé laughed at his logic. "You're hopeless, milord. Must everything have a practical purpose to it? You implied that you liked parks the other day; is there a practical reason for that?"

"I don't—" Vader immediately began before growing quiet. He seemed to remember that he had indeed implied what Padmé was saying, and he looked away. "The fresh air is good for you."

Padmé laughed for a solid minute. Her mirth at his expense seemed to finally grate on his nerves as his face flushed, but he said nothing. Eventually, she asked, "So you don't have fun at all, then?"

"Fun defines something that in its nature has no use."

"Fun things help people unwind," Padmé offered. "You never told me how you relax."

"Not with fun stuff." He replied, and though he had seemed slightly ruffled earlier, he was speaking in his usual emotionless tone.

"Why not?" Padmé asked. "Everyone has fun."

"I'm not everyone."

Some odd gut feeling made itself known to Padmé all of a sudden, like this conversation was about to hit some extremely important point, but Vader ended it right there, entering the villa without another word.

* * *

"Uh—it's got a lot of a very common molecule in it—it's, uh, it's really long—it's, um, _flowing_ it's—blast it, it's—"

"A _common molecule_?"

"Yes, this common molecule has two hydrogens and an oxygen—"

"So it's full of water?"

"Yes, and it's long and flowy and—"

"A long flowy thing full of water?"

"_Yes_, it winds through stuff like forests—"

"A river?"

"YES!" Siri yelled. "Blast it, took you long enough to figure it out!"

Al jumped. "Sheesh, I can't help that you're impossible at explaining things! Obi-Wan, how can you even _understand_ her?"

Obi-Wan laughed. "Sometimes I wonder that myself."

Siri shot him a baleful look. Obi-Wan shrugged in a mildly apologetic manner. The three had been playing games since they awoke from their wonderfully long sleep. They had been in hyperspace for so long now Obi-Wan wasn't sure what their ETA to Salkende was, but he knew they had to be relatively close.

Siri blew out a sigh. "This game is exhausting."

"I think it's rather fun," Obi-Wan said mildly. "It's always interesting trying to tell someone a word without using certain key hints."

"Yeah, but when the word is _river_ and I can't say _water_ to explain it, it's blasted annoying."

Obi-Wan chuckled. "Come now, don't tell me your command of the Basic language is that feeble."

Siri's eyes narrowed. "Your turn, then, Obi."

Al gave a nervous chuckle. "I'll stay over here and not get melted by your wife's laser vision, okay?"

Obi-Wan maintained eye contact with his wife as he reached for the next card. The two glared competitively and then he glanced at what he had picked. The word he had to convey was 'chair,' and he wasn't allowed to say 'furniture,' 'sit,' 'sitting,' or any alternative title for chairs. Leaning against the back of the sofa in the ship's lounge, Obi-Wan glanced up at his wife, putting the card on his lap. Al had a timer in his hand, and Obi-Wan nodded to him to start the timer.

"I'm on it right now."

"A sofa?"

"More generic."

"A chair."

Obi-Wan tossed the card to Siri. "Simple."

Siri huffed irritably and then snatched another card. "Star the timer, Al."

Almusian did as directed, watching silently with a smirk on his face.

"Antiquated, pleasant, used for recreation," Siri listed off. "You hold it in your hands, it requires brains to comprehend, you use it a lot…"

"Is it any sort of piece of technology?" Almusian asked.

Siri rolled her eyes. "I _did_ say _antiquated_, right?"

"But still used?" Obi-Wan asked.

Siri nodded. "It's got a thick shell and it's thinner inside—better than data pads—"

"A book." Obi-Wan guessed, and Siri nodded with a large smile.

Looking at Al, she remarked, "Now _that's_ a quick deduction, thank you."

Al rolled his eyes. "I can't help that you two have a secret way of communicating."

"There's no secret to it," Obi-Wan laughed.

"It just requires intelligence." Siri added.

"Hey!" Al snapped at her.

Obi-Wan sighed as he watched the smuggler get into an argument with his wife. His gaze drifted to the wall as his thoughts turned to other matters. So Salkende was at war; that was a pretty legitimate reason to refuse involvement in a larger war. Still, Salkende was their best bet; the Tsograda Sector was one of the largest populated sectors in the senate, despite its very small status. The sector had never made much of a name for itself because it mostly kept to itself; still, it was known in the neighboring sectors as a local superpower. One planet in the particular within the sector, Ferrasco, was known across the galaxy as a large refugee center; it was the main reason Al had used it as their fake destination when talking to the Imperial fleet.

Apart from Ferrasco's reputation, however, little was known about the Tsograda Sector. The general rule concerning that sector was that it had mighty warriors and an _enormous_ amount of supplies – and _that_ was what the Alliance needed the most right now. After the Corellian senator Garm Bel Iblis had been declared a traitor, the Alliance had lost its main military support; Bel Iblis had been providing the Alliance with naval ships, supplies, and personnel. Any contact with Corellia had ceased after Bel Iblis had gone into hiding; Obi-Wan figured the Alliance had spies looking for him, but he had gone deep underground. That had been about a month ago at this point; Obi-Wan recalled that he, Padmé, and Siri had been touring the Chommell Sector when they heard the news from a contact and had been advised to get more supplies from Kuna. Now that Obi-Wan thought about it, he was fairly certain that this increase in activity was probably the main reason for Kuna's death.

In either case, the Alliance now had no naval supplier, and with Kuna gone it also had no supplier in general—food, medicine, technology… it was almost all gone. Kuna obviously hadn't been their only supplier, but he had been a _large_ one, and he had begun providing armaments to make up for the loss of the Corellian senator. His death was probably being whispered throughout the underworld where he was well known; the criminals wouldn't want to get anywhere near the Alliance, certainly not for a while. They had to get legitimate support.

But how in the blazes was Obi-Wan going to convince Tlenden to join a galactic war when he already had a planetary war on his hands?

Obi-Wan closed his eyes with a small groan. He missed the days where his biggest problem was trying to convince Siri to not beat the life out of a girl who had insisted that Siri wasn't right for him. And heaven had _that_ been a trial in itself. Obi-Wan recalled a very long discussion with heated words, a calming hug, and then a quiet stroll through the headquarters of the service corps. Stars that had been _so long_ ago… he and Siri had been teenagers…

A victorious shout from Al snapped Obi-Wan out of his thoughts. Apparently the Zabrak had successfully beaten Siri's best time and was rubbing it in her face. Obi-Wan enjoyed the scene; Siri was always up for a friendly game, but she would inevitably grow very competitive without realizing it, so she was fuming over the loss. Still, she was never a sore loser; she quickly got over it and laughed alongside their friend.

Suddenly the gentle hum of the hyperdrive began to groan and lower in pitch until it faded into nothingness. Then the loud sound of engines flared up immediately. All three occupants shifted slightly as the G forces pushed them around a little, but unlike their last unexpected exit from hyperspace, this was normal.

They had arrived.

Siri and Obi-Wan immediately exchanged glances as Al hastened to the cockpit, muttering about how he hadn't heard the alarm signal the exit from hyperspace.

_You ready?_ Her expression seemed to ask. Obi-Wan nodded and they both stood, following Al.

The first sight of Salkende wasn't quite what Obi-Wan was expecting. It was the capital planet of its sector, so he suspected it might have some sort of large city-like infrastructure, as many capital worlds did. However, there were barely any visible cities from space; lights could be seen in very minute clusters. It looked like there were a handful of large settlements, many small settlements, and a surprisingly big number of sparse areas.

Al fiddled with his mapping console and then a hologram of the planet appeared so they could gaze at the entire globe. It had six continents, two of which were ice sheaths at each respective pole. A small continent was surrounded by island chains, and a larger continent was a few islands away from it. The largest two were relatively far from each other, but judging from how they were shaped they used to be one continent. The largest land mass was around the equator line and rose almost to the northern ice cap.

Al typed in a search and coordinates appeared on the holographic globe, focusing on one of the northernmost areas of the largest continent. "There's the capital: Fjesky."

Siri blew out a sigh. "Let's hope we can get this over with quickly."

Obi-Wan seriously doubted that would be the case, but he didn't say anything.

Al spoke briefly with orbital security and was given clearance to land. He guided the ship into the atmosphere. Obi-Wan watched as the clouds vanished and revealed enormous, jagged mountains that pierced into the sky. Al followed the mountains for a while before veering away from them. The mountains could be seen in the edge of the viewports, but the ocean began to grow ever closer. Obi-Wan recalled that the capital was on a peninsular part of the continent.

It was nighttime over here, so Al activated navigation guidance. The scenes outside the viewports vanished as the windows displayed infrared depictions of the landscape, guiding Al with extra information scrolling along the sides. Obi-Wan and Siri returned to the lounge and strapped themselves into the sofa.

The levity from the games was completely gone. Obi-Wan and Siri sat quietly and stiffly, both pondering the future events. What would happen if they couldn't convince Tlenden? What would happen if they _could_? They would have to make contact with the Alliance through either Senator Organa or Senator Mothma now since their primary contact had been captured.

"So…" Siri muttered softly as they both shifted a little while Al turned the ship slightly. "How are we going to go about doing this?"

Obi-Wan sighed. "I don't know."

"You've had the entire trip to think about it," Siri noted a little impatiently, but she dropped her argument. Apparently she caught on that Obi-Wan was beginning to feel a little overwhelmed.

Well, perhaps more than a little.

Honestly, the more he thought about the situation, the more it felt like the fate of the Alliance depended upon Tlenden's allegiance. Which inadvertently left the fate of the Alliance up to Obi-Wan. It was at times like these that he wished he was a little more informed about the happenings of the Rebels – if he knew that they had other suppliers and perhaps weren't in quite as desperate a situation as they seemed to be, he might not be as nervous.

Sometimes Obi-Wan both amused and astonished himself with how much pressure he'd place upon himself. He knew that he was naturally a person who didn't like being in the spotlight, so why did he keep putting himself into these situations?

Because it was the right thing to do. And honestly, that was all the explanation he needed.

The engines grew louder, the ship vibrated, and then everything jolted as they finally touched ground. Al let out a whoop of triumph from the cockpit. "We're finally here!"

Obi-Wan and Siri exchanged soft smiles at their friend's enthusiasm. They were glad they were finally there in one piece as well, but the real work had just begun.

The two unstrapped from the sofa and stretched briefly before following Al to the landing ramp. As soon as the door to the lowered ramp opened, all three occupants jumped with a yelp. A blast of cold air slammed into them with such ferocity that Al immediately closed the door once more.

"Okay, let's try this again," he muttered as he ran back to the cockpit.

"I'm getting a robe," Siri grumbled as she quickly went to the upper level to grab one. "I'll get you one, too."

Obi-Wan thanked her, and then Al returned, shaking his head and saying, "This is just terrific. It's kriffing _winter_ here. Do you have any idea how close to the ice cap we are? We're going to freeze!"

Obi-Wan shrugged with a gentle smile. "At least the air will be infinitely fresher here than on Nar Shaddaa."

"_Anything's_ fresher than Nar Shaddaa," Al replied.

"Including Nal Hutta?" Obi-Wan prompted, mentioning the polluted homeworld of the Hutts.

Al shuddered. "Okay, no, that one takes the prize."

Accessing a data pad, Obi-Wan glossed over the information HoloNet provided on Salkende. The planet had three primary languages, one of which was Galactic Basic Standard. More importantly, however, was that since Fjesky was the capital of the planet, Tlenden would no doubt have an office here, and that would be their first place to visit.

"Huh," Al grunted as he looked at his chronometer, which was already displaying the local time. "Well, it's almost 0900 here, so at least we'll have a full day and won't have too much travel lag."

Siri returned, tossing a robe to Obi-Wan as she put one on. Al looked at her, a little ruffled. "No robe for me?"

Siri paused just as she was about to slip her other arm into the sleeve. "Al, do I look like your maid?"

"You look like a very kind and caring woman who could provide a freezing Zabrak with a helping hand." Al said with a hopeful smile.

"Get your own kriffing robe."

With a dejected sigh, the smuggler dragged his feet to his own quarters. Obi-Wan chuckled as he noted, "You do realize he's our pilot, Siri; it would be wise to not treat him _too_ badly."

"Meh, friend's prerogative," Siri shrugged.

After Al returned the three opened the door once more, raising their hoods against the harsh wind. Despite the time of the morning it was still pitch black outside; the lights that marked the perimeter of the landing pad were the only things visible. As Obi-Wan and Al disembarked the landing ramp, the entire pad shifted with a low groan, making everyone jump. Siri slipped with a yelp, falling off the landing ramp. Obi-Wan rushed to catch her, but she twisted her body so she landed on her feet, although she immediately collapsed onto her hands and knees with a grunt.

"You alright?" Obi-Wan asked.

Siri nodded. "Yeah, but what was—"

The three felt the landing pad begin to sink into the ground and Al pointedly shouted the obvious issue. "We're _sinking_!"

"Listen," Obi-Wan advised, and all three remained motionless. Obi-Wan then looked pointedly at Al. "Those are hydraulics I hear; the ramp is _supposed_ to sink."

Siri laughed very loudly as Al crossed his arms irritably. "Like I knew that! You two were freaking out too!"

"We weren't _freaking out_," Siri argued jovially.

As the pad sank further, the wind eventually disappeared. The biting cold remained, however, and the darkness increased until they were all blinded by lights; the pad had reached its destination. Shifting from the lift, it slid smoothly into an underground hangar.

The three adjusted their eyes to the new environment and then proceeded towards the hangar exit. Once Obi-Wan checked in at customs, a security officer approached him. "Representative, we weren't informed of your arrival. Do you require any assistance?"

"I'd like to know where Senator Tlenden's office is, actually," Obi-Wan said.

The security officer nodded and guided the three out of the hangar. The spaceport was quite industrial looking, holding very little aesthetic charm to it. Tubing, wires, and structural support stood in plain sight, and there were no advertisements or pictures or anything of the sort on the walls. It felt more like a military base than a spaceport. Then again, they _were_ at war.

"Guess tourism isn't big on their list," Al whispered.

"Who'd want to come freeze their butts off here?" Siri rebutted.

Eventually the hallway began to slope upwards until the guard led them to a lift. They rode the lift up several levels, but Obi-Wan wasn't sure if they went all the way above the surface since there were no windows. Once they reached their destination, his question was answered when the doors opened and let a blast of wind inside.

The security guard began giving instructions as to where to go. Obi-Wan listened attentively, nodding and thanking him before stepping outside. He pulled his robe even closer to himself.

"Could you even hear the guy?" Al nearly yelled over the wind.

"Yes," Obi-Wan and Siri said at the same time.

Obi-Wan could distinctly hear their friend grumble. "Humans and their kriffing special hearing…"

Obi-Wan squinted against the wind and pointed in one direction. "He said we need to go down this street."

"What, no taxi or anything?" Siri asked curiously.

"No, the trail he mentioned was by foot."

"G-great." Al moaned through chattering teeth.

The three didn't speak much as Obi-Wan followed the directions provided. He only could tell where streets began and ended by the lights at each corner; he couldn't really see anything about the city they were in. Things only became more complicated when snow flurries began to pelt at their faces. Just as it seemed like a blizzard was about to hit, Obi-Wan saw an entrance to a large, low lying building. It was where the security officer had stated the senator's office would be, and so Obi-Wan walked to the entrance and stood expectantly at the door. When nothing happened, he quickly realized it wasn't electronic and with a sheepish shrug to his wife grabbed the handle and swung it open.

The entrance foyer was lit warmly, both from gentle lighting and a fire blazing inside a large hearth. Most of the furniture and architecture was made from dark wood. Obi-Wan shook the snow off his boots and sat at a bench near the fire, rubbing his hands together. Siri sat beside him, and Al practically flung himself into the fire.

Siri laughed. "You really don't like cold, do you?"

"I am _not_ a cold weather person," Al immediately replied. "If I could only take jobs in tropical paradises, I _would_."

Obi-Wan felt as if he were being watched, and he and Siri both turned to see a desk off to the side. A humanoid female with pointed ears, sharp blue eyes, and pale skin was looking at them from behind the desk. As she stood, Obi-Wan noticed a long muscular tail shift lazily behind her, its end covered in a tuft of black hair, which matched the thick hair on her head.

"Hjelpe sken bæstend?" she asked calmly.

"I'm sorry, but we can't understand you," Siri said.

The woman nodded and then spoke in Basic. "Can I help you?"

"My name is Representative Obi-Wan Naberrie," Obi-Wan introduced himself. "I would appreciate it if you can arrange a meeting with Senator Tlenden for me."

The woman didn't move. "I didn't hear of a visit from a representative."

"We had no way of getting in contact with him," Obi-Wan replied.

"You couldn't have reported it to the orbital authorities?"

"I didn't have any official transport. This is a private matter."

The woman narrowed her eyes, giving him a cold look. Obi-Wan felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Something was wrong. Siri tensed up beside him, feeling similarly.

However, the mood was broken when a soft beeping noise emitted from the desk. The woman pressed a button without looking away from them, and the familiar voice of the spaceport security guard spoke over the channel.

"Hey, I just had an Imperial representative check in and ask for Tlenden. I sent him your way."

The woman immediately relaxed. "He's here. Thanks."

The woman cut the channel and then finally smiled at them, bowing her head in acknowledgement. "You'll forgive my suspicion, representative. The situation here does not yield easy trust."

"I understand." Obi-Wan acknowledged.

"Senator Tlenden is just returning from a tour around the sector," the woman explained. "He won't be here until this afternoon. In the meantime, feel free to stay here and rest. The storm outside is just starting."

Obi-Wan offered a small bow of thanks. "I appreciate it, miss…?"

"Åkjem," the woman supplied. "I'll get some refreshments for you."

Åkjem left the room with that being said, and so the trio sat by the fire once more.

"She was more than a little jumpy," Al noted. "Exactly how bad is this war?"

"No war is pretty," Siri sighed, leaning her head against Obi-Wan's shoulder.

"Yeah, but this is the capital," Al argued softly. "This should be the most secure part of the planet."

Obi-Wan was struck with an idea and he leaned back into the cushioning of the chair, resting his head atop his wife's. "Al, why don't you find out for us? You're always so charming with women."

He could practically see Siri rolling her eyes. "Oh brother."

Al gave a smile, his eyes lighting up. "An excellent suggestion, Obi-Wan. I think I'll do just that."

Obi-Wan watched in mild amusement as Åkjem returned, bringing them a plate of food and some warm drinks. He and Siri thanked her, and then Al received the cup with a flirtatious remark. He stood and followed her back to the desk, leaving Obi-Wan and Siri to watch the fire and await the senator's return.

* * *

Okay, certainly she had waited long enough. Padmé had given Vader his space after he had left an hour ago, but now she wanted to enjoy the bounties of the lake country. And honestly, she didn't mind enjoying them alongside Vader… but she would go with or without him. She was beginning to feel a little trapped in the villa; it was too empty.

Walking around, she caught sight of Vader. He was sitting in the lounge by the fireplace, his eyes closed. Padmé knocked lightly on the doorway to get his attention. He opened his eyes slowly and turned his head to look at her. He had his usual calm expression on his face.

He looked at her expectantly without saying anything, so Padmé took that as her cue to speak. "May I come in?"

Vader blinked. Somehow he seemed to be thinking little of her, like he had already told her to enter without actually _telling_ her and she was an idiot for not noticing. Padmé felt a little annoyed, but then she reminded herself that she was only getting that _impression_ – it wasn't like Vader actually had said anything at all. Blast, she was starting to look a little too much into his minimal actions. Or maybe she was finally learning to read him? She wasn't quite sure. In either case, she entered and sat across from him.

"I was wondering if you wanted to join me," she began. "I'm going to take the boat and travel around the lake country a bit. Swimming is definitely on the agenda, and sightseeing… possibly fishing, too."

Vader watched her, saying nothing. Padmé gave him some time to reply, but he didn't seem to know what to say. Eventually, she raised her eyebrows to provoke some sort of response.

"…Why?" he eventually asked.

Padmé furrowed her brow, confused. "Why what?"

"Why are you doing all that?"

"Because I want to move around a bit, and because it's _there_." Padmé laughed. "The lakes are all around us; we might as well take advantage of it."

"Is that what vacations are?" Vader asked, not sounding impressed. "You go to some random place and then just look around because there's nothing practical to do?"

Padmé laughed again. "The point of a vacation is to _relax_, milord. This is just one way of doing it."

"I thought you danced to relax."

"There are multiple ways to wind down, you know," Padmé answered, a little confused. Did he think she was so bland or inflexible that dancing and visiting family was all she knew apart from work?

Honestly, it seemed to be more than what _he_ knew about anything normal.

"So you do whatever is necessary," Vader surmised.

That was certainly a strange way of putting it. "Not quite… I do whatever I like. That's part of the point of a vacation."

"Whatever you like." Vader repeated.

"Yes," Padmé nodded. Then, growing curious, she asked, "What would you like to do?"

"Swimming and possibly fishing."

Padmé didn't know if he was joking or if he was making fun of her. In either case, it didn't answer her question. "That's what _I_ just said. I'm asking what _you_ would like to do. _Apart _from what I mentioned."

"Dancing."

"You like dancing?" Padmé asked with a smile before realizing that was _also_ something she had mentioned before. "What else do you want to do, milord?"

Vader was silent.

Ah, _that_ was it. He was hiding something from her. He had to be. It was the only reason he wouldn't state his own preferences and just repeat hers. She also recalled him saying those things were trivial, but then he had seemed almost normal ever since they had left Imperial Center… which was the act? Why couldn't he just be honest with her?

_Ironic question considering your own motives_, she thought with an internal sigh. Then, after seeing Vader shifting uncomfortably in his seat, she just let the matter drop. "Never mind, it doesn't matter. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. But would you still like to join me?"

The Sith Lord seemed surprised by her remark, and then he nodded.

"It's settled, then," Padmé stood and offered him her hand. "Let's go."

Vader glanced at her hand and then her. Padmé sighed. "Milord, it's not rude to touch someone's hand on Naboo."

Now he seemed to grow confused. He reached his hand up tentatively towards hers, and she almost dared to hope that he would take it. Instead, though, he poked her palm and threw her a questioning look, as if to ask if that's what she meant.

Padmé laughed. "I meant _holding_ hands."

"For what reason?"

"Just because."

Vader stood without making any contact with her and threw her a baffled look. "You're weird."

This brought more laughter from Padmé. "_I'm_ the weird one?"

She followed him out of the villa and to the dock, but she paused as a thought struck her. "No one has ever held your hand before?"

Vader began to step into the boat. "No."

"Not even your parents?"

Vader stiffened. He said nothing, but Padmé stood still, awaiting an answer. Eventually he seemed to just ignore her entirely, settling into the driver's seat. A little annoyed, Padmé prompted him. "Well?"

Vader sighed and leaned his head back against the seat. He didn't look annoyed, so Padmé wasn't sure what he was feeling. There was definitely something wrong with his upbringing—that was obvious—but there was also just something wrong with his _story_ about his upbringing.

"Milord, who were your parents?" Padmé finally asked.

Vader started the engine, completely ignoring her. Padmé hastily got in the boat to avoid being left behind. Vader drove the boat from the dock and began to speed far from the island.

"If you let me drive, I can take us to a private lagoon," Padmé suggested, but as soon as she said it, Vader's grip on the steering controls tightened. Blowing out a sigh, she added, "Or I can just tell you where to go."

This seemed to appease him since his hands relaxed, but he still hadn't answered her question. Turning to face him a little better, Padmé said, "Well, I'll tell you about my family. My father's name is Ruwee Naberrie; he was the president of the refugee relief movement for a time before retiring and taking up teaching part time at the Theed University. He's still involved with the movement, though, and helps as best he can. My mother, Jobal, met my father when she volunteered with the RRM as a teenager and the two fell in love and were married. They helped found a village, my hometown. Just before Sola was born, my parents adopted one of the refugees they were relocating: Obi-Wan. He was very young—I think he was about two or three. By the time I was born we were pretty well established in my home village, but then I scored highly on an aptitude test when I was five and my parents decided it was time to move to Theed where we would all have more opportunities.

"When Obi-Wan and Sola were ten they helped with the RRM, and then when they turned twelve they joined the Naboo Service Corps. Sola switched back to the RRM after one rotation, and she met her husband while doing her work. Obi-Wan had actually met Siri when we moved to Theed; she lived in a foster home down the road from us, and the two often talked. Siri joined Obi-Wan in the service corps when she was of age.

"I helped with the RRM when I was ten, too, and then when I was twelve I became the Princess of Theed; it's like a governor position. I was the princess for two years before I decided to run for queen. Obi-Wan and Siri came back around that time, too; Obi-Wan served as a liaison for the service corps and Siri was trained as a handmaiden. Sola worked with the RRM strictly in Theed at that point because of her relationship with Darred. And, well, you know the rest."

Vader said nothing, though whether it was because he was listening to her or not paying attention was impossible to tell. To see if he did hear her, Padmé let out a small laugh. "Though I guess you probably know all of this from Intelligence, anyway. Still, it feels nice to just say it. So what about your family? I know you said you don't have one, but then you said your parents approved of your career choice, so you had to have them at some point. I hope it's not too painful to talk about it, milord; I'd just like to know."

_Too painful_. As if. He had made it quite clear yesterday that he didn't care about having a family. So if that was the case, why was he so hesitant to talk about them?

"My…" Vader began softly, so softly Padmé almost didn't hear him. Then he just shook his head.

"What did your parents do?" Padmé asked gently. It would at least be a start.

"They worked for the Empire."

Padmé nodded. That was obvious considering where he was raised. "How did they meet?"

Vader was silent.

Padmé sighed and then tried a different avenue. "Did you have any siblings?"

Vader shook his head.

Padmé hesitated, and then asked, "How did you meet the emperor?"

Vader stopped the boat abruptly. Padmé gasped and put her hands against the dashboard so she wouldn't slam into it. The Sith Lord then stood and leapt out of the boat and into the water, catching her completely off guard. Panting for air, she put her hand to her chest in a futile attempt to slow her rapid heartbeat. She hadn't expected the reaction, and his behavior now was extremely odd.

Eventually Vader surfaced and swam around the boat slowly. Padmé didn't know what to say, but the first thing out of her mouth was, "Why didn't you wear a swimsuit?"

That wasn't quite the first question on her mind.

Vader paused and shrugged. "You're never wearing a swimsuit when a situation arises and you need to get into the water. So why bother with one? You should practice swimming in regular clothes."

"Well, it's true that a situation might—" Padmé began to reply when out of nowhere she felt herself get yanked out of the boat and fly into the air. She screamed loudly, completely freaked out and not knowing what had just happened, and then she saw the water quickly approached. Curling into a ball and holding her breath, Padmé hit the water hard, almost knocking her breath out of her as she sank into the lake. After getting over the brief daze she immediately swam as hard as she could towards the surface. Her muscles were aching already, both from swimming in heavy clothes and from the terror of what had just happened. She eventually reached the surface and gulped in as much air as she could. Getting her bearings, she noticed the boat was a short distance away and Vader was watching her calmly from his own spot in the water.

"Did you—what just—how—?" Padmé spluttered, terrified.

"You're a relatively fast swimmer," Vader noted in his usual dull manner. "That's expected since you've been here before. Still, you should learn to swim faster in street clothes. Don't let them weigh you down."

"What—you—" Padmé stammered, staring at him in shock. _"I just flew a meter into the air and you're not bothered?!"_

"I did that," Vader replied matter-of-factly.

Padmé gaped at him. He—how had he done that?! _Why_ the hell had he done that?! She couldn't say anything; she was too filled with horror, confusion, terror, and astonishment.

"Swim a circuit around the boat," Vader ordered. "Make sure your radius is three meters."

"What?!"

"It'll be good practice."

Padmé shook her head, trying to reassemble her addled thoughts. "I—we came—swimming—this—_how did you do that_?!"

"The Force."

Padmé felt her blood run cold. She knew of the Force; she knew that Sith and Jedi could use it, though the latter was supposedly extinct. But _stars_, she didn't know _what_ they could do with it. Despite her terror, though, she was both reassured and angered by Vader's nonchalant attitude; it meant that he hadn't done it to hurt her, but he also didn't seem to care that it had frightened her.

"You could have hurt me!" she accused him.

"You don't seem weak enough for that," Vader replied. Padmé flinched, not knowing how to respond. It was either the strangest compliment or the lamest excuse she had ever heard.

Sighing irritably, she swam towards him. Vader shook his head. "I said swim around the boat."

"This _isn't_ a training drill," Padmé snapped as she swam towards him and the boat. "This was _supposed_ to be for relaxing."

"Relaxing isn't practical," Vader stated. "You should be spending this time honing your skills."

"And what skills would those be?"

Vader somehow managed to shrug in the water. "Whatever skills are necessary."

"What do you think I _do_ in the senate?" Padmé snapped before realizing what she had just asked. His answer would certainly be interesting, if he bothered to respond at all.

Vader paused, and then said, "You tell me."

Both were silent after that, staring sharply into each other's eyes. The Sith Lord's expression was stern, even probing, while Padmé was slightly nervous but quickly growing defiant.

"What happened to last night?" she suddenly asked. "Everything seemed fine when we were dancing. Why are you acting like this now?"

"Acting like what?" Vader asked, his face softening into its usual expressionless look.

Padmé searched for the right word and eventually found it. "Aggressive."

Vader sighed heavily. Apparently he was trying to formulate the proper response; he looked everywhere but at her. "I… this is… this is how _I_ relax."

Padmé did a double take. "What?"

"You asked me before how I relaxed, but I never answered. It's because I don't really relax; if I have down time, this is how I spend it."

"Training?"

Vader nodded.

After hearing that, the only thing Padmé could think to ask was, "Why?"

"So I can be ready."

"For what?"

"Anything."

Padmé stared at him, baffled. She really was beginning to worry about his sanity at this point; surely he didn't _always_ spend _all_ of his down time training. He wasn't _that_ obsessed, was he? Was that why everything else was trivial?

"Maybe that's why you're so lonely, then," Padmé suggested softly.

That was a mistake. Vader immediately tensed. "Don't make assumptions, senator. You know nothing about me."

Before Padmé could say anything else, he swam in a different direction, but she called after him. "Milord, wait."

He wouldn't stop, so Padmé began to swim after him. He was surprisingly fast, and Padmé quickly fell very far behind. She called out to him again. "Milord, please, I didn't mean to hurt you! Just wait!"

Vader dove under the water.

Padmé groaned. She wanted to kick something. Preferably herself. Blast it, she hadn't meant to upset him, but… but it was _so true_ – if that's all he ever did, it was no wonder he was so lonely.

Though honestly, she didn't have much room to talk.

Sighing heavily, Padmé swam back towards the boat. Looking at it, she wondered what she should do at this point. She had come out here to relax and enjoy herself, but that mood was already spoiled. Vader was nowhere to be seen. She sighed again, feeling frustrated both at herself and the Sith Lord. Why couldn't he just be easy to deal with? She had thought after last night they would be able to communicate more openly. Their conversations seemed to finally be going somewhere, but Vader would always stop them short, either because of something Padmé said or because he refused to continue. It was beginning to grow frustrating; at this point Padmé was genuine in her curiosity, and even in her sympathy. In fact, she was more than genuine; her interest was insatiable at this point. How in the blazes had he become the man he was?

Padmé looked at the boat for a while longer and then swam a little bit from it so she was about three meters away. Then she swam around the boat in a large circle, just doing as Vader had suggested. She wasn't sure why she was doing this, but she guessed it was just because the entire idea of having fun was long gone. Maybe she could just use the practice, though she wasn't sure for what.

Perhaps for joining the Alliance properly.

Padmé paused. How was that going to work, anyway? And why hadn't she heard from Obi-Wan and Siri at this point?

With these thoughts plaguing her mind, Padmé resumed her swim, circling around the boat at a constant radius. She was completely unaware that she was being watched.

* * *

The harsh sound of the blizzard wind was surprisingly relaxing when one was nestled by a cozy fire. Obi-Wan barely noticed the time pass as he and Siri rested on the couch. They weren't tired, necessarily; their bodies were worn out from the all-nighter despite the large amount of sleep they had gotten on the flight to Salkende. Since that was the case, they didn't fell asleep in the foyer; instead, they simply leaned against each other and wordlessly offered support to each other. Obi-Wan would tense occasionally as he thought about what was to come, and then Siri would slip her hand into his and he would relax. Her grip would become too tight, and then he would stroke his thumb on her hand to calm her anxiety. Eventually their grip would loosen as they were both lost in thought and then it would start all over again. The small gestures were enough for both of them, and it was how they almost always shared any sort of tender moment; Siri's love for outward signs of affection were satisfied while Obi-Wan's calm manner of showing things was also maintained.

After an interminable amount of silence, Siri whispered, "You remember when we met a Rebel for the first time?"

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, sighing. It was impossible to forget that day. They had been so young; Obi-Wan had been fifteen, Siri had been thirteen. The two had been sifting through rubble to find survivors after a groundquake when they had stumbled upon someone. Siri had called for help over the comlink and the two attempted to get rubble off the woman, but when they finally pulled her out of it, she had awoken with a start. She had acted so strangely to them at the time; it was expected for her to be nervous, panicked even, but her first instinct had been to get away from them. Siri and Obi-Wan had insisted they were there to help, but they had quickly discovered that the destruction wasn't from a groundquake, but had been from an orbital assault by the Empire to destroy a Rebel settlement. In fact, the Empire was still searching for survivors when they had found the woman, and she dragged them into a chase that lasted almost a week as they spent their time endlessly running from Imperial agents. It had been exhausting. It had been terrifying.

It had been eye opening.

As Obi-Wan considered all of this, he simply grunted in acknowledgement.

"Almost dying wasn't fun," Siri remarked.

Obi-Wan chuckled. "True. I didn't fancy getting shot at. And starving. And freezing, for that matter."

"Yeah, freezing. Like now."

"It's not cold in here," Obi-Wan remarked as he gently pulled Siri closer to the fire.

Siri cuddled against him instead. "Now it's not cold."

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes with a soft smile.

Both turned their heads as Al returned; he had been speaking to Åkjem in the entrance foyer for a while before the two had gone further inside to allow Obi-Wan and Siri some privacy. The Zabrak looked quite satisfied with himself as he plopped down in a chair across from them.

"Hey lovebirds," he greeted happily.

"Sounds like you had too much fun," Siri noted.

Al laughed. "Yeah right. I'm just satisfied is all. I got a _ton_ of information, at you service."

"Such as?" Obi-Wan prompted.

"Well, this war's been going on for twenty years for starters," Al said. "And there are a lot more clans involved than I thought. The ruling clan isn't here. The people who live here are the ones who _started_ the war; the ruling clan got kicked out of Fjesky."

"So Tlenden is part of this clan, then?" Siri asked.

"Nope," Al shook his head. "Tlenden is part of the Bidra Clan, which is allied to the clan that started the war; that group is called the Ønske Clan.

"So the story goes like this: Five hundred or so years ago, the Ønske people were allied to the ruling clan. Then that ruling clan was destroyed by the Svike Clan; the Svike have been the top of the food chain since then. Meanwhile, the Ønske stayed quiet and made connections with other 'lesser' clans, and after five hundred years they finally decided to get the planet under their control. Insane, the whole lot of them, eh?"

"So where does Tlenden play into this?" Siri folded her arms, confused.

"Tlenden is the head of his clan, which is saying a lot because the Bidra have about twenty thousand members." Al answered.

Before he continued, Obi-Wan blurted, _"Twenty thousand?"_

Al nodded in his usual mock sage manner. "Yep. Lots of extended relations and the like. And I mean _lots_."

"And hopefully not inbreeding," Siri shuddered.

"I'd like to think not," Al agreed. "Anyway, Tlenden swore allegiance to the Ønske about ten years ago after he saw that they were winning the war. Apparently he never liked the Svike in the first place, but he tolerated them. He wanted to get a good feel for the Ønske before he dealt with them at all, but he's under the impression that they're decent, at least by his standards."

Obi-Wan blew out a breath, taking all the information in. "So if the Ønske Clan has retaken the capital, I'm assuming they're winning this war?"

"Winning? They've practically won it already; that's the best part!" Al said with a big smile. "The Svike have been shoved into the farthest corner of the continent and they're about to be kicked off entirely."

"Wait, what about the other continents?" Siri asked.

"Jord is the main power on Salkende," Al explained. "You remember how there are four populated continents? They're called Jord, Tropisk, Eorthe, and Maa. Jord is the biggest, Tropisk the smallest. Jord's the superpower; it's got the capital and most of the big clans. It decides everything for all of Salkende, so kicking a clan off of Jord is basically destroying any chance they have of winning the war."

Obi-Wan and Siri nodded silently, and then Obi-Wan gave an appreciative smile. "Thank you, Almusian. You've been very helpful."

Al leaned back in his seat. "All in a day's work. You guys owe me, though, and I am totally holding that over your heads."

"Good grief," Siri grumbled jovially.

The door leading outside opened, making all the occupants jump. Obi-Wan immediately rose to his feet as he recognized Káern Tlenden entering the foyer. He looked far different than his typical appearance in the senate; on Imperial Center he would wear long robes that reached his ankles, but here he wore a knee length tunic with a decorative high collar, thick trousers, and heavy boots. A rugged brown cloak covered most of his attire, but one notable difference caught Obi-Wan off guard.

Tlenden had a tail like Åkjem. His ears weren't pointed, but he still had that tail. Well, that explained why he wore longer robes on Imperial Center.

Tlenden noticed their presence as he closed the door. Taking his gloves off, he offered a nod. "I shouldn't be surprised to see you here, I suppose."

"I am known for being persistent." Obi-Wan noted with a small smile and a tip of the head. "I don't believe you've met my wife, though; this is Siri Naberrie. Siri, meet Senator Káern Tlenden."

Siri, who had stood alongside Al and Obi-Wan when Tlenden had first entered, offered a bow. "A pleasure, senator."

Tlenden bowed more deeply to her, and then Obi-Wan introduced Al. "And this is my dear friend, Almusian Brek."

Al and Tlenden exchanged pleasantries before Åkjem approached and took Tlenden's gloves and cloak. Tlenden looked at his tail as it momentarily swished in front of him. "I assume you've realized I'm not Human."

Obi-Wan let out a small laugh. "I did come to that conclusion, yes."

"I have to hide it every time I go to that wretched city-world," Tlenden said in his gruff voice. "It's quite the nuisance, having that policy of no non-Humans as senators."

"I can imagine," Siri remarked mildly.

"If you're here, then you probably already have learned of the situation on Salkende," Tlenden continued. "So you now realize why I cannot offer aid."

"Is no other planet in Tsograda able to help?" Obi-Wan tried.

"No planet _will_ help if Salkende does not." Tlenden shook his head. "I guarantee it. They look to us for leadership and example, and if Salkende is not behind the Alliance, no planet will be; they don't want to risk being caught in a situation that they can't get out of, not without backup."

With a fierce smile, he added, "Besides, Salkende is the world known for its warriors, not any of the other planets."

"But you've basically won," Siri interjected. "Why is the war an issue?"

"We do not celebrate until we have achieved victory," Tlenden replied. "To believe we have it any earlier than the actual achievement is foolish and arrogant. Adelig does not make such mistakes."

"Adelig?"

"The head of the Ønske Clan," Tlenden explained as he kicked the snow from his boots. "She will be the warlord of Salkende if this war is won."

"And how will this war be won?" Obi-Wan asked. "Must the Svike be completely wiped out, or kicked off Jord?"

"Svike and all its allies must swear loyalty to Ønske." Tlenden answered. "Only then will the war be finished."

"And if the Alliance were to offer you aid?" Obi-Wan prompted. "We could help you bring a speedy end to this war so we can focus on the Empire together. You already stated your distaste for them. Surely you wouldn't disagree that they need to be dealt with accordingly."

Tlenden let out a hearty laugh. "I would happily celebrate the day the Empire falls, representative. However, I believe your Alliance has enough troubles; it can't afford to add my war to the mix."

"What do you mean?" Obi-Wan asked, gauging the man's reaction. He wasn't sure if Tlenden had found out about all the attacks at the two Rebel bases, but if Tlenden wasn't aware of them, he wasn't going to mention it. The last thing he needed was for Tlenden to think of Rebels as weak.

"Your bases are gone," Tlenden shook his head.

Obi-Wan stiffened slightly, wondering how in the blazes he could salvage this conversation, when Tlenden's next statement made his blood run cold.

"And one of your leaders is in the Empire's clutches."

"What are you talking about?" Siri asked before Obi-Wan could stop her.

"You haven't heard?" Tlenden questioned. "I'm sorry to relay the news to you, then, but it must be said. Mon Mothma has been captured; she's being held prisoner on Imperial Center under the charge of treachery."

Al hissed a swear word, turning away. Tlenden watched them somewhat sympathetically, sighing and motioning towards Åkjem. He spoke in some native dialect before approaching the group. He sat on an unoccupied couch, and the others sat heavily in other chairs.

Obi-Wan felt like he'd been punched in the gut and he still couldn't catch his breath. Mothma had been captured? She was a founder of the Alliance alongside Organa; they'd never had a blow like this. They _couldn't_ have a blow like this. Surely Tlenden was misinformed. _Surely_.

He shook his head. No, he could tell Tlenden was being completely sincere. It probably wasn't secret news; the only reason Obi-Wan, Siri, and Al hadn't heard it was because they had been outside of Imperial space up to this point.

What the blazes were they going to do? How could they join the Alliance when it seemed to be falling apart so quickly? Was this the end of the line?

"I'm sorry," Tlenden once again apologized. "We cannot join you with the war going on, and you obviously cannot help us."

"If you were to win the war," Siri suggested in a strained voice. "Would you then offer aid?"

"There are many internal matters that I have to attend to," Tlenden shook his head.

"But you're not the warlord," Siri continued. "Let us speak to Adelig directly."

"Adelig will not see you," Tlenden said.

"I thought part of Salkenden custom is that if someone wishes to speak with you, you address them directly, no matter the difference in station." Siri noted. Obi-Wan subtly slipped his hand into hers to calm her; she was beginning to get angry.

"It has nothing to do with station," Tlenden replied. "It has to do with priorities. Adelig's main concern is the war. I am the person to speak to for all other affairs, and as I said, I myself have other internal matters. Once the war is over, the Ønske must rebuild; all but three of their clan has been killed. I must help in this rebuilding; Adelig has tasked me with finding a mate for her son, and that is my main priority alongside the war."

Siri looked like she was going to argue, but Obi-Wan squeezed her hand.

Tlenden stood as Åkjem returned with refreshments. "I will provide you all with a place to stay until you can get matters of transport settled. I bid you a good day."

The trio stood and bowed to Tlenden. He offered a bow in return and then departed, leaving the three slowly sitting once more, as if in a daze. Honestly, they _were_ in a daze; how had things—why—when did Mothma—it was all happening too fast, it was happening _way too fast_.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, rubbing his face tiredly with his hands as he wrestled with his emotions. Then he felt a deep chuckle rumble in his chest as he looked at Siri in exhaustion. "Well, your hopes came to fruition: the negotiations were short."


	14. Breakthroughs and Breakdowns

**Hey all! I've noticed there's been some confusion about people's ages, so I'll just say it here. Obi is 25, Siri is 23, Padmé is 20. I've hinted at Vader's age but haven't said it in the story. And if anybody's curious, Al is 29. ;)  
**

* * *

Padmé sighed heavily as she swam in a large circle. It hadn't been too long since she had started her strange circuit, but it already felt like an eternity; swimming in street clothes was exhausting. Despite this, though, she was still full of energy, angry at herself and Vader for the abrupt end to their earlier conversation. She felt like she was finally starting to see something apart from a murderer in him, like it was starting to _make sense_ as to why he was the way he was. He was born into an Imperial family, raised by the Empire, had nothing _but_ the Empire—it was no wonder he lived, breathed, ate, slept, and _existed_ everything Imperial. She still didn't know how he had known the emperor for so long, but she presumed it was because of his family… but then he had said his family was gone, and he had no need for them, and… the more she tried to piece it together the patchier it looked.

Suddenly losing her energy, Padmé stopped. She felt emotionally drained; the past few days had been an insane amount of dips, turns, dives, ups, downs… it was like being stuck in a fighter in the middle of a space battle. Sometimes it seemed like she was making headway, and sometimes it felt like she'd taken a hundred steps back. Padmé had faced many challenges in her life, but she wasn't sure her sanity could take this one much longer. She was just so kriffing _confused._ At the beginning of this vacation she hadn't wanted to get anywhere near Vader; it had been a sort of resignation that had filled her, like she knew she had to do this but still didn't want to. Now, she wasn't sure how she felt about interacting with him, but she _definitely_ knew she just wanted things to make sense. She wanted to have a _normal conversation_ with the guy. And she wasn't sure if she wanted this so badly simply because he had been so impossible or because she herself was somehow slipping up, like he was managing to trick her into being desperate enough that she would somehow reveal something.

Did Vader even care about getting information at this point? He hadn't really pressed too much about it… then again, their earlier argument had brought that topic up. He still seemed like he had the intention of figuring out if she was a Rebel, but it just didn't seem to be a priority. She figured Vader would have jumped at the chance to be alone with her and interrogate her; his shameless interrogation at their first dinner indicated he wasn't afraid to be direct. So why was he suddenly acting so odd?

Padmé briefly thought of the argument that had been returning over the past few days: Vader acted differently when away from Imperial Center. She was starting to grow sick of that argument; if this was his _different_ behavior, was this his _genuine_ behavior? It had seemed so at first, but she wasn't so sure… or maybe his different behavior was just his normal _disinterested _behavior. Maybe he really did look at this as a vacation from his _duty_ and so he just didn't want to be around her. But then… why was…

She shook her head vigorously, growing more frustrated by the minute. That man made absolutely _no sense_.

Some bubbles a distance from her caught her attention, and immediately after she had noticed it, Vader's head popped out of the water, making her jump with a yelp.

"Why'd you stop?" he asked.

"What—you—do you mind?" Padmé said irritably.

Vader blinked. "Mind what?"

"You could warn me when you're about to randomly appear out of nowhere," Padmé grumbled, and then she did a double take, registering his words. "Why'd I _stop_? You were _watching_ me?"

Vader nodded. "I didn't expect you to practice."

"Are you incapable of just facing me and having a normal conversation?" Padmé asked, growing more annoyed by the moment.

"Isn't that what we're doing now?"

Padmé took a deep breath to calm herself.

"You seem to be doing relatively well swimming around the boat, but now you should expand your abilities." Vader stated, ignoring her reaction… or just not noticing it. She didn't know. "Can you dive?"

"Yes," Padmé said slowly, dreading whatever new training exercise the Sith Lord was concocting.

"Perfect," Vader nodded. "Follow me."

Without another word, the Imperial disappeared under the water. Padmé was tempted to remain where she was, but it would do her no good, especially if she _did_ want to interact with Vader. Sighing heavily once more, she took a deep breath, held it, and plunged into the lake. The sunlight lit the water greatly, and she saw some fish swimming far in the distance. The boat was bouncing lazily in the water. Turning her head, Padmé caught sight of Vader, who was floating a little bit below her, watching her expectantly. Padmé swam to him, and he began to dive deeper. She followed him for a while, but her chest began to burn as she ran out of oxygen. She paused and swam upward; she wasn't going to risk drowning just because he wanted her to practice.

Padmé reached the top and gasped for air, allowing her lungs to fill as much as possible. Vader surfaced a few seconds later.

"You took too long looking at everything in the water," he said. "You have to scan quickly, senator, and only for immediate threats. Don't look at the boat or the fish; they're not important."

Padmé didn't have enough energy to argue the point. Instead, she just asked, "So what's important today, milord?"

"Following me."

The Sith Lord dove once more. Padmé groaned and took another deep breath, plunging into the water. This time she only kept her eyes on him, and the two swam so deep and far she wasn't sure if he was trying to find the bottom of the lake or the core of the planet. The water began to grow murky, and her muscles strained in protest. She felt her chest tighten once more, but then she noticed Vader disappear behind a ridge. Pushing herself harder, she swam around it as well and saw a large opening in the rock. Entering it, Padmé caught a glimpse of Vader's boots above her, and she swam upward. It grew increasingly dark, and she felt her nerves tingle as fear crept into her. She should go back. She was running out of oxygen again, and it was getting hard to see.

Padmé turned around, but everything was pitch black. She was lost.

She felt her heart rate spike and she whirled left right, up down, _anywhere_ to figure out how the blazes she could get out of this cave. She felt something grab her shoulder and she jumped, letting out some air. She then felt herself be pulled upward harshly, and a few seconds later her head was above water. The air was cold, very moist, and stuffy. Padmé coughed a little and rubbed her eyes, but even after clearing them of excess water she still couldn't see a thing.

"Where—what—"

"You hesitated. That can get you killed."

"Lord Vader?" Padmé turned towards his voice. "Where are we?"

"No idea. But it's a good spot to get some air before we find our way back."

"No idea?!" Padmé spluttered. "You _led _me here!"

Then she abruptly remembered he had also just saved her skin… _again_.

"T-thank you," she mumbled with far less gusto than her previous statement.

She heard the soft lapping of the water as Vader simply swam in place to stay afloat. "For what?"

"Oh, I don't know," Padmé rolled her eyes. "For saving me from drowning, maybe? Or did you just grab me for the sake of telling me I was doing it wrong?"

"Well you were."

"Blast it, if I could see you I would smack you." Padmé grumbled under her breath.

"You're in the wrong. You don't do the hitting."

It felt like the air and water just chilled considerably. What was he implying?

"Catch your breath. Let's go."

Padmé heard him inhale sharply through his nose and then she heard water crash around her, pushing her from the right; that must be where he had surfaced. Shaking her head, she held her own breath, though when she went underwater this time, she was considerably more nervous, both from his remark and the fact that she _still couldn't see a thing_. Despite this, she swam downward, knowing that there had to be an exit _somewhere_. Eventually her hand scraped a rock as she tried to feel down, and she saw some light to her right. Turning, she swam towards it and was elated to see that she had found the exit. Swimming up to the water's surface as hard as she could, Padmé laughed after she reached her goal.

"Better."

Vader's nonchalant comment on her swimming expertise didn't stop her mirth. Instead, she just shook her head and began to search for the boat, more than happy to end the training excursion there.

"Where are you going?"

Padmé looked at Vader, who was watching her intently. "I'm going back to the boat. I think that's enough training for one day, thanks."

Vader looked at the water and then at her once more. In a quiet voice, he asked, "No more training at all?"

He suddenly looked like a dejected puppy to Padmé, but she wouldn't be swayed… entirely. "Certainly not for now. I'm definitely done swimming, thanks."

"There are other ways of training," Vader quickly began before Padmé interrupted him.

"We've done your version of _relaxing_. Now we're doing _mine_."

"But you said swimming _was_ relaxing."

"_That_ wasn't swimming. That was nearly drowning multiple times."

"You only almost drowned once."

Padmé laughed loudly; hearing someone state so calmly how she had almost just died was somehow more hilarious than unnerving. Maybe it was just because she was too tired to be concerned at this point. Or it was because Vader was actually using it as an excuse to say that they needed to almost die _again_. In either case, she finally reached the boat and struggled to clamber in. Eventually she succeeded and slipped into the driver's seat, ready to leave the irritating Sith Lord behind.

Vader swam directly in the path of the boat. "I'm driving."

"Milord, you're going to get run over," Padmé remarked, ignoring his statement.

"_I'm driving."_

It wasn't stated vehemently. It wasn't even irritably. It was an order, and it left no room for argument. But Padmé wanted to argue. Just as she was about to do so, though, she remembered the two times she had already pushed the Sith Lord too far and bit back her retort. She nodded and shifted to the passenger seat. Vader then swam to the boat and climbed in.

"You can act like quite the five-year-old, you know," Padmé said before she could stop herself.

Vader said nothing. Instead of antagonizing him further, Padmé looked at their surroundings in an attempt to get her bearings. She hadn't even realized where they had stopped. They were a fair distance from the villa's island, and, even better, they were relatively close to a local village that she used to visit. It had been a very long time since she had been there, so they weren't likely to recognize her, and no one knew what Darth Vader looked like apart from military personnel. It would be the perfect place to dry off and get some food.

Pointing towards the island where the village was, she said, "Go there."

Surprisingly, Vader didn't question her command. Instead, he immediately activated the engine and began to drive the boat in that direction. The two were silent, one from exhaustion and hunger, and the other from, well, heaven knew what. Thankfully by the time they reached the island they were mostly dry. The two climbed out of the boat and onto the dock. Vader blinked a few times, looking disoriented.

"You alright?" Padmé asked as he continued to look around in confusion. His behavior was starting to make her a little worried; had he overworked himself?

Vader looked at her. "Where are we?"

"Isola," Padmé answered. "They've got the greatest little restaurant here. We can have lunch. Aren't you hungry in the slightest? I'm starving."

Vader shrugged, making Padmé sigh in exasperation. Instead of saying anything, she just motioned for him to follow her, and the two entered the small village. The lake tore into the island, creating a lagoon around which the village was situated. The restaurant in question was relatively close to the docks, and the people were just as friendly as Padmé remembered them when she was a child. Smiling, she accepted their warm greetings and took a seat across from Vader. After the waiter got them some water, the two were left alone to consult the small menu.

Well, it was probably a good time to make amends since they'd both had time to catch their breath. After all, their previous argument still hadn't quite been resolved; just ignored.

"Milord," Padmé began carefully. "I'm sorry for my remark earlier. I seem to be saying a lot of thoughtless things lately… but I hope that doesn't deter you from spending time with me."

Vader glanced at her and then returned his gaze to the menu.

Padmé wanted to hit her head on the table. She felt like she was back in the lake swimming in circles around the boat. She was expending so much effort but going nowhere.

"Lord Vader," she said softly to get his attention. "What do you think of me?"

Vader's gaze returned to her and he watched her silently. Padmé felt like he was questioning her motive, and so she elaborated. "I mean, your interactions are just so confusing. One moment we're both agreeing on something and the next you're getting offended. One moment we can have a conversation, and the next you don't want to speak at all."

"Isn't that how people act?" Vader asked.

"Well, yes and no," Padmé answered slowly. Something about his wording seemed really odd. "I understand that you're an introvert and don't always want to talk, but you're more than that, you have these quasi _mood swings_ and it's just… confusing. So is it because you think little of me and don't want to be near me, or what? What do you think of me?"

Vader's eyes darted from one spot to another. He was searching for the right words. Blast it, Padmé was beginning to _read_ him. Eventually, he slowly said, "I think you're a very intelligent and cunning senator."

Padmé accepted the remark with a nod. If he really did think this, then was his behavior all calculated accordingly? Was he only acting the way he did to throw her off balance? Then she remembered something he had said earlier in the day. "But you also think I'm weird."

Vader blinked. Then he blinked again. He didn't know what she was talking about. Then she saw his mouth open ever so slightly, close again, and his brow twitched. He remembered.

Good grief, she really _was_ beginning to read him. She'd been stuck around him too long.

Vader gave a small nod.

"Care to explain that?" Padmé prompted.

"I'm… not used to you."

"That's a reason to call me weird? Do you do that with everyone you meet?"

"Others are different."

"Why?"

"They're military personnel, or Intelligence agents. They're… not you."

"What makes me so different?" Padmé asked. A small part of her whispered that this would be a good way to probe what he knew about her Rebel activities, but she didn't care. She was sick of playing nexu and womprat. She just wanted to know for the sake of getting to know him. The answer to the question _who is Darth Vader_ was more important now than _how much does he know_.

"You just… don't make sense." Vader sighed, looking elsewhere. "Everyone else works with me to achieve something. You…"

Padmé waited patiently as he tried to find the right words, but he couldn't seem to do so. Smiling, she tried helping him. "I'm not working with you on a mission?"

Vader looked at her and gave an uncertain shrug.

"Have you never interacted with people outside of work?" Padmé asked. "Is there no one you confide in, talk to, train with…?"

Vader shook his head.

Blast it, no wonder he was so kriffing lonely. At least Padmé could relate to that, though she was luckier since she had Obi-Wan and Siri. Remembering how well they had connected over this topic, Padmé decided to try again. "So you feel isolated. I understand. When I'm done with my work in the senate I just go home and look over _more_ work. Worrying about senate debates all the time isn't healthy… but I still do it. And then, despite everything you've done, you feel like you've accomplished nothing. Like it's never good enough, never important enough… just plain never _enough_."

She was being sincere in her words, and apparently Vader could tell. Either that or it touched him so deeply he didn't realize he was practically gaping at her. Padmé hoped he wasn't going to abruptly try to leave again like he always did before. Come to think of it, that really _was_ a habit of his, like some sort of knee jerk reaction: when something caught him off guard, he ran from it. That was certainly an odd trait to have for someone with so many requirements and duties.

"What do you do when you're scared or lonely, milord?" Padmé asked.

Vader's grip on the menu tightened until his knuckles turned white. He closed his eyes and took a very long, deep breath before relaxing entirely. His neutral look was back. "I'm never scared or lonely, so I can't answer your question."

Padmé laughed at that obvious lie. "Oh, please; _everyone_ gets scared or lonely at some point, and considering how you've been reacting to my remarks on the matter I can bet you've felt those emotions. If you haven't, then why do you get upset when I suggest you're lonely?"

"I overreacted earlier," Vader conceded calmly. "I tend to disapprove of people who are foolish enough to think they know more than they actually do."

Padmé flinched at the insult. Then she grew annoyed. "Well if you could just tell me about yourself I wouldn't have to make assumptions."

She felt like she'd made that point _a million times_ by now.

"I…" Vader shifted in his seat uncomfortably, looking at the table. "I don't know how."

"You don't know how?" Padmé repeated, confused. "You don't know how to tell me about yourself?"

Vader nodded.

It was beyond strange to think that he didn't know how to talk about himself. She supposed maybe he didn't know where to start, but she had given him plenty of opportunities to answer her questions, which would then help her learn more about him. Or maybe he was just saying he didn't _want_ to open up to her. But that didn't quite mix with _not knowing how_ to do so. Was she missing something?

"Just answer my questions," she eventually said. "That's all you have to do."

Vader looked at her, saying nothing.

"You said you were shy on Imperial Center," Padmé began slowly. "Was that true? Be honest."

Vader watched her for a long time. She wasn't sure he'd actually answer her or not, but she was holding her breath in anticipation at the concept that she might finally get some answers from him.

Vader shook his head. So he had been _lying _about that. Then he furrowed his brow as if confused by his own answer, and he dove back behind his menu. Padmé stared at the menu, completely baffled by his behavior.

"So being near Obi-Wan and Siri didn't bother you," Padmé continued as if he hadn't just made that odd reaction. "Everything you said at the dinner was genuine. You weren't nervous or anything."

When Vader didn't react, Padmé reached over and took the menu from him so he couldn't hide behind it. He sighed, lowering his hands to the table and staring at them.

"Be straight with me, milord, once and for all," Padmé said sternly. "You've been going back and forth about a few things. This morning you said the only reason you mentioned liking parks was because the 'fresh air was good for you,' but a few days ago you just implied that you genuinely liked parks, and things were only trivial _sometimes_ when you were nervous and didn't know what to say. But you claim that you were lying when you said you were shy, so… what is it? Trivial? Not trivial? Do you like anything? What do you like?"

"Everyone lies," Vader suddenly remarked, and his gaze turned to her, his eyes hard and cold. "As a senator you should know to trust no one."

"So I can't trust you," Padmé stated, leaning back in her seat. This conversation really was going nowhere—in fact, it seemed like it was making their interaction _worse_.

Vader flinched. "Well—no—I—"

"I'll trust you if you're honest with me," Padmé interrupted, folding her arms.

Vader seemed to be pondering something and his hands squeezed each other. He closed his eyes tightly, shaking his head. Padmé wasn't sure if he was saying he wouldn't be honest with her, or if something was wrong. She reached forward, touching his hands lightly, momentarily forgetting how much he avoided such actions. "What's wrong?"

Vader hissed, pulling his hands from her, making her jump. "Why can't you just realize that I _don't _need to talk about myself—it's not—it's—just _stop it_."

"Is it about not _needing_ to, or not _wanting_ to?" Padmé pressed.

Vader shot to his feet. "_People_ have wants, _not_ _me_."

Padmé would have normally tried to appease him at this point and coax him to calm down. But she wasn't quite thinking straight. Instead, she was staring at him, bemused and shocked at his behavior and his wording. "What are you saying?"

Vader stiffened, furrowing his brow further and breathing deeply. He closed his eyes again, and turned as if to leave when he stopped. Apparently he remembered that they weren't at the villa; he couldn't just run from this conversation. In a few seconds he relaxed his muscles and let out a breath he'd been holding. Opening his eyes, he gave her a calm look. "We can talk about other matters, senator. There are far more important things than me."

Where had _this_ come from? As Vader sat once more, slowly picking up his menu, Padmé gawked at him. He really didhave actual, legitimate mood swings. Before anything else could be said, though, the waiter returned, and Padmé had to scramble to order something. The brief reprieve from their discussion gave her time to reassemble her thoughts, and in a moment of clarity, she simply said, "But you _are_ important."

Vader looked at her.

"You're just as important as anybody else, as anything else," Padmé continued. "You're _more_ important than other _things_, milord."

Vader stared at her, his mouth slightly open, speechless.

And then it just hit her. It hit her, right then and there. Padmé felt her eyes sting, her chest and throat tighten. All the stress of everything was crashing on her again, ten times worse than before; she'd had no outlet, she'd had no support since she'd gotten here, she'd tried again and again and made mistakes again and _again_ and despite telling him that he was important it seemed like _she _was insignificant in comparison to everything that was happening, and normally that didn't bother her but—

A small sob escaped her and Padmé covered her mouth, lowering her head in an attempt to hide her face. She couldn't be doing this right here and now. She _couldn't_. But she hadn't been able to vent, to let it out, to do _anything_; after she'd found out about Sabé's death she'd been planning, arranging, acting, and even after Obi-Wan and Siri had offered their support it still hadn't been a moment of release; it had been an extra boost, and a helpful one, but it hadn't been a _release_. _She needed a release._

Padmé curled in on herself further as more sobs began to come out. She wanted to pull her hair out, bite her hand, do _something_ to make herself stop, but she couldn't. She couldn't stop it; as soon as one sob came a whole bunch of them cascaded out until she was practically on the floor in a fetal position.

As she cried, Padmé heard a chair shift and then heard footsteps. A pair of black boots appeared in her tear-clouded vision. And then she felt it: a soft cloth touched her face, pushing slightly against her cheek and wiping the tears away.

"Stop crying. It doesn't do anything apart from make you look weak."

Padmé hiccupped. She felt anger pierce into her, but she felt more sobs escape as a result. She couldn't keep doing this; she didn't have the energy to deal with this guy.

"Stop crying."

Padmé sank further into herself. She wanted to get away from him. She wanted to get away from _everything_.

"Is… everything alright?"

The waiter had returned. She _had_ to pull herself together.

"Everything's fine. Get back to work." She heard Vader say.

"Yeah, everything's fine. I'll just get back to work."

She didn't want to move, yet she wanted to swim all the way to Theed and to her family. She wanted to stop crying, yet she didn't want to—it was at least getting it out. She wanted Vader to get away from her, yet she wanted him to comfort her.

_Damn it_ she just wanted this to _stop_.

"Senator. Senator, stop crying."

_Shut the hell up_ she wanted to say. _This is your fault_. And it _was._ Sabé was dead because of him, she couldn't be with Siri and Obi-Wan because of him.

Yet she couldn't make herself angry at him. Something about how empty he seemed just made him too pitiful to be hated. And she hated _herself_ for feeling that way. So she cried all the more.

"_Padmé."_

She paused in the middle of a sob, slowly looking up. Vader was crouching in front of her, hiding her from the view of anybody who might be passing by. He was watching her intently, even sternly, like a parent scolding a child. But he had… he had _said her name_.

"Go to the boat." He whispered.

Padmé hiccupped again, closing her eyes and gasping for air. She shook her head.

"Go to the boat, Padmé. No one will see you."

He did have some logic in that argument. It was better if she fell apart _away_ from the entire town. Padmé stood shakily, keeping her head bowed. She saw Vader rise alongside her. He took a few steps back to let her pass, and she did so wordlessly, suddenly feeling grateful that he would help her get her butt in gear and go somewhere private. But she still couldn't stifle all the sobs as she went. For some reason, though, no one seemed to notice; it was almost as if they didn't see her.

Eventually she reached the boat and just sat there, finally making no effort to hold it back. Her body shook, she felt sick, and she just wanted to _go home_. She wished Obi-Wan and Siri were there; they would both just hold her. Obi-Wan would say nothing but he would be a stabilizing rock for her, and Siri would make some remark that would make her laugh. Blast it, she missed them _so much_. The fact that she hadn't heard from them at all was another reason she was finally at her wit's end; if anything had happened to them, she wouldn't know what to do, she wouldn't know how to cope.

In that moment she just wanted to find Obi-Wan and Siri and bring them home. She didn't care about the Empire or the Alliance. She wanted to protect her family, to be with them, to love them, to be loved by them… she didn't want this war in her life anymore. She didn't want any of it.

She felt the boat rock and heard someone climb into it. Opening her eyes, Padmé turned her face and saw Vader sitting there. He placed a handkerchief on her lap, alongside the food they had ordered. He looked at her as if he wanted to say something, but instead he turned his attention to the controls and drove the boat away from the dock. Padmé picked up the handkerchief, both shocked and touched by his behavior. She didn't know what to say, and she wasn't quite sure she could open her mouth without a sob escaping, so she just buried her face in the handkerchief. It smelled of the lake water and the smallest hint of some sort of cologne. The scents blended and helped calm her as she tried to get a hold of her emotions. She wanted to talk about what was wrong, but Vader was the _last_ person who needed to hear her concerns about the Alliance and whether Obi-Wan and Siri were okay.

The boat ride was an eternity. It certainly felt like it. But she supposed she needed an eternity to get a hold of herself. She was finally starting to get some semblance of composure when she peeked out over the handkerchief and noticed that they had just passed the villa. She didn't say anything, still unsure if she could use her voice yet, but she looked at Vader. He was leaning back in the seat, barely touching the controls. He was just cruising. He knew he had missed the villa. After watching him drive for a while, Padmé noticed he missed it again. He was waiting for her to calm down. He was giving her time to calm down.

He was being kriffing _considerate_.

If anything could shock her out of her emotional chaos, it was definitely that concept. Padmé felt her tears dry and her sobs disappear, and she finally wiped her face one last time and cleared her throat.

Despite the loud noise of the boat's motor, Vader seemed to hear her, and he turned the boat towards the villa's dock. When they pulled in, it was on Padmé's side so she could climb out first. Taking advantage of the kind action, Padmé stood and stepped onto the dock, the last of her tears finally gone. She took a deep breath, raising her face towards the sun and closing her eyes.

Vader stepped onto the dock just behind her. She heard him standing there, waiting for her to do something, though what he was expecting, she wasn't sure. Maybe just to move out of his way. But there was plenty of room the dock; he could easily get around her.

She decided to take the initiative. "Thank you."

Vader said nothing, so Padmé turned to look him in the eye. He was watching her calmly, but something about his expression, his eyes, seemed different. It didn't feel like a bad kind of different, but she couldn't pinpoint what it was.

Vader gave a small nod. "You'll learn eventually."

Padmé let out a pitiful, tired laugh. "I'll learn? Learn what? Learn to stop having emotions?"

Vader nodded.

Padmé froze. She'd meant it as an offhand joke, but his eyes were burning into her as if he were trying to relay some big secret to her. Without another word, Vader walked by her and up the stairs to the balcony, leaving her alone on the dock.

* * *

"How could she have been captured—what are we going to do—there's no way we'll be able to join up, and—_shavit_ what are we going to do?!"

Al watched silently as Siri paced restlessly in the room. Senator Tlenden had guided them through his office building (which had been surprisingly large; Al hadn't noticed the size of the place when they first entered because it had been too dark), which was attached to official residences by a narrow hallway. The guest quarters they were provided were quite roomy and cozy, filled with furs, plushy furniture, dark wood, useful amenities like HoloNet receivers, and a large fireplace. At the moment nothing was being utilized; Siri was too busy stomping a trench into the ground with the amount she was pacing while Obi-Wan stood in place in the center of the action and Al leaned against the wall, avoiding the argument altogether.

Honestly, he didn't know what to think of any of this. It felt like they had already lost, like they were floating in cold, empty space without any hope of being rescued. Between losing both their bases, losing most of their supplies and troops, and then on top of it losing a founder and spy, it felt like the battle was over before it ever began.

Almusian tried not to let things bother him in his life; after becoming a criminal he decided he needed to take a more nonchalant approach to everything. But it had never quite worked; he'd still get upset about something, terrified of something else, or completely hopeless. He didn't have Siri's fire, he didn't have Obi-Wan's keen wisdom… but he _did_ have his intellect. His cold hard logic was sometimes a little too blunt for his own liking, but it still throbbed angrily in his mind, telling him that the odds of the Alliance surviving at this point were very small.

"We _have_ to talk to Adelig," Siri suddenly said.

"No," Obi-Wan immediately shook his head. "Tlenden was quite clear about that. The last thing we need to do is be rude to our host."

"Why can't he realize that we can help him as much as he can help us?" Siri asked in frustration. "We can help him end his war, we can help him rebuild, and in turn he can help us fight the Empire."

"The Galactic Empire is a far bigger problem than Tlenden believes Salkende can handle." Obi-Wan explained.

Siri let out a groan. "Well we have to _change_ that view. Why does he think Salkende can't handle it? You heard him boasting about their warriors."

"They're struggling to win a _planetary war_, Siri."

"They're _not _'struggling' at all! They've basically won it!"

"Yes, but they've been fighting for _twenty years_," Obi-Wan stressed. "You heard Tlenden: he said the Ønske Clan was practically destroyed, and they're the ones who are supposed to be in charge."

"They _will_ be destroyed if they keep this up," Siri shook her head. "If they remain isolationist like this it's going to come back and bite them, I guarantee it."

"Well until that day comes, I think they're probably going to remain isolationist." Obi-Wan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Obi-Wan, who else can we go to?" Siri asked desperately. "There's no one else! We don't know of any other systems that can aid us, any other that _will_ aid us!"

Almusian felt his gut clench. He couldn't hear this anymore. He didn't want to hear it anymore. Pushing himself off the wall, he exited the room and wandered the halls aimlessly.

Siri was right. They had no one else to turn to. The Alliance always tried to keep tabs on possible allies, and from what Al had gathered from Athia before her capture, Tlenden was not only their best option, but their only one. Corellia wasn't going to get anywhere near the Alliance after Bel Iblis disappeared, Chandrila would now be unable and unwilling to aid after Mothma's capture… the only large power on their side now was Alderaan, and the planet wasn't exactly known for its military expertise. Organa _funded_ the Alliance, which in itself was extremely important, but even if they had the funds they didn't have the resources to use them.

Al paused in front of a window, looking outside. Now that the sun had finally come out he could get a good view of the city. Fjesky wasn't particularly large in comparison to other cities Al had visited, but it was very densely packed. The city was right beside a fjord, and grassland surrounded its borders. None of the buildings stood particularly tall except for a handful of skyscrapers towards the back of the city, closest to the fjord. The low lying buildings were longhouses made of a mix of synthetic and natural materials, and their angled rooves had turf on top of them. Many longhouses connected to each other in certain parts of the city, while the buildings farther out from the skyscrapers, presumably the neighborhoods, typically stood on their own.

Of the skyscrapers, the most prominent stood in the center. It was extremely tall and its shape resembled a triangle with its edges smoothed out. The building rather resembled the palace in Aldera where Bail Organa lived. The enormous iconic shape, however, only stood as a wall and entranceway to the enormous complex of longhouses attached to it. It had to be the warlord's headquarters; none of the other buildings compared to it.

Al glanced at the streets, which were covered with so much snow the people trudging through them were knee deep in it. A breeze stirred up the powdery snow, making it blow everywhere and temporarily making the street and its inhabitants vanish. When the snow settled, it was as if Al had suddenly changed streets or lost time somehow; the new scene was so vastly different from the old calm one that he didn't know how it could have changed in the span of a few seconds. People were rushing everywhere, dressed far differently from the other locals. Al tensed, his hand slipping to where his gun holster should be when he remembered he had left it on the _Invariant Beauty_ so people wouldn't get nervous. Blast it.

The new arrivals who seemed to have urgent business were dressed in some sort of uniform; it had to be one, at least, since they all wore it with very little variation. They all wore dark brown heavy boots lined with fur, grey pants, long dark brown vests made from fur and some durable looking material that reached all the way to their knees, white or grey tunics under the vests, and dark brown gloves that went up to their elbows. They also wore stout rectangular shaped hats that had different markings on them. Their faces were painted with red, blue, green, or brown paint. Many of the people were the same species as Tlenden and Åkjem—they were called Edlesk—but a large number were from other species as well, namely Bith, Twi'leks, and Sullustans.

An Edlesk male ran faster than the others and towards the Tlenden's building. Al crept down the hall so he could listen as the man rushed inside the foyer.

He heard Åkjem speaking, but it was in the same foreign dialect she had initially used on them. Peeking around the corner, he saw her conversing with the man before he heard movement behind him. Diving for cover behind some furniture, Al watched Tlenden pass where he had just been standing. The senator entered the foyer and spoke crisply with the newcomer before the two left the building.

Looking out a nearby window, Al watched the two enter the street and meet up with the frantic newcomers. The exchanged words and then walked towards the skyscrapers.

Entering the foyer, Al caught Åkjem's attention. "Hey, what's going on outside?"

"One of our warriors was injured in battle," Åkjem explained. "He's just arrived."

"Big fuss for just one guy." Al muttered, watching the similarly clothed people—he presumed they were soldiers after what Åkjem had just said—follow Tlenden. Åkjem didn't make any comment, so he figured she wouldn't tell him much else. Sighing, he left the foyer, returning to the guest quarters; there wasn't much else he could do. At least he had gotten a nice distraction from the larger problem at hand.

When he reentered the guest room, he noticed Obi-Wan and Siri standing at the window. "You saw the commotion, too?"

"Yeah, what's going on?" Siri asked.

Al shrugged. "Something about some soldier getting hurt. It's probably a high up officer."

The three stood silently for a short period of time. Obi-Wan eventually turned away from the window and walked towards Almusian.

"So, did you guys decide anything?" Al asked hesitantly.

Obi-Wan sighed. "Not really. Siri still thinks we should try to speak to Adelig."

"Yeah, I'm scrapping that plan," Siri said from her spot, causing the men to look at her. "Remember how Tlenden said Adelig has a son? I think that's our injured hero out there."

"You see him?"

"No, but it would explain the fuss."

"So this means the war's getting worse for them?" Al asked. "Why do we always ally with the losing side, anyway?"

"They're not losing yet." Obi-Wan reminded him.

"Yeah, but if their heir dies they're toast," Al shook his head. "That's how their logic works here: no clan means no _anything_."

Obi-Wan sat heavily on a couch. "We'll have to go."

"Go where, though?" Al asked. "To Naboo?"

Obi-Wan was silent for a long time, garnering worried looks from both Al and Siri. Why was he hesitating?

"We need to make contact with Senator Organa," Obi-Wan finally said.

"Bail? What?" Siri immediately walked from the window and stood directly in front of him. "We can't call him over the holo, it's too risky!"

"I know," Obi-Wan said, looking at her pointedly.

Al was beginning to piece his meaning together when Siri immediately caught it. "We're going to _Alderaan_? What about Padmé?"

"Padmé would do the same thing," Obi-Wan sighed. "She's safe right now."

"_Safe_? She's stuck with Darth Vader—how the hell is that safe?!" Siri snapped.

"Because she's hopefully keeping him _busy_," Obi-Wan replied, his voice tightening. Al knew Siri better than Obi-Wan, but he could tell when the man was beginning to lose his patience. "Siri, she knew what she was getting into—this was all _her_ idea, after all. We can't afford to waste any time going all the way to Naboo; we can still make contact with her, but we _must_ go to Alderaan and figure out what in the blazes is happening."

Siri looked like she wanted to argue further, but she just blew out a frustrated breath instead. She seemed to understand his logic, even if she didn't like it. Al knew _he_ sure as hell didn't like it; to be honest he had been worrying too much about the situation at hand to give much concern to Padmé, but now that Siri mentioned her, he was beginning to get nervous. It had been four days since Padmé and Darth Vader had left for Naboo. Al had never seen the Sith Lord in action, but he knew his reputation well enough to be scared out of his wits at the idea that Padmé was alone with him.

"Then we need to leave. Now." Siri finally said.

Obi-Wan nodded and stood. "Yes, we should leave. But we should speak to Tlenden first."

"Why?"

"To see what's wrong," Obi-Wan answered. "And if there's anything we can do about it."

"He already said he wouldn't help us."

"This isn't about him helping us; it's about _us_ helping _him_."

Al nodded. "Trying to establish some good graces, eh?"

"We don't have _time_ for that," Siri argued.

"We can still make contact with Padmé before we leave," Obi-Wan assured her. Then he looked at Almusian. "Al, do you think you can reach Naboo all the way from here?"

"Holo communications can reach anywhere in the galaxy, Obi-Wan," Al answered, a little confused as to why Obi-Wan wouldn't know that.

Obi-Wan smiled wryly. "Yes, well, with the state your ship is in I wasn't sure of that."

Al immediately grew annoyed. "Hey, she _got_ us here, didn't she?"

"_After_ a side tour to Nar Shaddaa.

"She'll reach Naboo _just fine_."

Obi-Wan chuckled. "I'll take your word for it."

At that, Obi-Wan stood and began to head towards the exit. Siri followed him silently, but Al grew confused. "Wait, we're going to the ship now?"

"We're going to Tlenden now." Obi-Wan answered from the doorway. "Let's see how we can help."

* * *

**How's the pacing of the story going? Hopefully it doesn't feel too sluggish? **

**Hope you enjoyed the chapter!**


	15. Some Revelations

**Yay I got to update this! At the expense of homework, but honestly after three exams and two labs I don't care, lol. Enjoy!**

* * *

Padmé breathed in the smell of wet soil and flowers. Her eyes were closed. The sound of a relatively heavy rain echoed in the room as clearly as if she were out in it.

Opening her eyes, Padmé looked to her open window. She was lying in her bedroom. She had gone here a couple of hours ago after Vader had brought her back to the villa. She had since calmed considerably, though she was still being eaten alive by worry for Obi-Wan and Siri. Nevertheless, she tried to reassure herself; the negotiations that Obi-Wan was engaging in would not be swift, especially if there was some sort of underlying problem on Salkende that they somehow needed to fix. She just wished she could hear from them.

Padmé sighed and closed her eyes once more, listening to the rain. She was glad she finally got the opportunity to just _cry_ about what had happened to Sabé. She wasn't happy that she did it in front of Vader, but at the same time that seemed to unlock something in him. She wasn't sure what had happened, but his behavior indicated that he somehow viewed her differently. Whether it was because of her tears or her previous statement was beyond her, though she did have a sinking suspicion that no one had ever talked to the Sith Lord that way. The thought of it made her stomach churn. Just what kind of upbringing had Vader faced?

She hadn't seen Vader since he had brought her back to Varykino. He had disappeared somewhere. His last remark to her still made her shudder; Darth Vader had several reputations: among the Rebels he was a monster, among the civilians he was a mystery, and among the Imperials he was a heartless machine. She was beginning to think the Imperial idea of him was the most accurate. She just wished she knew why.

She _had_ to figure this out.

Finally getting some energy, Padmé sat up and exited her bedroom in search of the Sith Lord. She checked his room first, but he wasn't there. She hadn't heard any activity in the entire villa since she'd gone to her bedroom. After a brief search she came to the conclusion that the place was empty. But that meant Vader was out in the rain somewhere.

Getting a magenta robe, she put the hood on and went outside. The rain had been going on for quite some time, so the balcony was beginning to flood. Going to the entrance between the balcony and the dining area, Padmé pressed a button and doors slid across the entrance, preventing the water from getting inside. Sighing, she looked around; she couldn't see much of the terrain due to the rain, but from what she did see Vader wasn't nearby.

Padmé walked down the stairs and ran out into the open field, holding her hood tightly as the wind blew against her. She traveled quite a while, and the villa eventually vanished from view. The island wasn't big enough for her to take this long to find that blasted Imperial; where was he?

Pausing, Padmé turned around. She probably should have checked the dock first since it was right by the villa, but she didn't think Vader would have left Varykino. Still, it was worth a look. However, as soon as she walked in the general direction of the villa once more, Padmé saw a dull red light in the distance. Wondering what in the blazes it was, she began to walk towards it when she heard that bizarre but familiar sound of something humming in the air. That _had_ to be Vader; the sound was lightsaber, wasn't it?

Wait, why did he have his lightsaber activated?

Rushing towards the glow, Padmé heard the sound of the weapon grow louder. Eventually a dark figure appeared in the light, barely more than a shadow, before it slowly became clear enough to make out Vader in the rain. His eyes were closed, his brow furrowed deeply in concentration. He was practicing his fighting style, thrusting his blade in one direction before turning and heading another way. His black trousers, shirt, and brown vest were all soaked, just as they had been when the two had been swimming. His wasn't wearing any sort of cloak, and his head was uncovered.

Suddenly, Vader's eyes popped open and he froze in place, his blade parallel to the grass. It simmered and hissed as rain fell on it, and thin tendrils of steam rose from it. Vader didn't seem to notice; he was busy with some thought process or realization, staring with wide eyes out at the rain. Padmé wasn't sure if he knew she was there, but she doubted it; he hadn't forced himself into that usual neutral façade yet. Though was it really a façade? After his last remark, she wasn't so sure.

Then, without warning, he deactivated his blade, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and turned to face her. He tipped his head in her direction as a small bow of acknowledgement. "Senator."

So he was back to calling her by her title once more. She hoped whatever change had overcome him before hadn't been temporary. There had to be some way to reach him.

"It's Padmé, remember?" Padmé reminded him, somewhat hopeful that he'd take the hint.

Vader stared at her, but he didn't give any sign of emotion. Instead he just faced her fully, placing his lightsaber hilt on his belt. "That is your name, yes."

Padmé rolled her eyes. "You called me by my name earlier."

"You were crying. I had to get your attention."

Padmé felt her chest tighten, both from annoyance and helplessness. How could she get through to him if he wouldn't listen to her, wouldn't give _himself_ the chance to just be a _normal person_?

"Milord," she began, taking a step towards him. "Please. Just… call me Padmé. Is it really so hard? Can't we just be friends?"

_Now_ she caught him off guard. Vader gave her a puzzled look. "Friends?"

Before Padmé could reply, he suddenly added, "So if we're friends, that means we can talk honestly to each other?"

Padmé took an eager step towards him, nodding vigorously. "Yes, _yes, absolutely_."

"So you're a—"

Before Vader could finish, Padmé suddenly heard her comlink beep. Padmé jumped; she'd forgotten she had grabbed it before leaving to search for Vader. Who in the blazes could be calling her? Was it—was it Obi-Wan and Siri? Padmé quickly grabbed the device and, with an apologetic look to Vader, answered it. "This is Senator Amidala."

"Padmé?" Padmé immediately recognized the voice of Iena Pén, a dear friend and coworker of her father who stilled worked in the Refugee Relief Movement. Iena was also a Rebel sympathizer who often gave Padmé information on Imperial movements in the Mid Rim.

Immediately feeling her stomach clench with nervousness, Padmé hastily said, "Iena, so good to hear from you. I'm afraid I'm a little busy with my present company, so I might have to call you back later."

"Padmé, this is urgent," Iena insisted, making Padmé even more nervous. The last thing she needed was for Iena to say something incriminating right in front of Darth Vader.

"I'll call you right back," Padmé hastily said before cutting the connection. Then she looked at Vader, who she just realized had been listening quite intently to the conversation.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "You were saying about honesty?"

"I'm not lying. I'm going to call her back." Padmé answered, hiding her anxiety. "I didn't want to talk in the rain."

"You couldn't talk and walk at the same time?"

"You're soaked," she changed the subject abruptly. "You should go in too and dry off. Let's go."

Vader said nothing, but he followed obediently. The two walked in silence all the way to the villa. Padmé was suddenly more anxious than she had been since their arrival; what did Iena want? Why did she have to call _now_ of all times?

Once they reached the villa, Padmé pointed off to the refresher. "Go dry yourself off, milord, before you catch a cold."

"I'm capable of handling my own health," Vader answered, stopping. "You should call that person back."

Padmé looked at him, her right hand gripping the comlink while her left played with her dress. "I will. But you need to dry yourself off."

Vader glanced at the open refresher door and didn't move. Just as Padmé was about to insist he go dry himself off (she wanted to speak in _private_, blast it), a towel _floated_ into the room. Gaping at it, Padmé took a nervous step back, but Vader was completely unperturbed. Instead, he snatched the towel out of the air and began to dry his hair.

Realization hit her. "_You_ did that?"

Vader paused, eying her. "Did what?"

Padmé pointed mutely at the towel. Vader pulled it away from himself and stared at it before shrugging as he looked at her once more. "Yes."

"Just how many things _can_ you do with the Force?" Padmé asked, not sure if she wanted to hear the answer.

Vader just shrugged again, drying his hair once more. "Anything."

He was exaggerating, right? In either case, it didn't solve her current dilemma. "You're going to get water all over the floor. You should go the refresher."

"Water's already all over the floor. Call your friend, friend."

Padmé felt a twinge of anger at his abuse of the word, but she took a calming breath. She had hoped they could actually talk with some semblance of trust for each other, but it seemed like he still had his mission objective firmly in his mind.

"Why'd you come with me to Varykino?" Padmé suddenly asked. "Was it just to spy on me?"

Vader froze. Instead of answering her question, he asked, "Why do you always lie?"

Padmé blanched, not expecting the question. "What?"

"You just asked not even half an hour ago why we couldn't be friends, and before then you were implying that you wanted to trust me and vice versa. But all you do is lie. You don't trust me at all."

"I said on Isola that I _would_ trust you if you were honest with me," Padmé reminded him. "You haven't exactly been straight with me either, you know."

"I've been reticent at most," Vader replied, his gaze growing hard. "You've been outright lying from the start."

_Reticent_ was probably the kindest and mildest way to put it. To be fair, though, Vader was correct. But how in the blazes was Padmé supposed to be _completely_ honest with the guy? He was an Imperial, he was a _top tier_ Imperial, he was a Sith Lord, and he was there solely for the purpose of branding her a _traitor_. The very fact that he had the gall to accuse _her_ of lying made her blood boil.

So much for showing a different side to her. Why had he bothered being nice while she had been crying?

"What happened on Isola?" she questioned him. "Was that kindness just a fluke?"

"You obviously weren't in your right mind," Vader answered matter-of-factly. "Only the weak cry."

"What the _hell_ is that supposed to mean?" Padmé snapped, temporarily losing control.

Vader wasn't expecting her vehemence. He took a step back, visibly caught off guard. "You—you're not weak."

Before Padmé could reply, her comlink chimed again. Iena hadn't been joking when she'd said it had been urgent. Sighing heavily, Padmé just risked it and answered the call. "Yes?"

"Padmé, it's Iena. Can we speak now?"

Padmé eyed Vader and for a moment she wanted to just scream out that she was with him, but she held herself in check. She prayed that whatever Iena had to say, it didn't have to do with the Alliance or Empire. "Go ahead."

Darth Vader watched her as she spoke, but he started to towel dry his hair once more and seemed more occupied in that task, bringing some relief to her. Padmé felt the weight of the universe lift from her shoulders, however, when she heard Iena's reply. "Padmé I'm on CC4; there was a groundquake that tore through here and we've been working along the service corps to help everyone. There's too much damage to the colony to house all the survivors, so we were trying to get them out of here, but we're having some trouble."

Thank heaven it had nothing to do with Rebel affairs. She would gladly help with this. Though… why did they need _her_ help? "I can lend a hand and an extra ship, but we'd still have to go through the usual paperwork…"

As she spoke, Vader finished drying his hair and proceeded to remove his belt and his shirt. Padmé felt her heart rate skyrocket, both from surprise and… okay, she _did_ have to admit he was an awfully amazing specimen to look at. But blast it, he could have warned her. Despite her own feelings, Vader was completely oblivious, simply continuing to dry himself. He was in amazing shape; all of his muscles were toned and were making Padmé blush quite a bit, especially when he turned his torso and she watched those muscles in action.

"And… uh…" Padmé tried to recapture her original train of thought but found herself staring at Vader. Shaking her head, she looked elsewhere, trying to calm down. "What sort of help do you need?"

"It's this gang." Iena explained, making Padmé focus once more. "They're former slaves. They formed a group after the groundquake; the Imperial presence here is mostly dead. They won't let anybody on or off the colony. We can't get these refugees out of here, and the service corps is running out of supplies!"

"The senate is in recess right now," Padmé replied; she presumed that was why Iena wanted her specifically. Honestly, even if the senate _were_ in session, she highly doubted it would lend aid to a small colony in a remote sector like hers; CC4 stood for Chommell Colony 4, one of the small colonies in her sector. Even if Iena _did_ want Padmé to speak to the senate, though… "Have you contacted Rep. Svoule? You do know he's the representative of all the colonies in our sector."

"Yes, the representative came, but now they're holding him hostage and demanding a ransom. Surely you could call an emergency senate session? Please, Padmé there's got to be _something_ you can do."

Padmé knew that tone. Iena wanted her to get the Rebels to help. How in the blazes was she supposed to do _that_? She would have to make contact with Bail, and that in itself would endanger both herself and Bail… and that was if Vader _wasn't_ around. There was no way she could bring the Rebels into this scenario. "You said the local troops were dead?"

"Most of them. The rest are injured."

Padmé shook her head. "Calling an emergency senate session will do nothing."

Then she looked pointedly at Vader, who had paused to listen to the conversation. "The senate won't help. The Empire won't help. They don't care about a small colony."

"But the representative—"

"Rep. Svoule is half-Mirialan," Padmé interrupted her in disgust. "The Empire won't do anything to help him."

Vader straightened, watching her. Padmé wasn't sure what was going through his head, but he definitely was trying to read her somehow. She closed her eyes, trying to organize her thoughts. What was she going to do? How could she help _without_ involving the Alliance?

Eventually, she took a deep calming breath and opened her eyes. Vader had resumed his previous action, seemingly paying her little mind. Most of his torso, face, and arms were dry, so he'd probably leave or throw the towel out soon; maybe that would get him out of the room. It didn't matter; she wasn't going to mention the Alliance, anyway. "I'll go."

Vader looked at her once more and then lightly dropped the towel on the floor. She could definitely tell he was trying to gauge what she was doing and what she was thinking, but she wasn't going to let him figure it out. Besides, this wasn't about outmaneuvering him or anything of the sort; this was just about helping the colony.

"Are you bringing any help? Supplies? Something?" Iena asked worriedly.

"We'll see." Padmé replied. She could go alone, but she doubted negotiation would do much at this point, especially since Rekk had probably tried to do that first before they had captured him. But if Vader agreed to go… "I need to ask a friend for a favor."

"Please hurry, Padmé," Iena said. "We won't last much longer."

"I'm on my way, Iena. Don't worry." Padmé replied before cutting the connection.

Well, it was now or never.

"Will you help me, milord?"

Vader faced her fully, crossing his arms. Blast it, she wished he'd put a shirt on. He was way too… distracting right now. "So I _am_ a friend to you."

"You could be," Padmé replied carefully. "There's a lot we haven't said to each other, but we could still get along, milord."

Vader walked towards her slowly, his arms lowering to his sides. Padmé felt herself blush once more, and her heart rate increased. She took a hesitant step back, hugging herself. Eventually he had her backed into a corner. She felt the cold wall press against her back and she gasped slightly as Vader was suddenly towering over her. And krif it, his bare chest was _right in front_ of her. For some reason seeing him shirtless had abruptly reminded her that while he was many things—a monster, a murderer, an Imperial, a mystery—he was still most definitely a man, and not in the sense that she could manipulate him, but that _he_ could catch _her_ attention.

Blast it, she needed to get out more.

"Why are you nervous?" he asked, but it was in a whisper, that kind of oh so quiet whisper that makes one's skin tingle.

Padmé looked away. "You're awfully close, milord."

"You've done this with me before."

Padmé had to let out a small chuckle. It was the ironic truth, after all. "I think I understand your discomfort now, then."

Vader sighed and took a step back. "I'll go with you. We should pack accordingly. We can leave tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow morning?" Padmé stammered, looking at him once more. "That's too late!"

"Your friend didn't give many details as to the situation. I can remedy that; I'll get Intelligence to investigate the matter. If you prefer not to involve them, then surely your local news stations will at least be informed; it is in your sector, after all. In either case, we need to be prepared for the journey."

"Are you always this meticulous?" Padmé asked, a little bemused.

"Only on missions." Vader replied before walking back to the towel. As he did so, he reached down to his trousers, starting to lower them from his waist.

Padmé yelped loudly, facing the wall. "What are you doing?!"

"Removing my clothes. They're wet." Vader noted nonchalantly. To prove his point he tossed them towards her; she could tell since she saw the trouser leg and heard a wet _splat_ on the tile floor.

"By the stars, don't you have any sense of decency?!" Padmé asked as she did her best to keep her voice level; she wasn't sure she succeeded since what came out of her mouth sounded more like a squeal than anything else.

"But they're wet." Vader repeated with a touch of condescension. "You're supposed to remove wet clothes, or you'll _catch a cold._"

That kriffing jerk was using her words against her! In this instance, though, Padmé wasn't sure she should be annoyed or amused.

"Well you'll _definitely_ catch a cold now, running around half naked," Padmé quipped as she kicked the wet clothes away from herself.

"Well your clothes are wet too."

Padmé's heart rate went through the roof, and she blushed so deeply she was sure her cheeks were on fire. "I'm _not_ taking my clothes off in here."

"I didn't say that."

"You were _implying_ it, you big shaak."

"I'm not a shaak. Your butt's bigger than mine. _You're_ the shaak."

Padmé whirled around, gaping at him, completely flabbergasted. Then she remembered he was only in his underwear, so she yelped again and whirled around once more. The end result was that she had gone in some bizarre and jarring circle that left her dizzy and out of breath.

"I haven't seen that dance move before. You should do that again." His voice was maddeningly calm, but his sarcasm was cutting into her like a hot knife.

"Just go put some clothes on." Padmé snapped, hugging herself and focusing on her breathing.

"As you wish, milady."

Padmé heard the soft sound of his bare feet grow distant as he departed. Only when she couldn't hear them anymore did she dare turn around. Blowing out a deep sigh of relief, she leaned against the wall and fanned herself before noticing with great annoyance that he'd left his clothes behind.

"That kriffing son of a Hutt," she muttered irritably, gathering the soaked clothes into a bundle and carrying them to the refresher.

* * *

Obi-Wan watched his wife as she paced impatiently. They had requested to speak with Tlenden, and his aide had said they would have to wait. It had been almost two hours since then. They were still waiting in the entrance foyer of the man's office. There was still a fire going in the hearth, not blazing nearly as much as it had been during the blizzard, and Obi-Wan found the sound quite comforting. He did have to admit he himself was beginning to grow a little impatient; they couldn't contact Padmé until they'd spoken to Tlenden, and they didn't even know when that would be at this point.

While Siri paced, Al pestered the aide, Åkjem, incessantly.

"Can't you just ask him to come?" Al asked, leaning against her desk. "We've done it your way for almost two hours. The representative would greatly appreciate the courtesy."

Åkjem folded her arms, not moving. "I don't care what title he has. He can wait like anyone else."

"Al," Obi-Wan called to his friend. "Leave her be. She is right; my position shouldn't make a difference."

As he spoke, he could tell it made Åkjem relax. Judging from the expression on her face, he also got the impression that his remark just made her gain a lot more respect for him. He could use that to his advantage.

"May I ask what the senator is doing?" he queried gently, remaining in a relaxed position on the sofa.

"He's consulting with the warlord," Åkjem answered.

"Does he know we're waiting for him?" Siri asked irritably. "I understand the importance of a conference with the warlord, but I get the impression it wasn't exactly a planned meeting that he can't afford to miss."

"It's important nonetheless," Åkjem replied, her voice tensing slightly. "You people are not exactly pressing concerns on anyone's mind here."

Before Siri could reply, Obi-Wan touched her hand lightly. The gesture caught her attention and immediately calmed her. Sighing, she sat beside him, looping her arm through his. Her muscles were still tense, but she was at least silent. Obi-Wan squeezed her arm briefly as if to say _it's okay; we'll get through this_. She seemed to understand his meaning, and she leaned back into the sofa.

A beep issued from Åkjem's desk, and the trio looked at her, alert. Åkjem answered the call. "This is Senator Tlenden's office."

"Åkjem, it's me." Obi-Wan recognized Tlenden's voice over the link, and he sat up straighter to listen. "Listen, I'm going to stay in Hjemmekoselig Sted. If you don't need anything I'll see you tomorrow."

Siri got fired up, but Obi-Wan tightened his grip around her arm. _Just wait._

"Far, the guests wish to speak with you." Åkjem said, using a strange title for Tlenden.

"I can't go back to the office," Tlenden replied. "Bring them here."

Åkjem acknowledged him and ended the connection. Then she stood and looked at them expectantly. Siri shot to her feet while Obi-Wan stood a tad slower than her. Al was already at the door.

"Follow me," Åkjem ordered.

The three did as they were told and walked behind her in silence. As soon as they exited the building the cold slammed into them as the sharp wind made it feel a hundred degrees chillier than it actually was. They didn't walk for too long; they took a right and went down the street for about five minutes before they were standing in front of the tallest building in the city. It arched upward from either side, centering on the tallest peak. There was an enormous lower lying building attached to this monumental entrance. The entire building was made of polished stone, but the roof of the lower lying building had turf all over it.

Åkjem led them past several armed guards and through the large entranceway. The interior was full of stained glass windows depicting scenes of some sort. The large foyer echoed their footsteps and amplified them; there was probably no way anybody could sneak through this room without the entire building knowing it.

Obi-Wan took a calming breath and tried to center his thoughts as he walked ahead. He wasn't sure what sort of help Tlenden would accept, let alone what they could offer. All three of them were capable warriors, especially Siri, but they couldn't afford to stick around and fight a war for Tlenden, even if it was to curry favor. After all, the recess would be over in a little over a standard week, and whether they intended to return to Imperial Center or not, they couldn't remain here.

Speaking of which, he _still _wasn't sure what would happen once the recess ended. Their original plan had been to join the Alliance permanently, but that required many things. First of all, it required that they get their family to safety. Secondly, they had to make contact with the Alliance and inform them as such so they could get a replacement spy. Thirdly, the Alliance _still had to bloody exist_. At this rate Obi-Wan wasn't sure the most important criterion would even be applicable. He was still reeling from the revelation that Mon had been captured; she had been in a shaky position, yes, but she'd been calm and quiet for almost an entire year. The Alliance had been _sure_ she was clear of most of the heat on her by now. What had happened?

Obi-Wan noted that Åkjem had come to a stop. He wasn't sure how many rooms or hallways they had passed through to get here, but they were in some sort of small antechamber. Large ornately decorated wooden doors were in front of them. An oval shaped deep blue carpet was beneath their feet, and two small red and green stained windows were on both walls to the left and right. The ceiling was angled upwards towards the ornate doorway. Trophies of some sort lined the wall around the door; there was a small golden figurine of a boat on a pedestal, pieces of some sort of broken sword made of a ruby red metal were under a glass case, and some medallions were on another table, among other items. The walls also bore placards with runes of some sort carved into them.

"Wait here." Åkjem said before quickly walking through the entranceway, closing the doors behind her.

As soon as they were alone, Al whistled. "Nice place. Wonder what those runes say."

"No clue." Siri shook her head. "But considering the grandeur of this place, I'd say this is the warlord's residence. At the very least her stately abode."

"Then I would say their equivalent of the throne room is probably through these doors." Obi-Wan nodded to the doors.

"But I thought we weren't allowed to speak with Adelig?" Al asked.

"If Senator Tlenden is in there, then that might be excused," Siri shrugged.

"Or Tlenden will meet us out here." Obi-Wan suggested.

"Well you guys are Humans; you have better hearing than I do," Al pointed to the doors. "Try listening in."

"That's hardly polite," Obi-Wan replied, but as he spoke Siri tiptoed towards the doors. He was tempted to say something, but he himself was rather curious too… he just wouldn't bring himself to doing what she was doing. Still, he remained tense and alert; the last thing they needed was a fiasco where Tlenden grew upset because he found them eavesdropping… or because Siri had a concussion after the door flew open right into her head.

"They're talking about us," Siri noted softly, making both Obi-Wan and Al inch closer to her. "There's a woman—I think it's Adelig—she wants to meet us—and—uh-oh!"

Siri hastily rushed back to Obi-Wan's side, crashing into him instead. Both were trying to catch their breath by the time the doors opened. Åkjem stood in the entrance, and she motioned for them to enter.

The throne room—for that's certainly what it seemed to be—was enormous. A high arching ceiling was held by buttresses with banners hanging from them bearing different runes. The windows went from the floor to the ceiling, depicting scenes of battles and triumphs. A long dark blue carpet stretched down the center from the doorway to the front. Along either side of the carpet were numerous benches. In the front was a balcony of sorts; a few stairs on both sides led to the elevated area, and a railway was between the area and the rest of the room. There were no seats there, only a small door that led to another room.

There were three inhabitants in the room. One was Tlenden himself, whose large and muscular frame contrasted sharply with the two women beside him. One woman, a light orange skinned Togruta female, stood quite tall, her montrals reaching above even Tlenden's head. She had a sharp nose, dark brown eyes, and a hardened look to her countenance. Her face bore some white markings as was usual for her species; the pattern differed between every Togruta. Hers were conical shapes under her eyes and circles on her cheeks, as well as a single dot under her mouth. She wore a dark brown apron dress with slits along the sides over an icy blue dress that reached the floor. Her sleeves were wide and trimmed with fur, but tapered on the upper arms since they were tied by colorfully patterned cloth. She wore a belt made of different medals, and a dagger hung from one of the links. Beaded necklaces hung between the apron dress' straps. Her montrals were decorated with smaller gold trinkets, and golden bracelets were wrapped around her head tails.

The other woman was a Bith. She wore white trousers, light grey boots, a white fur trimmed tunic with a high collar, and a utility belt with a blaster holster attached. She also wore a tall white hat with diamond shaped patterns around its circumference. Her large lidless eyes were fixed upon Obi-Wan, Siri, and Al.

Obi-Wan examined both women. One of them was Adelig, but he wasn't sure which one. As a warlord it was likely she was the armed Bith, but the Togruta held herself with the bearing of a weathered general and leader. He bowed to both of them, but to her he said, "I believe you are Adelig, yes?"

"You may address her as Triarkka." Åkjem advised.

As Siri and Al both bowed deeply, Adelig looked keenly at Obi-Wan. He blatantly realized she hadn't taken her eyes off him since he'd entered the room.

"You can't be…" she muttered, walking towards him slowly.

Obi-Wan watched her approach, slightly confused and a tad nervous. "I'm sorry?"

"Triarkka, what is it?" Tlenden asked.

The warlord paused just a breath away from Obi-Wan. She squinted harder, looking at him from head to toe, before she looked into his eyes. "You're Kenobi, aren't you?"

Obi-Wan took a slight step back, startled. Kenobi… wasn't a name he'd heard since he was _very_ young. He barely remembered it at all. That name… it was from a life before the Naberrie family, a life he didn't really remember… nor cared to remember. But how in the blazes did _she_ of all people know it?

"My… my name is Obi-Wan Naberrie," Obi-Wan answered hesitantly.

"But you _are_ Kenobi, right?" Adelig pressed on.

"Who's Kenobi?" Al asked, completely confused.

Siri, however, was watching Obi-Wan. He had told her about the name once, in passing, a few years ago when they were engaged. It had been a brief conversation; neither really thought about their lives before Naboo. Obi-Wan's memories were extremely vague; flashes of smoke filled skies, starvation, fear, anger, and helplessness filled his mind whenever he did, and they never seemed to fit into a coherent picture. His adopted parents had once told him that he had been part of one of their refugee relief missions, and he'd had nowhere to go. He had never questioned them; it seemed logical enough, and it would explain both how they met and adopted him and why his memories of that time period were so dreary. But he'd never figured out anything about his real surname, or who any of his relatives were. Or even where he'd come from. His parents had never mentioned the planet on which he had been found.

Siri's memories were even vaguer; Obi-Wan had been about three years old when he'd been adopted, but Siri had been probably around twelve months. She had been an infant, and therefore really had nothing beyond an image of a Togruta in her dreams and nightmares. The Togruta Siri often described, however, didn't match Adelig; instead, she had red skin, two oval shaped white spots on her face, surrounding her eyes, and a toothed headdress. Sometimes she had a bluish glow about her, sometimes she didn't; it depended on the dream. Obi-Wan had never been sure if the Togruta was simply someone Siri had seen in her childhood and attributed to her time before she was taken to the foster home in Theed, but Siri herself was quite convinced that the woman had existed and she had seen her before going to Theed.

"A child from a very long time ago," Adelig answered Al, still looking at Obi-Wan, making him nervous. "I smuggled you off Coruscant."

Obi-Wan blanched. "What?!"

Adelig smiled and stepped away, giving him some relief and air. "Before I became warlord I was a smuggler. I helped the Republic during the Clone War, too; it made me proud to serve, even if it wasn't in the most legally sanctioned way. But when the war ended, and the Jedi fell… I didn't believe Palpatine's story. I have very little respect for career politicians; there's no such thing here, and for good reason. Anyone who's trained to win elections isn't trained to compromise or do what's in the people's interest.

"In either case, since I didn't believe Palpatine I went straight to the Jedi Temple. Most of the Jedi were gone, but some of the children and Padawans survived. I helped them get out."

"You helped Jedi escape?" Siri repeated. "So there are still some out there?"

"Judging from what one of my informants has been telling me, there's one starting to cause trouble for the Empire right now." Adelig noted mildly.

"I was one of them?" Obi-Wan asked breathlessly. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer to this question; if he did indeed used to be a Jedi that would put an entirely new weight and responsibility on his shoulders… and a new fear. What if somehow the Empire knew about his heritage?

Even if he hadn't been a Jedi, though…. she knew his past. His life had always been on Naboo and with the Naberrie family… _his_ family. To hear that it had ever taken place anywhere apart from them was jarring and not very welcome.

"You were a toddler," Adelig answered. "I remember your face, your eyes." With a laugh, she added, "And that cute little nose."

Obi-Wan probably would have blushed under normal circumstances, but he was honestly too shocked to care right now. He… he had been a _Jedi_. A blasted _Jedi_.

Sithspit.

How had the Empire not found him all this time? "Where did you take me?"

"Nimo'alke," Adelig answered. "You ought to know the place; it's in the Chommell Sector."

"Nimo'alke was attacked by the Empire shortly after the Declaration of a New Order…" Siri muttered. "They weren't following Imperial rule. The Naboo Service Corps and Refugee Relief Movement went to help out after the attack…"

"Yeah, crappy timing," Adelig shrugged. "But I found your parents; they said they'd take care of you."

"They _knew_?!" Obi-Wan blurted out. He was starting to grow a little indignant now; how could they have known and not told him?! He'd certainly have a few choice words for them when he talked to them next.

Oh, right. That brought him back to his original reason for being here. Blast it his head was spinning…

"Never mind that," he shook his head, waving a dismissive hand. "We came here to offer our services. If there's any way we can aid you, let us know."

The Bith spoke in a foreign dialect, and Tlenden nodded. "She is right. There's not much you can do unless you join the front lines."

"Not even a supply run?" Al offered.

Adelig laughed. "Oh, the days when I myself could do that. I do appreciate the offer, but unless you can give us troops, there's not much you can do."

"But we _can_ give you troops," Siri said, looking at Tlenden pointedly.

"She speaks of the Alliance, Triarkka," Tlenden explained.

Adelig nodded. "Yes. It would be a beneficial relationship between your Alliance and us. However, we don't need the extra attention from the Empire; we have enough problems as it is."

"We would _solve_ those problems, though," Siri argued.

"You would solve _some_ problems," Adelig corrected her. "And you would bring even more. We can't ally with you, especially when you're barely holding _yourself_ together. Honestly, I wouldn't mind helping you, but I have to look after my own, my clan."

Al looked at Obi-Wan and Siri notably. His words of _the clan is everything to them_ echoed hollowly in Obi-Wan's mind, making his stomach churn. This meeting was only wasting their time now; honestly, it seemed to have done more harm than good, anyway. He didn't exactly _want_ to find out he was a…

Obi-Wan shook his head. No, he _wasn't_ a Jedi. He had never been trained. They may have taken him in but…

Blast it all, it made _too much sense_, though. Why he felt empty, why he could read people so well, why he could understand _Siri_ so well… why Vader made him so terrified.

Oh shavit. _Vader_. Had he sensed that Obi-Wan was Force sensitive?

Obi-Wan was too preoccupied with these thoughts to realize the conversation had ended. Siri had apparently taken the initiative and realized that the argument was going nowhere, and so she was now bowing alongside Almusian. Obi-Wan hastily bowed his head as well, but before he could turn to leave, Adelig touched his arm lightly. "Stay strong, Kenobi. There are others like you out there; you all will make it through this regime, and the Jedi will stand tall and proud once again someday."

"I… I'm not a Jedi," Obi-Wan shook his head.

Adelig smiled. "The Force is with you. You were a Jedi from the moment you entered this galaxy. Stay safe."

At this, she released him and faced Tlenden and the Bith, speaking in their native dialect. Siri touched his hand lightly to get his attention and he let her guide him out of the room. Adelig's words echoed in his mind. He _wasn't_ a Jedi. He _couldn't_ be. How… this just made things a million times _worse_.

But if he didn't focus on it, it also didn't change anything. And yet it changed everything. All at the same time. Blast it all… it certainly _made sense_, and Obi-Wan could never fight the logic of an argument… and the logic was screaming in this one. It just _fit_; it explained so much. But what was he going to do?

"Don't worry about it," Siri whispered softly to him as soon as they had exited the room. "The Jedi Order is gone. The Empire isn't going to hunt you down; they didn't know you were a Jedi before, and that's not going to change."

Her words did reassure him, but at the same time they saddened him. He didn't want the Jedi Order to be gone; from what he'd heard about them, they were a bastion of light and justice in the galaxy. Maybe that's why he innately knew the Empire was evil. But… if the Order had still been around, he would have never met Siri. And he couldn't imagine that. He _wouldn't_ imagine that.

Al blew out a sigh and shook his head. "Okay, so we learned that you can use the Force and even with that we _still_ couldn't convince them. Hey, if you can use the Force, maybe you could be a Jedi general like in the war stories?"

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "I don't know _how_ to use the Force. That makes it a little difficult, don't you think?"

"But what did she mean when she said a Jedi is fighting the Empire?" Siri asked suddenly. "I haven't heard anything about _any_ Jedi since… well, the purges."

"Perhaps Senator Organa will know something about the matter," Obi-Wan suggested. Shaking his head, he cleared his thoughts as best he could, but he couldn't stop the new creeping awareness in the back of his mind, like he suddenly realized there were things about his surroundings that he could detect without ever realizing it. Or he was making things up and thinking they were the Force.

This was going to drive him crazy.

"Before we go running to Alderaan, though, we need to contact Padmé," Siri reminded him.

"Right," Al nodded. "Let's get back to the ship."

* * *

The rain had only gotten heavier since the evening. It was rather late now, almost midnight. Padmé hadn't seen Vader since the earlier fiasco; she hadn't really left her bedroom because she had the food from their lunch at Isola. It had held her over until this point, but now she was starving. The sound of the pouring rain was rather soothing and was slowly beginning to put her to sleep, but her hunger was keeping her awake.

Sighing, she dragged herself off her bed. She had long since changed into a white nightdress after taking an amazingly long and relaxing bath… _without_ thinking about Vader half naked, of course.

She was honestly more surprised by his words than his actions from earlier; he had been mild, maybe even somewhat playful with her. It was unimaginable to think that Darth Vader was capable of being _playful_, but somehow it had seemed to be the case. It brought her some hope, alongside their upcoming trip in the morning. As much as Padmé loved Varykino, it would be wonderful to interact with people aside from the Sith Lord; even if he was starting to get some semblance of humanity to him, he was still really hard to deal with constantly. She didn't know how _anybody_ could do such a feat. Also, it was probably unhealthy how much she thought about him; at this point it was practically constant. She needed to get some fresh air and see some new faces. Or old ones. Just any face but his.

Because the more she thought about him, the more she realized she was beginning to grow obsessed.

What other word was there for it? Every time she thought about him or looked at him it was as if she were filled with this insatiable thirst and he was the water that would quench it. He was this enormous mystery and enormous mess all in one, and she just had to get to the bottom of it… and, well, she rather liked spending time with him when they weren't arguing. So far that had been rare, but it _had_ been there. The dancing was a definite reminder of that. And the bantering. Not to mention since she could tell he was even lonelier than her, at least they could share some comfort in each other.

And _stars_ was he handsome.

Padmé shook her head violently. No. No. _No._

Groaning, she exited her bedroom and began to walk to the kitchen. The hallway leading to the lounge and dining area passed right by the guest bedroom. Curious, Padmé crept to the door and opened it slowly. The room was lit dimly, just enough for her to make out a shape sitting on the bed.

_Sitting._ Not _sleeping_.

"What are you doing?"

Padmé let out a terrified gasp and leapt back, tripping on her nightgown and tumbling to the ground. The door opened fully and Vader was standing in the doorway staring at her with bemusement. He was wearing a loose brown night tunic with some black trousers. His hair looked like a mess as if he hadn't brushed it since toweling it dry. His blue eyes gazed into hers.

Had they always been so deeply blue? So full of something brimming on the surface, ready to come out and show emotion?

Did she _really_ just ask herself that?

Padmé blinked profusely and looked anywhere _but_ Vader's face. "S-sorry. I was just wondering if you were already asleep."

"For what purpose?"

"Just… because. I was just wondering."

"….Why?"

"I already _said_ why," Padmé replied, flustered. "Do you always need a practical reason?"

"Yes." He replied immediately.

"Understand this, milord," Padmé said as she stood once more. "Sometimes people do things _just because they can_. And sometimes curiosity is just for curiosity's sake."

As she spoke she belatedly realized that she was in her nightgown without a robe covering her. The gown wasn't anything particularly revealing; it dipped a little low along the neckline, and the straps were very thin, but it was nothing compared to the backless gown she had worn. Still, somehow she felt exposed, and whenever he glanced at her chest she blushed and adjust a strap needlessly just to cover that area with her arm.

The two stood there in a semi awkward silence before Padmé finally sighed and relented. "All right, and I was a little lonely. And hungry. You want a snack?"

"I don't want anything."

"Do you _need_ a snack?" Padmé rephrased her question, beginning to grow accustomed to his strange way of speaking.

Vader paused, and his jaw muscles tightened slightly as if he were annoyed. Then he blew out a breath through his nose and shrugged.

Padmé gave him a smile, motioning for him to follow her. As he exited the guest room, she began to feel slightly more comfortable; they were entering into the lounge now, and they were just getting some food. The atmosphere wasn't as tight and tense as before, and she wasn't having to worry about him staring at her chest since he was behind her. She probably _should_ grab a robe, though.

The two sifted through some food in the kitchen before Padmé finally found suitable snack food for them both. They made some sandwiches and sat in the lounge on the plushiest furniture available, foregoing the formality of the dining room. By this point Padmé had completely forgotten about the robe, and Vader seemed to have forgotten about his hesitancy to join her for food.

"The rain sounds lovely, doesn't it?" Padmé sighed happily as she leaned back against the chaise after eating. She felt relaxed and tired, but not quite sleepy yet.

Vader didn't say anything, but by this point she knew it was simply because he didn't have any remark to make. He didn't seem to speak or acknowledge anything he didn't find worth the oxygen expenditure, and idle talk definitely was _not_ important in his mind. Still, it made Padmé feel better to just chatter away since she knew that while he wouldn't respond, he would still listen. And it meant the universe to her just to have someone _listen_. Obi-Wan had often been the listener for Padmé back in the day, but after he had gotten married he began to spend most of his time around Siri. It made sense; Padmé wasn't going to fault him for being devoted to his wife. But it still left her lonely.

"I've always loved listening to rain," she continued. "Especially at night. During the day it could ruin your plans, but at night it's like a soothing lullaby. It's just so relaxing."

She listened to the sound for a while long before gazing at Vader. He was sitting on the couch, leaning on his legs with his eyes closed. He wasn't nodding off, but she wasn't sure what he was doing.

"You know what I used to do whenever it rained during the day?" she asked, partly because she wanted to share the information and partly because she wanted to see if he was actually listening to her.

Vader opened his eyes and looked at her. That was his acknowledgement.

"I would play word games. Or board games. Or any kind of game, honestly." Padmé laughed softly, rolling onto her stomach and propping herself up with her elbows. "You want to play a word game?"

Oops, she'd slipped up. Vader didn't have _wants_. And there was honestly no way to convince him that a word game was necessary for some sort of practical use, apart from passing the time (she was sure he'd fine a million different ways to do so rather than play a word game, though). As she suspected, the Sith Lord didn't reply at all. Instead he continued to watch her silently.

"Let's play a word game," she said. She waited for him to question why, but instead, he simply straightened his posture and faced her more fully. Surprised by his compliance, she didn't comment on it. "The game is called…"

Padmé was about to say Questions when a better thought occurred to her. She never had played Truth or Dare much outside of her siblings because the younger girls often used it as an excuse to make stupid dares that people could never do. But in this situation… it could be quite interesting.

"The game's called Truth or Dare," she explained. "Since there's only two of us we don't have to use some sort of lottery method; we can just go back and forth. You ask me 'truth or dare,' I select one, and I either have to answer a question truthfully or do something that you dare me to do. After my turn, then I ask you the same thing and we continue that way."

"How do you win the game?"

Typical Imperial; always looking to win. Though honestly, she figured he was probably thinking the same of her as a politician. "There's not really a way to win; you just kind of keep doing it until people grow tired of it. We can just set a time limit, or a turn limit. How about five rounds?"

"Three."

Padmé rolled her eyes in slight exasperation. "Three it is, then."

"Truth or Dare."

Sithspit, she was going to ask _him_ first. Oh well. Which should she pick? Considering his earlier statement, she knew he wanted some honesty from her. But as much as she wanted to be straight with him, she was worried what his motive was. Was he genuinely wanting to get to know her or was he still on his mission objective? Considering his obsession with getting the job done, it was highly likely that he was still just trying to indict her, but a small part of her wanted to trust him, wanted to believe that there was a shred of decency in him that she could somehow bring out. Holding on to that hope, Padmé said softly, "Truth."

"Did you mean what you said on Isola?" he asked after a brief pause, catching her off guard. "When you said I matter?"

She was genuinely touched and saddened by his question. He really had never heard anyone speak to him like that, had he? "Yes. Of course I was. You deserve as much respect and dignity and love as any other person."

Vader stiffened slightly. "Love?"

"It's not as pathetic as you may think it is," Padmé remarked. "It's very powerful."

"The only use for love is to exploit it."

Instead of growing angry (though she did feel it well up in her chest), Padmé simply asked, "Why do you think that? Who taught you that?"

"You didn't say Truth or Dare."

Padmé rolled her eyes. "All right, if you're going to be stubborn, then fine. Truth or dare?"

"Dare."

"Coward." Padmé retorted, making him throw her an irritated look. "I dare you to say truth next time."

Folding his arms with a sour look, Vader leaned back in the seat. "Truth or dare, senator."

"Dare." Padmé said, raising her eyebrows at him in a challenge.

"I dare you stop being obnoxious." He immediately said.

Growing affronted, Padmé grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at him. He caught it with ease, staring at her in bewilderment. "You know pillows aren't proper projectiles, right?"

Padmé laughed at his naïveté of normal interaction. "Truth or dare, milord."

"Truth."

Ah, what to ask? There were plenty of opportunities here, but she supposed she'd start with the foundational work and see if everything he'd been telling her up to this point was true or not. "Have you ever lied to me while we were here and when?"

Vader blinked. "Are you allowed to ask more than one question?"

"It's all part of the same question," she replied innocently with a smile.

Vader considered her words carefully and meticulously as if he were hearing a court case. Eventually he nodded sagely. "Yes, I have lied. I lied about… a lot."

"Be specific, milord."

"Anything about my opinion of the Empire." Vader sighed. "I can't remember what else."

Padmé watched him curiously and with slight disappointment. "So you don't disagree with the Empire's anti-alien laws?"

Vader shrugged. "I neither agree nor disagree with them. They're just… there."

Honestly, as much as she didn't like his answer, it did seem to _fit_ with who he was… certainly much more than the lie had. No wonder the picture she'd been piecing together hadn't made sense.

Before she could ponder anything further, he asked, "Truth or Dare?"

Well, he'd given her a truth, and a pretty big one at that. "Truth."

"Why did you cry?"

Hm, tough question. How would she answer this? She wanted to be as truthful as possible. "I was… very stressed. I've had a lot on my mind, especially… one of my handmaidens, Sabé, died just before the recess began. I miss her; she was a friend of mine."

Padmé watched him carefully now. A part of her still grew cold whenever she thought about Sabé and Vader's involvement in that, and she _had_ to be sure now, once and for all, if he felt any sort of remorse over it.

Vader's face remained neutral.

She didn't know why she would expect anything different. But she had hoped, blast it she had _hoped_ he would show some shred of decency in him. It was time to figure out why he was the way he was. "Truth or Dare, milord."

"Truth."

"Why do you not care about anything? And don't just say _because it's not practical_; people aren't born thinking that way. What made you the man you are?"

"That's two questions."

"Then answer the last one."

Vader shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He glanced at his hands, which were twitching on his lap. He twirled his thumbs around each other before settling and looking at her. "My training made me what I am."

"What training?"

"Game's over, milady," Vader noted. "That was the third round."

Padmé felt frustration bubble inside her, but she didn't say anything. Blast it, she'd been _so close_.

"If you find the rain relaxing, shouldn't you be going to bed?" Vader asked.

Padmé took the hint; the introvert wanted to be alone. Sighing, she rose. "I suppose I should. Good night, milord."

Vader said nothing in reply, but it didn't bother Padmé anymore. Walking back to her bedroom, she closed the door and collapsed in bed, snuggling under the warm blanket. Today certainly had been interesting.

* * *

**Quick note: a shaak is an animal native to Naboo. They were those big butted things on Varykino that Anakin rode and fell off of in AotC. Hope you liked it. :)**


	16. Field Trip

**Someone asked for Sola's age: she's around Obi's age, 25.**

**Sorry if there are typos; I've been up all night writing this, lol. It's ten minutes to 6. o.O Also, be sure to check the "notes" section on my profile for updates on this story if I don't update for a while; the pause is probably school related. Enjoy!  
**

* * *

_Padmé gazed at the scenery. The sunlight shone brightly, blocked only by the foliage of the many trees in the area. The sound of fountains tickled her ears, alongside the gentle cooing of a happy baby. Looking to her right, she saw her older sister, Sola, carrying her infant daughter, Ryoo. Sola's husband, Darred, was further down the gravel path on which they were walking, surrounded by trees on both sides._

_Padmé had inherited many of her father's looks, from her soft face to the color of her hair, while Sola looked more like their mother, whose face was more angular and whose hair was a darker shade of brown. Sola was also slightly taller than Padmé._

_Sighing in contentment, Sola gazed at Ryoo before looking to her sister. "You love watching my daughter too, don't you?"_

_Padmé smiled. "Of course I do."_

"_Then why don't you give yourself time to have one of your own?" Sola asked._

_Padmé stopped walking, startled. "A child?"_

"_Not immediately," Sola shook her head as she stopped as well. "You're only eighteen, after all. But… you'll never have the chance if you keep this up, Padmé. You did your duty to everyone. Why can't you do your duty to yourself? You've served as queen; why must you be a senator too?"_

"_You _know_ why," Padmé replied. "It's the entire reason I _became_ queen."_

"_You became queen to make a difference," Sola said. "It had nothing to do with the Rebels back then."_

"_I was naïve back then; I didn't think the Empire was as big of an issue as it really is," Padmé sighed. "I thought I could fix things on Naboo, but the problems run too deep, and they stem from something beyond my scope as queen."_

"_So you're helping the Rebels for the sake of Naboo?"_

"_I'm helping for the sake of _everyone_, Sis. What would you have me do? Ignore them?"_

"_I would have you dedicate some of your life to _yourself_," Sola corrected her. "You can't just run around saving the galaxy, you know. Even if you managed to succeed, which at this rate isn't likely, once everyone else is happy, what will you have?"_

"_The satisfaction that I helped." Padmé answered with conviction._

_Sola sighed. "Will that really be enough? Once you've reached that point, once you've sacrificed so much, once you're so exhausted from dedicating your entire life to others… will that really be enough when it's all over? Don't you want to have a family of your own someday?"_

"_Mom and Dad raised us on the principle of helping others, of dedicating our lives to the service of those who aren't as privileged as us." Padmé insisted a little too loudly. She knew what she was doing was right, but somehow Sola's words were piercing far deeper than they should have been._

"_Obi-Wan and Siri are serving others while still having each other," Sola noted._

_Padmé felt like she'd been slapped in the face. She knew it wasn't Sola's intent to hurt her, but it still stung that Obi-Wan now was more dedicated to Siri than to her. Even when he'd been with the service corps he'd always spend whatever free time he had talking with her or just being with her, and Padmé had always loved it. Now… he'd spend his time with Siri. Padmé knew she shouldn't be upset; Siri and Obi-Wan loved each other dearly, and they deserved to be happy together._

_But blast it, it _hurt_ when she'd spend those long evenings in the palace alone, staring at endless amounts of work that she had to do. Obi-Wan used to help her with all of that, but now… now he was always with Siri. He'd occasionally help Padmé, but…_

_Shaking her head, Padmé said, "Please, can't we just talk about something else?"_

"_Well, I could be like Mom and Dad and bring up a million questions about your safety," Sola said nonchalantly as she resumed her trek._

_Padmé walked alongside her. "Yeah, and we went over that a million times already."_

"_None of those million times seemed to be satisfying to them."_

"_I noticed." Padmé looked elsewhere, stress filling her. She was happy to have received the senatorial position, and she was eager to go to Imperial Center for the first time, but her parents' concerns weighed on her almost as heavily as her mission._

"_Padmé."_

_Pausing, she looked at her sister. Sola was watching her intently, her brow slightly furrowed in worry._

"_Be safe." She said. "Please."_

Padmé opened her eyes to the sound of something beeping. She'd been trying to sleep for the past half hour to little avail; she wasn't sure if it was the food or the conversation with Darth Vader. Honestly it didn't matter at this point since her mind had been wandering through different memories.

She heard the beeping sound again and turned her head towards her nightstand. It was pitch black in the room, so she groped blindly for her comlink; that was the only thing that would be making such a noise anyway. As she did so, her heart beat a little harder and faster—who was calling her this time? Was it Iena again?

She finally felt the small cylindrical device brush against her fingers, and she grabbed it and activated it. "Yes?"

"Hey, I got her!"

Padmé blinked, a little confused, before she felt electricity shoot through her entire body—that was Almusian.

"Al? Al, is that you? Where's Obi-Wan? Where's Siri?" she immediately asked in a frenzy, sitting up in bed.

"We're right here," she heard Obi-Wan reply.

The sound of his voice brought tears to her eyes, and she clung to the blanket in an attempt to keep the tremor out of her voice as she said, "Are… are you alright?"

"We're wonderful," Siri said with a slight edge to her voice. "Our vacation's been… interesting."

Padmé hiccupped softly, tears rolling down her face. It was an _enormous_ relief to finally hear from them, even if they did have to speak in code for fear of Imperials overhearing the transmission. Though she probably shouldn't have mentioned Al by name if they really _were_ being that cautious. Oh, well.

Wait, interesting?

Getting a hold of herself, Padmé said, "Define interesting."

"A few detours here and there," Obi-Wan answered. Just hearing his voice made the tears return in full force. "Nothing too heinous; we'll be detained for a short while longer, though."

_No…_ "I… I t-thought you were going to join me for some vacation time." Padmé did her very best to ensure she sounded calm.

"Don't worry, Padmé," Siri immediately said. "We'll be there soon. I promise."

Padmé clenched her jaw, hugging her knees to her chest and burying her face in them. She squeezed her comlink, not able to say anything. It was unspeakably wonderful to hear from them, but the idea that they wouldn't be around for another few days was painful. Her time with Vader actually wasn't so awful now, but she still wanted to be with them. She _missed_ them. Crying earlier had been a spillover of emotions, and while it had helped, it hadn't gotten rid of everything else that was still bottled up. She wanted to be with Obi-Wan and Siri, blast it!

_Goodness I sound like a child…_ she thought to herself, and that at least helped her calm down. She needed to be strong; she was a Rebel spy, not a scared youngling. She could handle this on her own for a while longer.

"I understand," she finally replied. She couldn't bear to continue the farce, though, so she simply said, "I'll see you whenever, then."

"A few more days. That's all it will be." Obi-Wan assured her.

"Okay," Padmé acknowledged. "Have fun with the rest of your vacation."

"Will do. Goodbye, Padmé."

Padmé felt her throat tighten. "Love you."

There was silence on the other end. She knew there would be. Padmé always expressed her love to her family, but she had learned early on that Obi-Wan never really knew how to respond to such outbursts of affection. Most of the time, Padmé would hug him to show she cared, and he would accept it relatively well, but he rarely instigated anything. For her to outright say she loved him was a plea for him to be swift, and they both knew it.

"I love you too, Padmé."

Padmé nodded, took a deep breath, and cut the connection. He'd hurry.

With that thought in mind, she placed the comlink back on her nightstand, pulled the covers tightly around her, and fell asleep.

* * *

"Aw, you two sounded adorable," Al remarked in a sing-songy voice, as if to annoy them.

If that was his intent, it certainly worked on Siri, who shot him a glare. Obi-Wan, however, was too preoccupied to give him any concern. For Padmé to say _I love you_… she didn't even say that when they were leaving Imperial Center. What had happened on Varykino? Was she alright? She didn't indicate that she was injured, but…

Obi-Wan felt a shudder creep through him and he closed his eyes. Things with Vader were much worse than he expected them to be.

_Just hang in there, Padmé,_ he thought desperately. _We're coming as quickly as we can._

He felt despicable going to Alderaan, but they _had_ to go. With everything that was going on in the Alliance, there really weren't many options for them. What would they do when the recess ended? How in the blazes was the Alliance going to help Mothma escape? Who would be the senate spy if Mothma was imprisoned and Organa was under too much scrutiny? Obi-Wan had a very sinking suspicion that the Naberrie clan's days on Imperial Center were far from over, and it made his stomach clench.

How would his Force sensitivity affect the mission?

Obi-Wan shook his head immediately. No one had noticed before; there was no reason they'd notice now. Still, now that he himself was aware of the fact it felt like he was screaming it to the entire galaxy. One wrong look at Vader would be enough. Right?

"Obi?"

Obi-Wan turned to the soft voice of his wife. She was watching him in concern. "I'm fine."

Siri quirked an eyebrow and gave him a look that said _yeah right, liar_, but she didn't comment. Instead she turned to Al. "Let's hit the hyperlanes, Al. We need to get to Alderaan as quickly as possible."

Al acknowledged her and went to the bridge. As soon as he left, Siri guided Obi-Wan to the sofa in the lounge.

"I gotta admit, I'm pretty jealous," Siri laughed. Obi-Wan glanced at her. Her smile was genuine, and her eyes held concern. "I'd love to be able to use the Force to kick some Imperial asteroid."

Obi-Wan sighed, but he wasn't too annoyed. He knew she was just trying to cheer him up. "Well don't expect me to run around flinging people in all directions."

Siri barked out a laugh. "Perhaps not. That would be rather amusing to watch, though."

Obi-Wan groaned, burying his face in his hands. He felt Siri hug him.

"Obi, it's going to be alright," she said as she leaned her head against him. "No one knows except us."

"And Adelig," he added.

He felt his wife stiffen. "You don't think she'll tell anyone, do you?"

"I doubt it," Obi-Wan replied, lowering his hands. "But… how did… why…?"

"It doesn't matter, Obi," Siri interrupted his garbled thoughts. "You were going to be trained as a Jedi. So what? The Order is gone; it doesn't matter anymore. What's done is done."

"Siri, I just found out that I'm among the Empire's most wanted and despised," Obi-Wan stood abruptly, flooded with nervous energy. "There's a reason Kelathik serum exists, you know!"

"Hey, speaking of that," Al shouted from the bridge. "My buddy watched the transaction."

The sound of the hyperdrive roared to life as they punched into hyperspace. Al then entered the lounge. "The trade went down peacefully; no sting or anything of the like, though I wouldn't expect one with as obvious as that Imp was being. My buddy followed the Imp; he took a shuttle to a station over Nar Shaddaa, and from there went to Imperial Center. I got an ID on his appearance and the name he used, but I doubt it's his real name… at least it shouldn't be if he's actually decent at his job."

"I wonder how many Jedi actually did get out, though," Siri thought aloud, leaning back against the sofa. "I mean, you've got Kelathik abounding in the black market, and you've got people like Obi-Wan in the galaxy who were supposed to be Jedi… we were all told that the entire Order was wiped out… but while the Order may be gone, I'm starting to think there were a lot of people who were missed."

Al shrugged. "Hey, it's pretty hard to wipe out an entire group of people if they're as spread out as the Jedi were at the end of the war."

"You were old enough to remember the war," Siri pointed out. "What do you remember of the Jedi?"

Al paused, looking at nothing in particular. "Blast, I don't know… it was so long ago… I remember they used to be heroes of the war, but as time passed they weren't talked about so much… I guess people stopped caring or just didn't like them. I don't know.

"The war took ten years; everybody was sick of it by the time it ended. Krif, when the Empire came around it took years for them to get out of _debt_ after all the money they spent in the war. Everybody was rationed on food and water in a lot of places, money was tight, the economy on a lot of planets were in the compactor… it was really rough. Palpatine could barely muster up a military by that point; the clones were basically gone, and there was no money to build more ships and recruit more soldiers. It was a good thing both sides were too exhausted to do anything, honestly, or his little empire may have collapsed as quickly as it was made."

"Did Palpatine really say the Jedi tried to kill him?" Siri asked.

Al nodded. "Yeah, he did. I don't think it came as a huge surprise to people, though; the animosity between the Jedi and the chancellor was pretty evident to everyone by the time the war ended. _I_ couldn't tell at the time, obviously, but after looking back at HoloNet reports and the like it was fairly noticeable."

Obi-Wan listened halfheartedly. It was just so strange to think of himself as part of the Jedi; it was too foreign to comprehend. To think that he had been around on Imperial Center in the _Jedi Temple_ at the time of those events was mind boggling.

He still wasn't very thrilled that his parents had known but had never said anything. Logically, he understood why that was the case, but… honestly, did they think he didn't need to know at this point? When he was in the middle of the chaos?

_Would it have helped to know?_ He asked himself. He really didn't know the answer. Right now it wasn't helping his nerves, _that_ was for sure.

Siri sighed. "Well, as I already said, it doesn't matter. No one knows you're a Jedi, anyway."

Obi-Wan and Al both looked at her a little curiously. Had Obi-Wan been thinking aloud? Judging from Al's slightly confused expression it didn't seem to be the case, but Siri had spoken as if she knew his train of thought. Whatever; that coincidence was nothing new to them, anyway. They often managed to figure out what the other person was thinking; it made it very difficult to hide one's emotions from the other, but it was also helpful.

Changing the subject entirely, Obi-Wan asked, "How long until we reach Alderaan?"

"Unfortunately it's going to take a full day," Al replied, crossing his arms. "We're navigating through a bunch of stars, planets, and Imperial checkpoints. You have to remember that Alderaan is in the core."

"Lovely," Siri muttered. "As long as we _do_ avoid the Imperials; I don't want to scramble for an answer as to why we're doing business with Bail in a smuggler's ship during vacation time."

"Yeah," Al laughed a little shakily. "That would be interesting to explain."

The three were quiet for a time. Obi-Wan finally pushed the matter of his heritage aside and once more turned his thoughts to Padmé and the Alliance. He ran multiple scenarios through his mind, both as to why Padmé might be so desperate for them to return and what Organa might have to say about their predicament, when Al interrupted.

"Well, let's look on the bright side," he said with an optimistic smile. "Tomorrow's the start of my favorite fete week, so Alderaan will be abuzz with celebrations and parties. We'll have a swell time!"

Siri jumped. "Fete week? Oh, blast it, I totally forgot…"

Obi-Wan was about to ask when he abruptly remembered as well. The senate had its final recess at this point of the year because it was the _final part_ of the year; the two weeks they had off were the last fete week of the year and the first of the next year: the Festival of Stars and the Festival of the New Year. They were Imperial holidays. While the Festival of the Stars was widely celebrated, it had never been a huge concern to Obi-Wan or Siri (though he was surprised Al hadn't mentioned it; it was a testament to how anxious the man was about the current situation), but the Festival of the New Year was an enormous event for everyone. People would get week long holidays from work, parties would last for days, banquets would be attended; it was always insane. Aldera, Alderaan's capital city, was going to be a nightmare to navigate once they arrived.

However, the festival was also good news. If Padmé had any insight she'd go somewhere public for a while; that would hopefully give her some fresh air from whatever was happening with Vader. If he allowed her to do so, at least.

Obi-Wan shook his head. It hadn't seemed _that_ bad. He didn't get that impression, at least, and he typically went with whatever impression he would get of a situation. _I wonder why_, he thought sarcastically. Blast it he'd been using the Force without ever realizing it. Well, he supposed that was a good thing, then; if he'd been using it his entire life and no one had noticed, maybe it would be alright.

Maybe.

* * *

Crystal City was the most fashionable place to get a drink. It was situated at the top of a skyscraper over the suburban section of the Palace District. It was a restaurant, bar, and lounge all in one. The large interior was carpeted with steely blue and plum carpeting. A long bar lined the wall on the left, and windows covered the walls and curved ceiling, allowing for a view of the city and the palace. Private booths took up the right side of the room, each separated by thin grey walls that were designed both to keep noise out and to project images of the customer's choosing to provide a soothing visual background. Regular dining tables were scattered throughout the rest of the room. The lounge was in a sizable side room, filled with sofas, small tables, different gaming tables, and a stage where a band played.

People often came to Crystal City for multiple reasons. The establishment itself served amazing food and its drinks were spot on, but the main reason was its location and pricing. Only the elite could afford to eat or drink here, and anyone who was anyone came here to prove that they were among that class. As such, there often was a large amount of touting about oneself, throwing dirty looks at those who seemed inferior to oneself, and all around demonstrating how one was the most important person in the room. The private booths, however, served a better purpose than this tiresome ordeal: they served as the best place to exchange information, second only to the palace.

It was for that reason that Tarkin was here. First of all, he was rather tired of the palace; the main reason he lived there was essentially obsolete at this point. After all, Darth Vader was all grown up. He didn't need looking after anymore.

Tarkin let out a soft chuckle as he gazed out the window. Well, maybe he _did_ need help, but not the way he used to. He didn't need babysitting or patching up anymore.

In either case, Tarkin was beginning to grow a little tired of living in a place where he was constantly reminded of his position being decidedly _below_ the other people living there. Vader had been above him in station since the boy was _nine_ for heaven's sake. Tarkin clenched his jaw a little, remembering when the boy had informed him of that. He hadn't gotten angry with the child; his delivery of the news was unsettlingly (at the time… he'd long since grown used to it) emotionless, and Tarkin knew he was just _following orders_, just like he always did. But then to hear it from Palpatine… he knew the emperor had done it just to watch him squirm. The indignity of putting a child in a higher station than him! He'd dealt with that for years, but if his plans worked out he wouldn't have to deal with it for much longer.

Sipping his drink, Tarkin leaned back. He was awaiting a meeting with one of his own personal spies. She was gathering information on Senator Amidala, among other matters. Tarkin had called for her so she could infiltrate the senator's inner circle, but if Vader did his job correctly that wouldn't be a problem. Still, no sense in not being prepared.

Speaking of Vader, Tarkin wondered what the man was doing now. He glanced at his chronometer and sifted through the different time zones until he found Naboo. The boy had said they were in the Lake Country, right? Finding the correct zone, Tarkin noted that it was six hours ahead of Palace District Time, so it was 0100 over there. Vader was probably asleep. Scratch that, Vader was _hopefully_ asleep; Tarkin didn't see a reason why the young Sith would stay up, but he often did find strange reasons to keep himself occupied through late night and early morning hours.

Tarkin leaned back in his booth, taking a deep breath. The final recess of the senate was almost halfway over; tomorrow was the last day of the Festival of the Stars, and the New Year's Festival was only a standard week. Only six days to go before Vader's mission would hopefully be over. Then he could return, interrogate Mothma, and reclaim the reins of the military. Tarkin was quite happy ruling over his oversector, and while he had ambitions to one day rule the entire Empire, dealing with the everyday annoyances of military work was bogging him down… not to mention the insane amount of pressure to make up for his mistake (which _wasn't even his mistake_) over the Rebel base.

Tarkin took another sip from his glass when he abruptly remembered something. The fourth day of the Festival of the Stars had never been a particularly special day except in one regard.

It was Darth Vader's birthday.

Not that it mattered to the Sith; he didn't celebrate anything. Honestly, no one celebrated his birthday; Tarkin recalled one time offering an awkward 'happy birthday' to him when he was eleven, and the only response he had gotten was _I've no need for happiness._

Tarkin still marveled that any child would ever say that. He was used to Vader's behavior now… even by the time the boy was eleven he had been used to it. But sometimes just thinking about it made him realize just how bizarre the young Sith was. Not that he could help it.

How old was the Sith? Tarkin had honestly lost track of the years. He didn't even know why he was bothering to try and remember the man's age. It wasn't like it mattered; even if Vader did actually care about his birthday (which was highly doubtful… in fact, Tarkin was almost certain even Vader didn't know his own age), Palpatine certainly didn't; he'd begun sending the boy on missions when he was about seven or eight, and had claimed that Vader was 'of age' and ready to enter more complicated missions when he was ten. Giving the boy a name the previous year had been his _induction_ to adulthood.

Tarkin shuddered. He wasn't a particularly emotional or loving man. He came from a family of wealth and nobility; power and respectability were always more important than love. As such, he'd never had a huge attachment towards Vader, despite the fact that he'd practically raised him. Still, the way Palpatine had trained the boy sometimes made Tarkin feel just a little sick. The emperor had done an amazing job at turning the boy into a valuable asset, and Tarkin was appreciative for that; Vader would indeed be most useful once Tarkin found a way to overthrow Palpatine. But sometimes he still glanced twice at the boy, wondering just how screwed up he was and whether it was really worth the outcome.

Tarkin shook his head. There was no point in pondering on such nonsense. Even if he did care enough to feel sorry for Vader, it was too late to do anything about his behavior and attitude now. He just needed to take advantage of what he could.

The perfect holographic image of a mountainous sunset glitched as a woman walked through the doorway, which had been part of the image. Judging from her uniform, she worked with Intelligence, but Tarkin didn't know her. She offered a small bow after entering.

"Grand Moff Tarkin," she acknowledged.

Tarkin motioned to the cushioned bench across from him. He sat upright, stiffening as she did so. He wasn't expecting this person; his own spy was Intelligence—that way she could get the best information and work around Intelligence operatives unnoticed—but she wasn't currently on duty and this most certainly wasn't her. He brushed passed the obvious question as to how she knew he was there; instead, he worried more about what she wanted.

"There's been a situation with Adm. Ozzel's fleet, sir," the agent said.

"An incident?" Tarkin repeated. He hadn't really heard anything from that incompetent idiot since he'd ordered him to fix his own mistake. Had he just made another one?

"The fleet's been destroyed."

Tarkin blanched. "What?!"

"The fleet didn't make its usual check-in an hour ago," the agent continued. "We had a nearby outpost use long ranged scanners; we're picking up debris. Destroyers, mainly, though there is something else of interest. Some of the debris isn't ours, but it's not Rebels, either."

Just as Tarkin was going to question her once more, she slid a data pad across the table. He grabbed it hastily, sifting through the images and information shown. One of the readouts from the long ranged scanner was flagged. Opening it, he read the information, but he glanced up at her for a translation; he didn't know the navy well enough to recognize whether a hull's thickness, shielding, and mechanical wiring belonged to a Star Destroyer or not. That was Vader; the man knew everything about every ship in existence.

"The Rebels mainly use Corellian model ships, governor." The agent explained. "After Senator Bel Iblis was declared a traitor, the Rebels' supply of ships disappeared; none of the Corellian companies wanted to associate with them after they witnessed what we did to their senator and his family. Still, the Alliance had plenty in their arsenal already; they would have used them as their primary means of escape from their base on Yavin 4. _This_ hull, however, came from a _Hydyk_-class freighter – a large ship but nearly large enough to fit any Rebel purposes."

"A mercenary? Or another faction?" Tarkin questioned.

"Possibly another faction, governor," the agent answered. "We received a distress signal from a nearby outpost that stated a fleet was attacking them. We have people working on recovering any data the outpost had before it was destroyed, and we're fairly certain that same freighter was part of the fleet."

"Aren't there multiple _Hydyk_-class freighters, though?" Tarkin asked, a little confused. "It's not as if companies only produce one ship per model."

"The outpost was two systems away from Adm. Ozzel's fleet." The agent replied. "And it would require a fleet to destroy the admiral's ships."

"So there's some random fleet flying around destroying Imperial facilities?" Tarkin crossed his arms irritably. Who was foolish and suicidal enough to do such an irritating thing? Tarkin wasn't particularly bothered with losing Ozzel; the man's failure had almost gotten Tarkin himself killed. Still, these people needed to be dealt with; they had to find the Rebels.

The agent was about to reply when she paused. She held up a finger to indicate that Tarkin should wait. He leaned against the back of the booth irritably; the woman was no doubt getting some sort of transmission from her comlink implant. His annoyance disappeared when he saw her eyebrows lift and her jaw tighten. She immediately stood.

"Governor, you should come with me." She said as she began to leave.

Tarkin was about to protest, saying he was waiting for someone, but he immediately stopped himself. The entire point of his spy was to operate _outside_ of Intelligence's notice; it wouldn't exactly be prudent to say he was expecting someone and then not explain who it was. So, he did what he had to; he followed the agent. He'd have to meet with his spy later.

The two silently left the Crystal City. The agent led him to a turbolift and they descended a few levels before exiting. They weren't on a deck open to the city, so apparently she wasn't looking to take a shuttle to Intelligence headquarters. Instead, she led him to a secured door, opening it with her code cylinders. The two entered, and Tarkin blinked a few times to let his eyes readjust to the stark lighting of multiple holograms, console screens, and dim lighting. This was an Intel alcove; they were spread throughout the entire city so Intelligence could monitor every centimeter of the planet.

Walking towards one of the consoles, the agent quickly typed in some codes or commands. Other operatives glanced at her and Tarkin, but they didn't do anything else until one operative approached them.

"You said it's occurring right now?" Tarkin's guest asked.

"Yes, ma'am." The operative answered.

"What's occurring? What's going on?" Tarkin questioned, his annoyance returning.

"There's an attack on another outpost, governor," the agent replied. "It's one of our supply stations. We ordered every facility in the area to notify us immediately of such an attack, even before they contact reinforcements. If we can link up with their security systems we can watch the battle."

Tarkin took a step closer to the console, growing interested. A fuzzy image appeared; a lot of blaster fire was seen in an empty hallway before stormtroopers suddenly appeared in the left corner, trying to charge forward. They were immediately cut down, however, when more blaster fire came at them. Then two people ran from the right end of the screen. They didn't look like Rebels; despite the fact that the Alliance was a rag tag team of backwater idiots, they still had some sort of form of a chain of command, and they bore such rank on their outfits, any way they could. These people didn't seem to have that.

And then he saw it. He hissed and took a step back as a man came into view, wielding a green lightsaber. The man was older, with grey hair tied into a top knot. He had scars on his face and a fierce look. He wore dented armor, but it resembled that of Imperial stormtroopers, though it seemed outdated, like it was…

Clone armor. This man was a Clone War veteran.

"A Jedi," the operative said with surprise and disgust. "He must be the commander of the fleet."

"I want to know everything about that man," Tarkin immediately ordered. "Find out who he is, how he survived the purges, and what kind of arsenal he has."

"It will be done, governor." The agent acknowledged. Handing him the data pad she had shown him earlier, she said, "You may keep that for later perusing, sir. I must ask that you leave now; one of my men is holding your booth for you."

_What?_

Tarkin took the data pad with a stiff nod. He certainly hope his spy hadn't arrived at the restaurant yet, though if she was any good she'd already know the area was compromised. And now he had _another_ problem to worry about; a merc fleet or some random pathetic faction wouldn't be a concern, but a _Jedi_ was an entirely different story. Tarkin had to deal with this matter immediately.

He had to tell the emperor.

* * *

Padmé felt the heaviness of sleep abruptly vanish. Groaning, she tried to figure out what was wrong, opening her eyes. The room was lit very dimly; dawn was barely beginning.

A figure was in the room.

Gasping, Padmé rolled out of bed, falling onto the ground. She reached blindly for a blaster in the nightstand, but her pistol was in her duffel bag. The figure remained still for a second before moving slightly; its arm touched something on the wall, and immediately the lights turned on.

It was Vader.

"What the hell were you doing?!" Padmé immediately demanded, pissed off and terrified at the same time.

"I was just about to wake you up. You were taking too long." Vader answered, watching her dully.

"I was _what_?!" Padmé stood, growing even angrier. That creep had _no right_ to just barge in and—

Darth Vader had been in her bedroom while she was unaware. Unarmed. _Asleep_. A shiver ran down her spine; she felt violated, she felt terrified.

Vader blinked. "I just said you were taking too long. Why do you always need me to repeat certain sentences? Are you hard of hearing?"

Her terror immediately vanished, and exasperation filled the void. This man was _so—kriffing—impossible_.

"How was I taking too long?" Padmé asked, snatching a small blanket and wrapping it around herself. "It doesn't even look like it's _dawn_ yet."

"It's 0600." Vader said. "You were in such a hurry to leave yesterday yet now you're wasting time sleeping."

"Well if you wanted to leave at 0600, then maybe you should have told me!" Padmé argued.

Vader opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Then he closed it. He looked away.

"Didn't think of that, did you?" Padmé said just to rub it in. "Don't you brief people you accompany on missions?"

Something about her statement seemed to unlock something in Vader. His eyes immediately locked with hers, and his facial muscles relaxed, almost as if he was stunned or excited. Then, as quickly as the look came, it vanished. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and said, "You are correct; I didn't think of it. I don't view you as an accomplice; just a t—"

And immediately his mouth shut. Every muscle in his body tensed, and he bit his lip. He was about to say something he shouldn't have.

"I'm a what?" Padmé prompted.

"You're late." Vader said abruptly. "Get dressed. We need to leave."

Padmé sighed heavily. She should have known he wouldn't answer her. "I'll be ready in twenty minutes."

"That's too late."

Padmé rolled her eyes. "Look, I have to shower and—"

"Did you shower yesterday?"

"Of course I showered yesterday—"

"You didn't do anything too strenuous yesterday, and the rain would have washed some dirt away. You can skip the shower today. Let's go."

Padmé crossed her arms, growing more annoyed by the minute. "I'm sorry, are you my father? I'm taking a shower, blast it!"

"I'm leaving in five minutes." Vader said, unperturbed. "With or without you."

"I'd love to see your explanation as to why you showed up on CC4 without me." Padmé sniped back.

Vader turned and left.

Growling, Padmé flung the blanket back onto the bed and hastily went to the bag she'd packed last night. Grabbing white trousers and a white shirt, she rushed into the refresher and grabbed some toiletries before getting dressed. The diplomatic shuttle had a sonic shower, but it still wasn't nearly as helpful as a real one. Still, despite being extremely rude and annoying, Vader did indeed have a point; Padmé had been eager to leave as soon as possible.

But _blast it all_ did he have to wake her up that way?

Grumbling the entire time, Padmé threw on some white boots and grabbed her stuff. She snatched a utility belt and exited her room, rubbing the sleepiness out of her eyes. As she entered the lounge and dining area, she caught sight of Vader waiting on the balcony. Walking towards him, she tossed her bag at him; if he was going to be obnoxious, he would at least be useful too.

Vader caught it with lightning reflexes, and then he glanced at it. He opened it, sifting through her clothes.

"What are you doing?" Padmé stared at him, bewildered.

"Why did you throw it to me?" Vader asked, looking at her. "What do I need from here?"

Padmé rolled her eyes. "Just carry it, you dim witted shaak." Before he could say anything else, she added, "And if you make any remark about my butt again I'm shoving you out of the boat halfway there."

Vader sighed and slung the bag over his shoulder.

Once they reached the boat he immediately stepped into the driver's seat and dropped Padmé's bag on her seat. He placed his own behind him. Padmé grabbed her bag and tossed it, making it land on top of his and knock it off the seat. Vader watched her, his face remaining neutral, but the fingers of his left hand wrapped around the steering control a little more tightly. Plopping herself in the seat beside him, Padmé gave him a hard look.

Neither said anything. Vader immediately activated the engine and drove the boat away from the island. Padmé wondered if he would ask her how to get back to the dock where they'd rented the boat; he had been tired when they'd made the journey to Varykino, so she wasn't sure if he'd remember the path. Despite this, he didn't say a word; he steered the boat skillfully and smoothly between the islands, and Padmé recognized the rental dock coming ever closer.

Once they arrived Padmé spoke to the dock manager. She'd paid for nine days' use of the boat, but she insisted it was alright; she'd be back shortly to use it again, anyway. She asked the manager to call for a taxi, and once he left to do that, it was just her and Vader standing by the dock.

Padmé took a deep breath. She was slightly calmer now, and most certainly fully awake. She still was unsettled at the thought of Vader being in her room, but his intentions—at least according to him—were harmless. It really was bizarre how… indifferent he was. She recalled that he'd said he lied about most of his opinions, which honestly made sense now considering her observations, so she shouldn't be surprised by his nonchalant behavior. Still, she was his _mark_; his approach was so starkly different from the interrogation at dinner on Imperial Center that she really wasn't sure what he was trying to accomplish. He'd had a perfect opportunity to catch her off guard, to hurt her, even to kill her this morning.

Blast it all, she was sick of thinking about this.

_Okay, different matters, then._ She shook her head slightly. She had to worry about what was happening on CC4. First of all, Rekk was being held for ransom. Secondly, former slaves had formed a gang and were trying to control the colony. Thirdly, there were Imperials there, but they were injured. The service corps and RRM were unable to leave and needed supplies.

Ah, supplies. She could start there. She could buy supplies in Oxon. It would make more sense to get in contact with the RRM headquarters in Theed, but that might involve her sister or father, and she didn't want to do that with Vader around.

Speaking of Vader, how exactly was he going to play into this? She'd asked him to accompany her, but she hadn't really thought out what she'd have him do. She supposed the main reason was that she didn't know how to pilot an Imperial diplomatic shuttle… and she figured he'd be able to keep the Imperials in line in case any of them started acting stupid. But what else could he do? And how would she introduce him? Most people in the Empire didn't know what Darth Vader looked like—they'd only heard of him. But she couldn't just say he was some random guy, either… she'd have to make up a name for him. She didn't want Iena to know her situation. Nor did she need to make a scene, and heaven knew that having people find out Vader was there would cause a scene.

Also, she probably needed to diffuse a potentially bad situation. Glancing at Vader, she said softly, "Sorry about earlier. You really need to learn some social norms, though."

"So I've been told," he muttered, gazing out at the lake.

Padmé smiled and raised an eyebrow. "So I'm not the first one you've been absurdly rude to, then?"

Vader's eyes were unfocused for a few moments, and then he glanced at her briefly before quickly looking at the lake once more. "The governor."

Tarkin. "He said you needed to be polite?"

Vader nodded.

"What caused him to say that?" Padmé asked, genuinely curious.

Vader sighed, still watching the lake. "I was accompanying the governor; we were going to his oversector to quell a Rebel uprising. I contacted the governor and said we needed to depart immediately; time was of the essence, and we had all the required information. We would be able to study the information once we were in hyperspace. He agreed and said he would meet me in the hangar. I got there within the minute, but the governor didn't arrive. I tried calling him but he didn't answer; I went to his quarters. He was in the shower. So I walked in and turned the shower off and said we needed to go."

Padmé burst out laughing. The idea of Tarkin quaffing himself and then getting his shower interrupted by Vader was priceless. As she laughed, she observed that Vader's boots were covered in water and wet grass. He was wearing something apart from black today, surprisingly; he wore dark brown trousers and a grey tunic. His utility belt was strapped on, but she didn't see his lightsaber; he, like her, probably didn't think it prudent to announce his presence. But his boots… why were they dirty?

Oh, that's right. His morning walk. After she regained her composure, she motioned towards his feet. "Did you go walking, milord?"

Vader nodded.

"Why do you walk every morning?" she asked. Figuring it had some practical reason, she surmised, "Is it for the exercise?"

Vader didn't respond. Padmé was going to ask again when she noticed his eyes drooping for a moment before he took a deep breath, swayed on his heels, and clasped his hands behind his back. He was tired—he was _very_ tired; now that there was more light in the sky she could see dark circles under his eyes.

"What time did you get up?" she asked.

"0700."

Padmé furrowed her brow, confused. "You woke me up at 0600, remember? Are you alright?" Then it hit her. "0700 _yesterday_?!"

Vader nodded.

Padmé gawked at him. What was he thinking? He couldn't be exhausted for this mission! "Why did you stay up all night?"

"Your friend stated they were running out of supplies. I acquired some."

"You were up all night getting supplies?"

Vader sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You _must_ have hearing issues."

Padmé would have retorted, but their taxi finally arrive. She did ask, though, "If you got the supplies, where are they?"

"I already loaded them on the shuttle."

"You were in Oxon?"

"The shuttle is there, so yes."

Well, that would take care of what she had been intending. Still, she was annoyed he'd been up all night; he looked haggard the more she watched him, and that was the last thing she needed. The trip to the colony would only take twenty minutes; that wasn't nearly enough time for him to catch up on sleep. She didn't talk to him or voice her complaint, though; she figured maybe he could take the opportunity to sleep in the taxi. After glancing at him continuously, though, it became apparent that that wouldn't be the case.

Sighing, she said, "Why don't you take a nap? It's thirty minutes to Oxon from here."

"I will sleep when the situation allows for it. At the moment I don't require it."

"The situation _does_ allow for it," Padmé insisted. "I need you to be alert when we get to CC4. Also, you're my pilot; it makes me just a little nervous that you'll be flying on no sleep whatsoever."

"My piloting skills won't be inhibited."

Padmé wanted to smack him. Would he stop arguing?! "Get. Some. Sleep."

Vader looked her in the eye. "I don't take orders from you, senator."

By this point she wasn't perturbed by his remark. She knew just how to counter it. "Friends take advice from other friends, milord."

"If the advice is sound, I should think."

"It _is_ sound, blast it!"

Vader leaned his head against the window, glancing out at the scenery. He was apparently too tired to continue the argument. Padmé took it as a small victory, but the man still wouldn't close his eyes. What could get through to him? She'd observed that showing concern for him seemed to baffle him, so maybe she could try that; she was genuinely worried about him, after all. He looked awful. Her concern, however, was still being masked by the overwhelming amount of irritation he was bringing out of her.

Sighing heavily, she tried to reign in her temper. Normally she was better at controlling her emotions, but lately he'd been bringing the best and worst out of her. Besides, she wanted to be genuine around him; that was what seemed to make an impression on him. The man was smart enough to detect when she was trying to play him; at least he was certainly giving that impression.

"Look," she said softly, facing him more fully. He remained still. "I'm just worried about you, okay? It's not healthy to put your body through that. You could get sick; don't you know your immune system practically crashes when you lose sleep?"

"That's an exaggeration." He noted very quietly. Then he closed his eyes, and Padmé dared to hope he would finally take a nap, but he only did so briefly, furrowing his brow before sitting straight and opening them once more. He looked far more awake all of a sudden.

Padmé was running out of ideas as to how to convince him. He kept dodging or deflecting her remarks, and suddenly she was feeling more tired than he looked. Giving up on the effort, she leaned back, closing her own eyes; she hadn't gotten much sleep, so she herself was pretty tired. She'd woken sufficiently on the boat trip; the summer morning air was cool and crisp, and the wind whipping in her face had been enough to make her fully awake and alert, but the sun had finally left the horizon, the summer heat was returning, and the taxi was just cozy and warm enough to make her sleepy again.

After slipping into a state of semi-consciousness for what seemed an eternity, Padmé eventually felt the taxi come to a stop. Opening her eyes, she watched Vader exit and grab his duffel bag from the cargo compartment. She followed suit and paid the driver, and then followed Vader into the spaceport.

She was still a little groggy, so their dealings in the spaceport were basically a blur to her. Vader led the way as they passed through the primary security checkpoint, and then he guided her through the large atrium towards some stairs. The spaceport was relatively quiet at this hour of the morning. After the two went to a lower level, Vader led her to a duracrete tunnel lined with advertisements and pictures. She remembered this hallway; there would be a lift at the end that would take them to the docks below.

The fresh scented air of the spaceport vanished and became steadily staler as they reached the lift. Once they arrived on the level where the ship was, the familiar unpleasant odors of a dock came in full force. Padmé swallowed, trying to ease the irritation in her nose and throat, as a particularly pungent stench of seared paint reached her nose.

Vader spoke to the dock official and the two stood and watched as the dock workers unplugged the cables that had been attached to the shuttle, refueling and recharging it. They then boarded. Padmé went straight to the bedroom, dropping her luggage off and returned to the lounge. She wondered if Vader would just stay in the cockpit for the duration of the trip.

Growing curious, Padmé slowly walked towards the cockpit area. It was separated from the rest of the ship by a short narrow corridor and a sealed door. She knocked at the door. It slid open, but no one was there. Confused, she stepped in and saw Vader sitting in the pilot's seat. He must have used the Force to open the door.

Padmé looked around the room; she'd never been in an Imperial diplomatic shuttle cockpit before. The front had large rectangular windows that were angled with the shape of the front of the ship. A large console was up against the front wall, and there were two seats on either side.

Vader hadn't acknowledged her at all so far. He was too busy glancing over different buttons and switches; pre-flight checks. He had to make sure everything was functioning. He was probably just ignoring her, but to be sure she wouldn't startle him, she cleared her throat. Vader continued to check different functions of the ship. Reaching to a console that hung over him, he flipped a switch and Padmé heard a low hum emit from behind her; he was activating the engines. Moving to the co-pilot's seat, she sat and strapped herself in. Vader didn't seem bothered by the action.

Vader reached over to a small screen, tapping some commands on it before pressing a button below it. "This is Shuttle 884 requesting permission to depart."

"Just a moment, Shuttle 884," the dock officer advised. "Got another ship coming out of the exit port."

Vader leaned back in his seat, placing his hands on his lap. Padmé mimicked him. He looked far more relaxed here than she'd ever seen him. His gaze was calm as usual, but it wasn't cold. His face was soft, his gaze clear, and his muscles relaxed. He felt at home here.

"You like ships, don't you?" she noted.

"I—"

"Neither like nor dislike ships, I know." Padmé finished for him. Watching him deny himself in such a way suddenly made him so sad; she pitied him. It was obvious he was comfortable here, but his stubborn mindset wouldn't allow him to acknowledge it… perhaps even to notice it. One could argue he was just lying to her, but whenever he spoke in such a manner it was the most genuine and honest moments of their conversations. He sincerely believed every word he said on that subject.

What in the blazes happened to him? She recalled that he'd said his training made him who he was, but… no, wait, he'd said his training had made him _what_ he was, not who he was. It seemed like a very minimal distinction, but Padmé was fairly certain he'd chosen his words very carefully.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the deck officer finally gave permission for them to leave. Vader fired up the engines even more and the ship slowly began to rise. Padmé felt the ground disappear beneath her and the ship began to rotate in place in order to face the exit. Vader piloted the ship into the exit port and it rose gracefully, the engines roaring even louder than before. Eventually the sunlight pierced through the windows, which tinted slightly in response. Readings and figures then appeared on the windows, indicating altitude, wind speed, temperature, and nearby objects. Vader reached to the console and pressed a button and the readings disappeared.

Padmé glanced at him a little worriedly. "Milord, shouldn't you turn those back on? They're meant to help and guide you."

"I don't need them," he replied, tilting the steering yoke back. The ship angled upward in response, and the engines went full throttle. The g forces shoved Padmé into her seat, and even if she'd tried to argue further about the figures, the engines were too loud for her to be heard. It was odd for them to be so noisy; most ships, especially ones that transported VIPs, had sound dampeners to avoid that.

The pale blue sky grew paler and thinner and black began to spill into view. The splotches grew larger until they finally tore out of the atmosphere, and the familiar view of space appeared. The sun was to their left and partly covered by Naboo, so the windows didn't tint too much further, and Vader quickly turned it away from that direction.

"Where's the navi-computer?" Padmé asked. "I can input the coordinates for you."

"They're already in there."

Well, she wouldn't fault him for being unprepared. It still made her feel useless, though.

It was at this point that Padmé suddenly realized how far she'd come. The last time the two had been on this shuttle together, she'd been hiding from him in the guest room. She didn't know if this was a good thing or a bad thing that she was so familiar with him now. She opted for thinking it a good thing; it was nice actually getting to know him, and she… well, she appreciated being around him more than she used to. Even if he was kriffing frustrating sometimes.

Vader activated the hyperdrive. The engines died down and the hyperdrive roared to life. They both watched the ship enter hyperspace.

"Everything's so loud," Padmé noted after she once again was deafened by the sound. "Are the sound dampeners on?"

"I deactivated them in the cockpit," Vader replied.

When he didn't elaborate, she asked, "Why?"

"Hearing the engines helps me notice if something's wrong."

Padmé chuckled. "I'm surprised you could hear anything at all. My ears are ringing."

"It's the little stuff that matters," Vader explained. Padmé was surprised that he bothered to continue the conversation; he was taking initiative. "The engines may be loud, but that's good; you _want_ them to be loud. If they get softer than they should, if the pitch is off, they could be malfunctioning. The sound they make tells you what's happening."

She smiled, marveling at his eagerness; he _really_ liked ships, whether he was aware of it or not. Maybe she could use that to help him open up a little more. "Can you give me an example?"

Vader paused, thinking it over. "Well, one time I was on a ship and the pitches didn't add up. One engine was higher in pitch than the other. They should match up; they need to be wired, toned, prepped, everything the same way. The portside engine was the higher one; I hadn't flown the ship before, so I wasn't sure if the portside was malfunctioning or the starboard side. I ran diagnostics, but everything came up fine. I landed the ship anyway and checked the engines. The portside engine was being overstimulated; one of the wires was faulty, so it was making the engine fire up slightly more than it should have. It wasn't enough to cause the ship to buck, and it didn't even affect the steering, but it was enough that I heard it, and it if it continued the engine would have burned out eventually."

"It was so minimal it didn't affect the steering, but you still heard it?" Padmé asked, impressed. "Blast, you _are_ a good pilot and mechanic. Imagine the life you could have led if you weren't an Imperial officer."

Vader was silent.

"What did decide what you would be?" Padmé asked. "I mean I know your family was high up in the Empire, but you could have been a fighter pilot or something."

"I was created to be Sith."

Padmé furrowed her brow. His wording was odd again. "Well, I suppose it does have to do with the fact that you're a Force user. But isn't that illegal in the Empire? I mean, anybody who can use the Force is executed. Why were you any different?"

A thought then suddenly occurred to her; had he been born before the Empire? If he was already a trained Force user, then maybe Palpatine had wanted to use him instead of waste his talents—but wait, his family was Imperial. Never mind.

Padmé eagerly waited for his answer, but Vader suddenly seemed reluctant to speak. She tried prompting him. "Was it because of your family's position?"

Vader nodded. Well at least she got a reply out of him. "So your family's position saved your life."

"My power determined my fate." Vader corrected. Then he seemed to realize what he had just said, and he quickly turned away. "You should get some rest; you looked tired. Go to your quarters."

Padmé snorted. "_I _look tired?"

"Go to your quarters."

She was tempted to tell him to do the same, but then she realized that the cockpit was his haven, and she was intruding upon it. Sighing, she complied, unstrapping herself and standing. "Very well, milord. Just try to take a short nap, okay?"

Vader said nothing, and she left. Going to the guest quarters, Padmé kicked off her boots and went to the refresher to properly prepare for the day.


	17. CC4

**Happy All Hallow's Eve and All Saint's Day! :D **

* * *

_The night sky was incredible. They were so far from any sort of unnatural light that the amount of stars in the sky was innumerable. Mists filled the sky as well, transforming it from its usual blackness to a matte painting of deep blue, pink, and purple. One single cloud, thin and tenuously hanging on to existence, floated lazily overhead, barely visible in the darkness. It was a rare occasion on this world for both moons to be missing from the sky—it only happened once every five years—but when it occurred, it gave way to one of the most beautiful pictures of the galaxy… and even galaxies beyond._

_Obi-Wan sighed in contentment, breathing in the fresh cool air. It was winter on this world, but the winters here were mild. This place was practically a vacation from the last world where he had been… where _they_ had been._

_Turning his head, he was dazzled by something even more beautiful than the sky. Siri lay beside him, gazing up at the stars in amazement. Her ocean blue eyes glistened as they reflected the lights from above, and her mouth was slightly ajar with a ghost of a smile gracing her lips as she stared in wonder. She couldn't take her eyes off the heavens, but he couldn't take his eyes off her._

"_I told you it was nice." Obi-Wan reinforced a statement he had said earlier in the day when Siri had been disbelieving of the nighttime view; the two had been working all day and were exhausted, and Siri hadn't originally been keen on losing sleep to stargazing._

_Siri was speechless._

_Honestly, Obi-Wan was just happy to see her in one piece. After their previous assignment to a world called Kerlin 7, anything was a breath of fresh air; there had been a plague on that world, and Siri had been exposed to it and placed under quarantine. Obi-Wan had been worried sick. She'd since been released, obviously, and they both were reassigned somewhere a little less life threatening. Siri claimed she was alright, but Obi-Wan was grateful for the new assignment, and he did everything in his power to ensure she was healthy, happy, and well rested._

_Siri's smile increased, and she whispered, "It… it makes you feel so small. It makes you feel like there's so much more out there than just the junk we see day in and out."_

_Obi-Wan glanced up at the sky once more. "Yes, I suppose it does."_

_The two remained silent for a time, enjoying the peacefulness of the setting. Obi-Wan could fall asleep right there, honestly._

"_Obi?"_

_Obi-Wan looked at Siri. "Yeah?"_

"…_Do you ever miss home?"_

_Obi-Wan raised his head a little, not expecting the question. Then he pondered it. Did he miss home? Well of course he did; he loved his family and wished they could all go to these worlds together. Padmé was too young, though; she was only eleven, after all. The Refugee Relief Movement saw some pretty grisly scenes sometimes, but they typically didn't arrive until after a situation had been handled, or they went to refugee centers rather than the action zone. The service corps, however… they were on the front lines. Padmé didn't need to be here. Sola, on the other hand… well, Obi-Wan wouldn't mind having Sola around. Before he'd met Siri, Sola had been his main companion; the two were roughly the same age, give or take a few months, and so they'd grown up looking out for each other and doing everything together. Sola had always enjoyed teasing Obi-Wan; she was very forward with her emotions and her expression of them, and she knew that made Obi-Wan uncomfortable, so she always used it to her advantage. Obi-Wan distinctly recalled one time just before he'd left for his first service tour when Sola had concocted some convoluted plan to get Obi-Wan and Siri to go to a dance together after Obi-Wan had admitted he thought Siri was pretty. It… hadn't ended well._

_Despite wanting to kill her that evening, though, the two had gotten passed it. And Obi-Wan did miss her._

"_Yes," he eventually answered._

"_I thought doing this would make me forget about Naboo," Siri sighed. "I thought I could run away from it."_

_Obi-Wan sat up, a little bemused. "Why would you want to run away from Naboo?"_

"_It's not you," Siri hastily diffused his concern with a gentle smile as if she'd read his mind. "It's just… the foster home where I grew up wasn't bad, but it's like… it's like a constant reminder that someone didn't want me. That _no one_ wanted me. I mean, I know you're not actually related to the Naberrie family, but at least they _adopted_ you. They _wanted_ you."_

_Obi-Wan watched her, uncertain. He wanted to reassure her somehow, but he wasn't sure what to do. He was never good at this part of conversations. So he just let her continue to speak; it was apparently what she wanted to do, anyway._

"_I just… wanted to get away. I didn't want to be alone." Siri looked away, a little embarrassed. Her voice shook slightly; Obi-Wan was fairly certain she was on the verge of tears, and he immediately became uncomfortable._

"_Siri…" he said, watching her. He wasn't sure what to follow up with, so he tentatively raised a hand before hesitating. Mom would have enveloped him in an enormous hug right now if he were the one crying, at which point he'd hastily get over his problem and say he was fine before breaking down once more. Mom was blasted good at making his emotions come out. He figured it was just a motherly talent. But he sure as heck wasn't a mother, and he was fairly certain Siri wouldn't want to be treated like a child, so that wasn't an option here. What would Dad do?_

_Honestly, Obi-Wan was fairly certain he'd never cried in front of his father. Well, scratch that idea, then._

_He'd cried in front of Sola once when they were doing RRM work together. They'd just relocated two children, but the children died shortly after. Both Sola and Obi-Wan had broken down, having bonded with them. Neither could really console the other, but Sola tried, to her credit. She had just held him and let him cry on her while she'd cried on him. They'd both been vulnerable, and they'd both given support; it hadn't seemed as bad since he wasn't the only one. Again, that wasn't the case here._

_Blast it, what was he supposed to do?_

_Siri let out a laugh, but it came out as mostly a sob. __"Obi, do me a favor."_

_Obi-Wan immediately sat up straighter, eager to try and help. "What is it?"_

"_Don't freak out."_

_Obi-Wan was about to ask what she meant when Siri turned to face him once more and engulfed him in a hug tight enough to squeeze the air out of his lungs. Obi-Wan tensed, not expecting the maneuver, and then he awkwardly sat there, letting her cry on him. Well, he supposed that was one way of handling the matter._

"_Now put your arms around me, moron," Siri's muffled voice said from his chest._

_Obi-Wan sighed. Yep, Siri was already feeling better. Hugging her hesitantly at first, he eventually found as much comfort in the gesture as she apparently did, and the two held each other tightly for what seemed an hour, sitting in the cool air under the starry sky._

_Eventually he felt Siri giggle, her breath tickling his neck as she pulled away just a hair. Tears were still pouring out of her eyes, which were puffy from all the crying (at least from what he could tell in the dim light). "Obi, you're hopeless."_

_Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, slightly annoyed. "How am _I_ the hopeless one? _You're_ the one crying."_

"_Because you're kriffing clueless."_

"_You shouldn't be swearing like that," Obi-Wan chastised, even more irritated by her remark. She knew how to get on his nerves, that was for sure. "It's rude—"_

_Obi-Wan was interrupted when Siri leaned forward once more, pressing her lips against his. Obi-Wan tensed immediately, feeling electricity flow through his veins. His heartbeat skyrocketed, his eyes widened, and his hands released their hold on Siri, frantically waving around for a few seconds before he began to return the gesture. This was awkward. This was _beyond_ awkward. But blast it, it was _amazing_ too, and the longer they kissed the more comfortable he became with it until they were practically all over each other._

_Eventually Obi-Wan broke the connection, allowing them both to lie on the grass beside each other. Siri snuggled in close to him, and he didn't push her away, but he didn't reinitiate anything, either. He was too busy gasping for air and trying to get a hold of himself._

"_What was that for?" he eventually asked._

_Siri suddenly groaned, sitting up. "What do you think, you big shaak? You think I just randomly kiss guys for the heck of it?"_

"_But—but you were crying before," Obi-Wan pointed out, growing confused._

"_Boys," Siri grumbled, rolling her eyes and standing._

_Obi-Wan was so lost._

"Obi?"

Obi-Wan opened his eyes, looking up. Siri was standing in front of him, some food in one hand and a cutting knife in the other. She had offered to make a meal for everyone since they hadn't eaten in a good number of hours. The lounge smelled of chopped vegetables, but judging from the ingredients in Siri's hand, it didn't look like she had cooked anything just yet.

Obi-Wan gave her a reassuring smile. "Yes?"

"You alright?"

"I'm fine," he replied.

"You'd better not still be brooding about the Jedi stuff." Siri remarked, waving the knife pointedly in his face. Obi-Wan inched further into the sofa; his wife was dangerous enough when she _wasn't_ armed.

"I'm not," he assured her. "Actually, I was thinking about our first kiss."

Siri relaxed, and a sly smile slowly crept across her face. "Mm, yeah, I remember that."

Obi-Wan blushed and looked away. He knew that look. "Don't forget you offered to make some food, Siri; I don't think it would be prudent to abandon that task."

Siri rolled her eyes. Or at least he imagined she did. "Al can make the food, you know."

Obi-Wan felt himself take a deep breath as if he'd run a kilometer, and he glanced at Siri. Just looking at her now was a temptation, and so he looked away once more.

"You've come a long way since then," Siri remarked, walking towards him slowly. "You catch cues a little better… most of the time, at least."

Obi-Wan crossed his arms. Throwing her a sour look, he said, "I appreciate the compliment, really."

Siri laughed, and he immediately relaxed once more, feeling his body tingle as she took another step towards him. "I can't help that you're overly sensitive."

"I wasn't the one randomly sobbing." Obi-Wan noted with a smile. Siri put the food and the knife down on the small table in front of the sofa and sat herself on Obi-Wan's lap, playing with his hair.

"I had a good reason to, you know," she whispered.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, and the two inched closer to each other. "Yes, I know."

"Hey, guys, how's the—oh, oh, uh…" Al said as he entered the lounge.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes. Siri was stiffer than a board, throwing a glare in Al's direction. Al was plastered against the wall, melting under her gaze, and Obi-Wan could see through his dark complexion that he was blushing furiously. His green eyes darted between the two of them and he hastily held his hands up in appeasement.

"Uh, sorry, I'll just—well, I'll go back to the cockpit—uh, yeah, and… is the food ready yet?"

The cutting knife went flying and Al hastily fled the lounge.

Obi-Wan sighed heavily. "Try not to kill him, dear."

Grabbing the knife irritably from where it landed, Siri snatched the food and stormed into the kitchenette.

Well, he supposed it was time to play peacemaker. Entering the cockpit first, he offered an apology and asked if Al was still intact. The Zabrak gave a hasty apology in return alongside a frantic complaint that Siri was completely insane sometimes. Obi-Wan laughed and agreed, but he assured Al that she'd never actually hurt him… too much.

"Yeah, that's what worries me," Al replied. "Let me know when it's safe to traverse my own ship again, okay?"

Obi-Wan acknowledged him and then walked to the kitchenette on the other side of the lounge. Siri was chopping madly at some vegetables, sending little bits of food flying all over the counter. He felt his gut clench and the room felt heavy, as if her anger were somehow sucking the air out of the vicinity. Sighing, he walked towards her and stood directly behind her. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he squeezed slightly in an attempt to calm her.

"I know," she muttered, knowing his intention. "I'm calm. Really."

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows, though he knew his wife wouldn't see the gesture. Still, she apparently expected it, and she once again said she was alright.

"It's just…" she sighed, putting the knife down. "It would be nice to forget about all this mess for a little while."

Obi-Wan smiled and positioned himself beside her. He took her hand in his and then offered the knife back to her. She'd been strong for him after what he'd learned from Adelig. Now it was his turn to return the favor. "Cooking is a good stress reliever, I hear. What shall we make?"

Siri took the knife with a smile and looked at the food. "I was thinking of some of that famous Naberrie stew. I don't make it as well as your mother, but we've got the ingredients for it."

Obi-Wan nodded. "I'll help, then."

The two worked in silence, not needing to say anything else. The smell of different vegetables became overpowering before Obi-Wan pulled out the available meat. Typically the stew was made with shaak meat, but that was only found on Naboo, so the next best thing was nerf meat; appropriate anyway, considering their destination. In the small amount of time it took to put the stew together both cooks had calmed considerably, and they stood together, content with their tasks and their situation. Despite the fact that the galaxy was practically crashing down around them, they still had each other, and in that moment, that was all that mattered.

* * *

Padmé glanced out the window. She'd left Vader alone the entire trip, but judging by how much time had passed, she was fairly certain they'd be arriving soon. She wasn't sure if she should go to Vader and see if he had actually slept a little or if she should just leave him be. She figured she _should_ check on him, honestly; Padmé highly doubted that Vader ever really had anyone show that much concern for him, and if she were in his situation she would certainly appreciate the company.

_If she were in his situation_.

Padmé stood abruptly, rattled. She'd never really put herself in his shoes; Siri's vehement hatred of him had rubbed off on her enough that she hadn't quite convinced herself that Vader was actually relatable. But Padmé had found a surprising amount in common between them; obviously their viewpoints concerning the galaxy were vastly different, but that wasn't surprising given his upbringing. And did he even really _have_ a viewpoint?

She needed to rectify that. No one deserved to be living as a droid; Vader _had_ to have some sort of opinion on _something_. She was certain. And she would find out what it was.

Well, that settled that, then.

Taking a deep breath, Padmé slowly exited the guest quarters of the shuttle and walked to the main lounge. The door leading to the cockpit was directly in front of her. Edging towards it, she wondered what she would say, how she would approach this. Honestly, she should be thinking about the situation to come, and she had given it some consideration in the time she'd been alone, but now she was just thinking about Vader.

She'd been doing that entirely _too much_ lately.

Entering the cockpit silently, Padmé crept towards the pilot's chair to see what Vader was doing. She shouldn't be sneaking up on him like this, but she was genuinely curious to see what he'd be doing when he was alone.

Vader was curled up on the seat, barely taking any space. His head was crammed against the armrest, his arms tucked in. It didn't look very comfortable, but he was out cold. He gave a slight shiver, and Padmé suddenly registered how chilly it was in the cockpit. Quickly going to the guest quarters, she grabbed a blanket and returned to the cockpit, hoping she hadn't awoken him. Thankfully, Vader was still asleep upon her return, and she placed the blanket over him, barely touching him to ensure he wouldn't notice her.

Sitting in the co-pilot's seat, Padmé watched Vader for a little while. This was only the second time she'd seen him asleep, but she noted he still had the same childlike look to his face. How old was he, anyway? She'd never really bothered asking, which made her feel a little guilty.

One of the consoles beeped, signaling their imminent exit from hyperspace. Vader jumped slightly, sniffling and rubbing his eyes with one hand. He hadn't noticed she was there yet. Padmé remained silent.

Stretching his legs, Vader squeezed his eyes shut as he no doubt pushed passed whatever stiffness had arisen in the short duration of his nap, and then he abruptly opened them, leaping to his feet. The gesture startled Padmé, even more so when she realized he was looking right at her. He was probably waiting for some sort of explanation, and she'd obviously caught him off guard. Despite her own sudden fear, though, the irony of the situation was not lost on her, and she remarked, "Not so fun when _you're_ the one waking up to see somebody watching you, is it?"

Vader went white as a sheet.

"It's okay," Padmé said in a reassuring tone, a little caught off guard by his reaction. "I was just joking. Though I'm glad you got to be scared; maybe that will teach you the lesson Grand Moff Tarkin apparently couldn't."

Vader's face immediately grew stone cold, and his eyes pierced through her like swords. "I don't need teaching from you."

Padmé heard the challenge in his tone, and she stood, accepting it. "If that were the case, then I wouldn't have to point out your rudeness from earlier, now would I?"

Vader was about to reply when he suddenly looked at his feet, apparently remembering the blanket, which had since fallen. Then he glanced at her again, as if asking if she'd put it there. Padmé nodded. She didn't bother saying anything; based on their interactions over the past week she'd learned that he spoke few words and appreciated few in return.

Vader's face immediately softened, and he watched her with curiosity and confusion. Stooping down, he picked up the blanket, glancing at it, and then at her. She wasn't sure if her response or her action had merited his behavior, but she simply sat in the co-pilot's chair once more.

Eventually the silence endured too long for her liking, and so she explained. "You were shivering. I just… wanted to help."

"Help?" he repeated, his eyes locked with hers.

Padmé sighed. She really did have to explain everything, didn't she? Did Vader know nothing about the decency that sentient beings were capable of? Did he know nothing of kindness?

In that moment Padmé wanted nothing more than to take him by the hand, guide him to a bed, and just let him sleep. She wanted to look after him, to just change the circumstances so that they were only in hyperspace for the sake of a vacation instead of a mission. She felt like they'd reached new ground between the two of them, like if they had more time on Varykino they could learn all sorts of new things about each other now, open new doors. But they didn't have that time at the moment. Now they had to worry about CC4. Still, they had an entire week before the final recess was over.

The sound of the hyperdrive grew quieter and the engines roared to life as they exited hyperspace. Vader immediately sat in the pilot's chair, strapping in and grabbing the controls. Padmé also strapped in, watching him work. He referenced some information on a few screens and then brought up a hologram of the moon where the colony was situated.

The moon was relatively small, orbiting a gas giant, and its climate was fairly moderate; it tended to have long cold winters and cool summers, and its atmosphere contained standard amounts of oxygen. Despite being called Chommell Colony 4, as if it were only one establishment, the colony had multiple sites along the only continent on the moon; its main purpose was to mine for a special mineral found there. The colony had no air defenses and no station orbiting it; Vader contacted the main colony's ground control directly. Once he obtained permission to land, he guided the ship into the atmosphere. As soon as they passed through the cloud line, Padmé caught sight of the main colony; most of the infrastructure of the standardized buildings was destroyed; rooves were collapsed, stations and equipment were buried in rubble. Everything looked so small and fragile from the air. The colony looked like a large scar in the valley where it sat, surrounded by the blazing colors of the autumnal forest.

A single landing pad was cleared of wreckage, allowing Vader to land the shuttle. As soon as they had touched the ground, Padmé was on her feet. She had noticed Iena's approach as Vader had piloted the ship, so she immediately ran to the landing ramp.

Opening the ramp, Padmé caught sight of Iena. The woman was a middle aged Human female, standing at about Padmé's height. She had tan skin, small brown eyes, a pointed nose, a minute scar from a service corps assignment from long ago, and grey hairs shining in the bun in which she always had her black hair. Her appearance was more disheveled than Padmé was used to, and her clothing was slightly torn and dirty.

"I brought some supplies," Padmé immediately said to reassure her.

Iena allowed herself a small smile of relief. "Thank heaven for small favors. I hope you brought some reinforcements, too."

Padmé immediately whispered, "Not the kind you hoped for, but yes. Just… don't mention that now."

Iena caught her meaning, and she nodded, though Padmé was fairly sure she wasn't expecting to see Darth Vader come down the landing ramp. Still, barely anyone knew of his appearance outside of people in the military, so when he did arrive on the landing ramp, Iena only offered a smile.

"Thank you for coming," she said to them both as Vader joined Padmé. "I'm sure you can tell now just how dire the situation is."

"What's the status on Rekk?" Padmé immediately asked as soon as Iena ordered people to get the supplies off the shuttle. "Have you heard from his kidnappers recently?"

"As recently as last night," Iena answered. "They're saying they'll kill him if they don't get the ransom by nine."

Padmé immediately referenced her chronometer to see what the local time was; it was eight in the morning. She immediately felt her adrenaline increase. "That doesn't give us much time. Do you have any idea where these people are? How much are they demanding?"

Vader interrupted Iena's answer. "You said the colony couldn't house the survivors anymore, but the slaves were preventing you from leaving. There's no gang here, and you have a landing pad."

"All the local ships were destroyed in the quake." Iena answered. "Our own ships were destroyed by the slaves."

"How did they destroy your ships? Why didn't they take over this site?" Vader asked.

"We landed at all three colony sites," Iena replied. "All our pilots were called to the secondary site after dropping us off, though; said they needed extra supplies and help. The slaves destroyed them there; that's where they rebelled originally. We haven't been able to make contact with anyone at that site since the ships left.

The ransom is one million credits, and all we know is that Rep. Svoule is probably in the secondary colony. We lost contact with the tertiary site yesterday. I don't know if the rebellion is spreading or if the group just moved sites."

Padmé nodded. "So we've got our work cut out for us. Did they provide an exchange location for the money?"

"They provided coordinates, but the coordinates lead to a canyon just outside of the secondary site. It was formed along the fault line of the quake. It's unstable." Iena said, pulling up a hologram of the location. "And it's a perfect spot for an ambush."

"Yes, it is," Vader intoned. "Can any of your people use blasters?"

Iena barked out a laugh. "I might have one or two people from the countryside of Naboo who can use a rifle, but I can't make any guarantees. We're relief workers, not soldiers."

"That leaves you and me, then." Vader surmised, glancing at Padmé. "We should head out now."

Padmé looked at him, curious and a little startled. "I need time to amass the money."

"We're not negotiating."

"Look, I'm in charge of this mission," Padmé argued, facing him fully. "We're not killing anyone if we don't have to."

"They've already forfeited their lives." Vader replied, and his tone grew heavy and deep. "As soon as they opened fire on Imperial soldiers they declared themselves traitors."

"We're doing this _my_ way," Padmé said firmly, lowering her voice almost to a growl. She wasn't going to back down from this; despite her growing feelings towards Vader, she wasn't going to stand by and watch him slaughter people. "I'm getting the money together, we're going to the coordinates—we can even get there early to stake out the place—and I'm going to _try_ to make a deal with them. If the negotiations fail… well, then we can try alternatives."

"My form of negotiating is far simpler," Vader said, though his tone held less of a bite to it. Apparently he didn't find the argument worth too much effort.

Padmé raised an eyebrow. "You have a form of negotiating?"

"Aggressive negotiations."

_Oh brother._ Facing Iena, who had been watching the exchange with a mix of curiosity and concern, Padmé held out her hand. "Give me the coordinates. We'll head out as soon as I can get the funds ready."

"Padmé, one million is a lot, even for you," Iena said as she gave Padmé the data file with the coordinates and a map. "Are you sure you can get that kind of funding in time?"

Padmé nodded. "Don't worry. One way or another, we'll sort this out."

Iena thanked her again and then began to organize all the supplies Vader had brought. It was a surprising amount, and Padmé glanced at Vader with a raised eyebrow. "Speaking of funds, how did you pay for all those supplies?"

Vader shrugged. "The governor."

"Tarkin knows about this?" Padmé asked, startled. Just how much had Vader been telling Tarkin?

Vader shook his head. Padmé gaped at him.

"You _stole_ his money?"

Again, Vader shook his head.

Padmé grew confused. "Wait, so you used Governor Tarkin's money to pay for the supplies without his knowledge, but that's not stealing?"

Vader shrugged. "It's not the first time I've done it."

Tarkin was either an idiot or had the patience of a saint with this guy. In either case, although it was a baffling situation, it wasn't the biggest problem on her mind right now. Padmé shook her head and glanced at the data chip that held the coordinates and map. Pulling out a small holoprojector that fit snugly in the center of her palm, she inserted the chip and watched the holographic map come to life. The meeting site was halfway between sites one and two; judging from the distance it would take about twenty minutes by swoop bike, assuming any were available. If they had to walk it would take twice the amount of time.

Vader obviously came to the same conclusion as he glanced at the map. "I'll find some speeders. If you wish to get money together, then be finished with the task before I return."

Padmé acknowledged him and watched him walk off the ramp. Sighing, she reentered the ship, accessing HoloNet in the guest quarters. She hastily inserted an ID chip and allowed the console to scan her hand, and then she accessed her banking account. Being on a senatorial payroll did have its perks, and while it would significantly dig into her account, she could pull out a million credits if necessary. Transferring it onto a blank data chip, she exited the ship once more. Vader was already there with two swoop bikes.

"I didn't think they'd have any that weren't damaged," Padmé remarked, surprised.

"They were damaged. I fixed them."

"That was awfully fast," she noted as she descended the ramp. When she reached for the nearest bike, Vader tapped the other one to get her attention.

"Use this one," he advised. "Neither is in perfect shape at the moment; I didn't have much to work with. This one will kick less."

Padmé grew a little nervous. "Kick _less_ or not kick at all?"

Vader shrugged. Well _that_ was reassuring.

Sighing, Padmé placed the money chip in a pouch on her utility belt. She inserted the mapping chip into a receiver on the front of the swoop bike, and immediately coordinates appeared in holographic form just above the handles. Sitting on the bike, Padmé was about to turn it on when the data chip floated out of its slot and into the other bike's navigation console. She knew at this point that it was Vader, and she shot him an inquisitive look. Was he so insistent on leading this?

"I'll take us via an alternative route." He said.

"What alternative?"

"It'll take us to the edge of the canyon. We'll go on foot from there; that will allow us more scouting time."

She found no reason to argue with him. His caution was merited considering the situation, so she simply nodded in agreement. Vader activated his bike, Padmé followed suit, and then the two slowly guided the speeders through the rubble ridden streets, maneuvering around people. Once they reached the edge of the colony site, Vader gunned the engines, immediately shooting ahead. Padmé did so as well, though not as abruptly; she wasn't a huge fan of swoop bikes, having only piloted them once or twice in her life… not that she was going to admit that to Vader. After all, she knew he would _not_ want to share a bike with her.

Padmé gasped as the two flew into the forest. Since it was autumn here, the air was crisp and cool, and the wind immediately bit into her; she _really_ should have worn her white shawl. The trees were thankfully pretty spread apart, though the groundquake had caused quite a few of them to fall, so she constantly slowed the bike to maneuver around them. Vader, on the other hand, didn't lose a second; he had already rushed so far ahead she could only hear his engine. She began to grow a little concerned; since he had the map he would be fine, but if he left her eating his dust the situation wouldn't be so good for her.

Padmé increased the bike's speed a little when she noticed the path was relatively clear for a while. She continued to glance around, looking out for debris and for any rogue who might want to take advantage of a lone traveler in a large unprotected area. Eventually, the sound of a swoop bike became louder before she caught sight of a blur passing her in the distance before turning around and coming up alongside her.

It was Vader. He glanced at her before returning his gaze ahead. "Why are you taking so long?"

Padmé rolled her eyes, and yelled over the wind, "Oh, just trying to not get myself killed, is all. Sorry that leaves you impatient."

"We need to get there in plenty of time."

"If you make me drive any faster I won't be getting there at all." Padmé argued.

"That's not an option." Vader shook his head. "Hop over."

Padmé felt adrenaline surge through her blood. _"What?"_

"Jump over here."

"Are you insane?!" she yelled, continuously moving her gaze from the path ahead to the lunatic pilot beside her.

"As soon as you get off the bike it will begin to slow; nothing's in the direct path. It will stop moving by the time any obstacles arrive."

"You're worried about the _bike_?!" Padmé snapped. "I was worrying about _myself_!"

"You're strong; you'll be fine." Vader replied, and then Padmé screamed as she felt herself get yanked out of the bike and hovered right above his. She grabbed his shoulders, and as soon as she did, she dropped roughly onto the seat with a groan. Her arms wrapped around him in a hasty attempt to prevent herself from falling off the back of the bike.

"By the Force, I'm going to kill you!" Padmé shouted.

Vader ignored her. Revving the engine, he doubled their speed to the point where Padmé could barely keep up with what was coming. Swoop bikes were designed with the relatively slow reflexes of Humans in mind, but he was somehow managing to push this bike beyond that safe speed. She was going to point out to him that dying was not on her agenda for the day, but considering how many times he'd saved her hide over the course of their vacation, she really didn't have a right to complain.

It was odd holding him now. After so many days of avoiding any sort of contact with him for his own comfort's sake, it was a foreign notion to think that she could wrap her arms around him like this. Of course it was solely for the purpose of _not_ dying, and she was fairly certain he knew that as well, but it was still weird. She felt his back rise and fall slightly as he breathed slowly, and she couldn't help but cling a little closer simply for the sake of warmth and protection against the harsh wind.

Eventually the bike began to slow down, and they stopped. The view hadn't changed much; they were still surrounded by trees on all sides, and dead brown leaves were beneath them, mixed in with orange, red, and yellow leaves that had fallen recently. There were still enough leaves in the trees to block out most of the clear blue sky, and whenever the wind blew it rained autumnal colors. The forest was beautiful.

Vader stood, pulling away from Padmé's hold (which honestly she'd forgotten she'd been clinging to him at this point). He removed the navigation chip and put it in a holoprojector, studying the image. Padmé stood, rubbing her arms a little both in an attempt to warm herself and to ease the soreness from holding him so firmly.

"How far are we from the meet?" she asked.

"Ten minute walk." Vader answered, turning off the projector. "Two minutes to get there and approximately eight minutes to reach the bottom of the canyon."

"Oh, lovely, we get to climb down," Padmé muttered. Pushing her annoyance aside, she walked towards him. "Do you suspect an ambush?"

Vader raised an eyebrow. "You don't?"

"I… figure there might be trouble." Padmé sighed. "That doesn't mean I'm not going to hope for the best and try to find a peaceful resolution."

"Peace is a lie." Vader immediately said. "You'll never find a peaceful resolution."

Padmé felt her ire rise again. "You have no faith in anyone, do you? People aren't all evil, you know. Peace can be attained; it just takes work."

"Life is a struggle for dominance." Vader replied as he began to walk.

Padmé sighed heavily. "Your parents have serious issues if that's what they taught you."

"You think it to be false?"

"Of _course_ it's false."

"Then why do the Rebels exist? Why are these slaves rebelling? Why is there any conflict?"

Padmé shook her head, walking alongside him. "People are flawed, milord. They have anger, greed, lust, envy, pride… _those_ are what cause conflict. It's not always a struggle for dominance."

"You're blinding yourself," Vader said. "All of those emotions _do _lead to dominance or the desire for it. Greed is another way of saying you want to have more than others. Lust is saying you want to own others. Envy means your greed is not being satisfied; someone has more than you, they have something you want. Pride is the same as greed, except it's a desire or a belief of superiority in all ways, not just in possessions."

"And anger?" Padmé questioned.

Vader was silent.

"For someone who understands emotions so well, you don't show them." Padmé noted. "When we were back on Naboo you denied ever feeling anything. How could you know of any of this stuff if you haven't felt it?"

It wasn't as if he'd never felt the emotions; he was Human like her. Still, she wanted him to _say_ that. His lack of _anything_ always bothered her more than anything else, even his poisonous words about peace and love. Those words felt repeated, forced; his lack of emotion felt like something else, though she couldn't put her finger on what it was.

"Observations are sufficient."

Padmé sighed heavily. "You're saying you've _never_ felt anything like that? Why can't you explain anger?"

Vader bit his lip, looking at his feet as he walked. Another breeze blew, and leaves rained down all around them. "Anger is… a response to some sort of denial, I suppose."

"What makes you say that?" Padmé asked.

"I've seen it in the military. Officers grow angry when they're denied a victory, when something goes wrong. It serves them well; it's a good fuel, a good motivator."

"Let me guess," Padmé stated. "You've never felt anger?"

Vader immediately paused, looking more uncertain than ever. "I… I've never been denied anything. I don't understand why he… I don't…"

Padmé watched him, confused and very curious at the same time. What was he talking about? She'd obviously stumbled into a deeper problem here. "Who's he?"

Vader's eyes locked with hers, and then he began to walk once more. "No one. We should start focusing on the task at hand; the enemy might be nearby."

Padmé didn't argue that he was changing the subject, though she did want to get one final word in. "It's not dominance, you know. It's selfishness. That's what drives most of the horrors of this universe. It's not that people want to show their superiority over others; it's simply that people don't _care_ about others."

Vader said nothing, though whether it was because he was considering her words, ignoring them, or focusing on the mission was beyond her. In either case, she at least felt better having said it. Now she focused on the task at hand as well. Though she did have to amend his words… "They're not _the enemy_, you know. They were former slaves; you can't blame them for wanting to get out of here, even if I don't condone the actions they took."

"They are the enemy."

Padmé sighed. "Not everything is black and white, milord. Absolutes mostly apply to _actions_, not people. There's a lot of grey area in the galaxy, in _beings._ People aren't born good or evil, you know. Everyone has good and bad elements to them… even you and me."

Vader looked at her, pausing. "It doesn't matter if they were born good or evil. It doesn't even matter that they were or still are slaves. They attacked Imperials. They took a hostage. They're the enemy now. You cannot negotiate with them."

"Don't tell me what I can and cannot do." Padmé said firmly. "If I can resolve this peacefully, I will."

Vader shook his head and resumed his walk. The two trekked in silence until they reached the canyon. It tore into the mountain and the valley below, though thankfully it didn't go too deep. Roots and fallen trees stuck out of the sides like splinters, and sharp sheared rocks were everywhere.

"How do you propose we get down there?" Padmé asked.

Vader held up a hand, searching the canyon. Padmé grew silent and followed his gaze. She didn't see anything, but that didn't necessarily mean nothing was wrong; she'd figured out by this point that Vader's Force abilities allowed him to sense people nearby. She allowed him to slowly prowl along the perimeter of the canyon. She reached her hand to her side where her blaster pistol was holstered; again, she wanted to resolve this peacefully, but she wasn't so naïve as to not expect some underhanded tactics. These were desperate people they were dealing with, after all. She wanted to help them, though; she'd happily give them the money if it meant they'd have a chance to get off the colony and go somewhere where they _could_ live in peace without hurting anyone else or being enslaved once more. She just hoped Rekk was alright.

Darth Vader carefully began to climb down some rocks. Padmé followed him. She watched her steps, but occasionally she would slip, letting out a small gasp before regaining her footing. Vader was far ahead, constantly searching the scenery with every step he took. Both were silent until they were almost at the bottom.

"They have one scout to the north, but we're not in his line of sight yet," Vader whispered, crouching low. "We'll wait here until nine. Then you walk ahead and do whatever you please. I'll handle the rest."

"You're not handling anything until I say so," Padmé whispered harshly; she had to make sure he wasn't going to kill anyone. "Whether you call them the enemy or not, _I_ invited _you_ into this operation; this is _my_ mission. I'm in charge."

Surely he could at least understand military logic. His mouth formed a tight, thin line, and his jaw clenched; judging from his expression, he understood her meaning, but he didn't like it.

"Angry yet?" she asked with a half-smile.

Vader shook his head. "I've no reason to be. You're simply being illogical."

"I'm not the one with mood swings and major emotional issues," Padmé muttered, gazing out at the scenery once more. Vader either didn't hear her or, more likely, didn't bother replying.

The two sat there in silence for what seemed an eternity. Padmé continued to reference her chronometer and then she would go over the scenario once more in her mind. She hoped and prayed that the slaves wouldn't try anything; Vader seemed to be acquiescent for now after her argument, but she wasn't sure how long that would last.

After referencing her chronometer for what seemed the millionth time, Padmé realized it was five minutes to nine. She glanced at Vader, who had been motionless ever since his last statement. His eyes were alert and sharp, and he seemed to disappear into the shadows. Padmé felt a shiver run down her spine; this was the killer people were used to seeing. After dealing with him under different circumstances for so long she'd almost forgotten that this was his typical routine. He looked terrifying, foreboding, and threatening… and she knew he was quite capable of turning all of that on her.

But would he? She'd like to think they'd at least established some sort of decent rapport between each other by now.

Padmé shook her head. Now wasn't the time to be thinking about this. She had to step out into the open and start talking.

Standing, Padmé took a deep breath and entered the sunlight. There was a large group of people waiting there. They were dressed similarly, in dirty and torn up clothes with slave collars around their necks, some chipped, others half broken, but all deactivated. They were armed to the teeth; it looked like they had stolen as much Imperial arsenal as they could get their hands on. Rekk was there, too; he stood in the center of the group, his hands bound. He looked a little rough, with some bruises and cuts on his face, but he was at least relatively in one piece. He smiled when he noticed Padmé.

"Fancy seeing you here," he said in a shaky voice. Padmé felt so sorry for him; Rekk had learned to deal with discrimination and hatred from Imperials, but he'd never been in a situation like this. He was terrified, though he was trying his best to hide it. Honestly, Padmé was pretty nervous, too; this was her first hostage situation, after all. She'd dealt with thugs and life threatening situations, but never with an innocent life in the balance.

Padmé did her best to give Rekk a reassuring smile. "I get around." Then she looked at the man who was apparently the leader; he stood in front of everyone else and was the most heavily armed. Holding up the data chip for him to see, she said, "I have your money."

"Hand it over." The man demanded, holding out his hand.

Padmé tensed. This had to be an even and simultaneous exchange. "Bring Rekk over here."

"You're not getting him until I have that money in my hands." The man replied harshly, grabbing his blaster with both hands.

"Just bring Rekk forward." Padmé said. "I'll give you the money at the same time. Okay?"

The man looked disagreeable, but he grabbed Rekk roughly by the arm and shoved him forward. Rekk stumbled and fell flat on his face with a grunt. Padmé walked towards him, keeping her eyes on the leader. "What are you going to do with this money?"

"That's none of your karking business, woman." The man answered.

Padmé ignored the vulgar language. "I understand why you're angry; I wouldn't want to remain a slave either if I had the chance."

"Don't you _dare_ assume you know how we feel!" the leader yelled, cocking his blaster. "You karking bloodsuckers lounge in the senate, and we're nothing more than your _property_!"

"You think I agree with slavery?" Padmé suddenly snapped before calming herself quickly; the last thing she needed to do was make this escalate. "If I were to go against the Empire about this, I would be executed or enslaved myself. I do what I can… like what I'm doing now. I'm giving you the money. Take it and use it to get out of here, away from Imperial forces, away from everything."

"You don't know anything!" the leader rebutted, somehow growing even more enraged despite Padmé's appeasing words. Padmé began to grow even more nervous; this man wasn't listening to reason, and it was never a good combination to have an irrational person holding a weapon.

"I'm giving you the money," Padmé tried again, holding out the data chip, but the leader was too enraged now.

"You know how long we were stuck here? While you sat in your precious senate building? We've been here for _years_ while—"

A red light suddenly emitted and pierced through the leader's chest, making everyone jump. Some of the slaves screamed. Padmé recognized it as Vader's blade; she didn't have time to think, so she immediately dropped to the ground and shoved Rekk, who had been attempting to stand up, back to the ground as well.

Chaos erupted. Slaves fired in random directions, trying to figure out what in the blazes was going on. Some were panicked, some were angry, but most were too inexperienced with blasters to even know where to start firing. Padmé took the opportunity to drag Rekk out of harm's way, but her movement caught their attention, and they began to fire on her as well. Immediately pulling out her pistol, she fired three times, managing to hit the shoulder of one slave and spooking another by hitting around his feet. Thankfully some cover was close by, and she and Rekk managed to dive behind some rocks shortly before more blaster fire erupted near them.

"What was _that_?" Rekk gasped as he ducked behind the rocks.

"Stay here," Padmé ordered, crawling closer to the action once more. She peeked over a rock and aimed at the nearest slave, firing. She missed initially, but she got him in the arm on the next shot. Her goal was to incapacitate these people rather than kill them, and the sooner she did that the sooner Vader would stop attacking. She didn't have much time, though; the Sith Lord had already dispensed with almost half the group.

Swearing under her breath, Padmé aimed for another slave and got her in the leg, making her collapse. Just as she was about to aim at another slave, her new target began to grasp his neck feebly, emitting choking sounds. By now there were only about four or five slaves left, three of whom were injured by Padmé. Watching in horror, Padmé looked desperately for Vader, trying to stop him. A loud crack was heard, and the slave fell to the ground, limp. Padmé felt sick.

Standing, she yelled, "Stop it!"

The three remaining slaves were all on the ground, cringing, sobbing, or pleading… or all three. Padmé rushed over to them, kicking the blasters away from them, and then she holstered her own weapon. She heard the sound of someone jumping and landing, and she turned her head wildly to find the source. Eventually she caught sight of Darth Vader.

"I told you to _not_ attack them!" she shouted at him, enraged.

Vader placed his lightsaber hilt, which was already deactivated, back onto his belt. "You couldn't talk any reason to that man."

"Did that merit an attack on all of them?" she snapped.

"They would have killed you if that idiot had ordered them to." Vader replied calmly. His unshakable resolve was beginning to really grate on Padmé's nerves… and terrify her. Even Siri, the fiercest fighter of the Naberrie clan, typically showed some sort of distaste or _reaction_ after killing someone. Siri loved to fight, but she didn't like to kill. Vader, though… he didn't like to kill either, but… blast it all it just _bothered_ her that nothing affected him.

Nevertheless, despite how horribly things had gone, Vader was correct: the other slaves would have opened fire if ordered. Honestly, what struck her now was the fact that Vader actually _listened_; he stopped when she told him to. She supposed she should at least acknowledge that.

"Thank you for stopping," she remarked quietly before quickly looking away. Despite her gratitude, she was still angry at him and didn't want to forgive him for his actions just yet. Yes, the leader was getting irrational, but she might have been able to diffuse the situation. They'd never know that now.

"We should eliminate the remainder at the secondary and tertiary colonies." Vader said, turning to leave. "Do what you will with these survivors."

"No, you're not killing any more people!" Padmé ran to stand in his way. "Just let me deal with this!"

"Just like you dealt with the leader?"

Padmé was tempted to smack him. "You have _no idea_ how that conversation would have ended if you hadn't interrupted it!"

"P-please…" Rekk stammered from behind the rocks. "He was g-going to kill you, Padmé… just listen to the guy…"

Padmé sighed heavily, closing her eyes. This was a nightmare. "Just… let me deal with the remaining slaves, okay? Can you do that for me?"

"What do you propose?" Vader asked, crossing his arms and watching her intently.

"I'm going to tell them the truth," Padmé replied. "I'm going to say their leader is dead, and if they fight, there will be a very eager killer waiting to slice them to pieces. Not much else I _can_ do at this point. _But_, if they surrender, you're not to lay a finger on them."

"They'll be processed as is protocol."

"They'll be _executed_, you mean," Padmé snapped. "No. They're under my protection. They're going with the other refugees. That's the deal."

"You have no legal authority to do so," Vader reminded her.

"I… I do." Rekk timidly said as he shakily got to his feet. "These slaves are property of the colony, which I represent. Seeing as m-most of the citizens are d-dead… then the ownership falls to me."

Padmé gave Rekk a look of gratitude. Despite his terror he was still trying to do the right thing, even though these people had held him hostage.

"Very well," Vader acknowledged. "But only if they surrender."

"W-we'll surrender!" one of the slaves immediately said. "We'll tell the others; I promise, we'll all surrender!"

Padmé understood their fear, but even she was suspicious of such an offer. "I should go with you."

"Let them go," Vader shook his head and the eyed the slaves. "If you're not at the primary colony surrendering by noon I'll blow your strongholds up with my shuttle."

The slaves nodded fervently and limped away as quickly as possible. Padmé sighed again. Vader held out the map chip to her. "Take the representative back to the colony. I'll follow."

Padmé grabbed the chip wordlessly and walked back to Rekk, helping him to the edge of the canyon. The two climbed silently until they reached the top. Padmé did her best to find the swoop bike where they had left it; it was rather easy to get lost in this forest. Eventually they discovered it and she climbed on, letting Rekk sit behind her.

"Thank you," he whispered as he sat. "I wasn't sure if anyone would bother coming."

"I'll always come," Padmé replied.

"Who's your… uh, helper?"

Padmé chuckled at his term. "You didn't know him?"

"I've never seen the weapon he uses, but I figured maybe he was a mercenary?"

Padmé looked around, but Vader was nowhere in sight. "No. He's an Imperial. That's basically all you need to know."

"Well…" Rekk sighed, holding on to Padmé as she started the engine. "I know things didn't end well, but he did save both our lives. That slave was completely insane, Padmé. He wanted to kill everybody, even the relief workers."

"What he wanted was justice and freedom," Padmé said sadly. "He just went about it the wrong way."

"I wouldn't call that justice," Rekk shook his head. "Sounded more like revenge to me."

Padmé said nothing. She couldn't argue the point, honestly. She'd just been optimistic. There was no sense in lying to herself anymore; she still wasn't sure if she would have been able to diffuse the situation or not, but she still would have preferred to try rather than assume the leader was going to fire. That might have gotten her killed, though. She wasn't sure. She didn't know anymore.

Turning the swoop bike around, Padmé flew it back towards the primary colony… at a very slow pace after realizing that it bucked quite a bit, as Vader had previously mentioned.

* * *

Tarkin sat in his quarters, poring over new information from Intelligence. He'd made his report to Palpatine yesterday, who had received it with curiosity, but not really concern. Apparently he was under the impression that it would soon be rectified. Tarkin was of a similar disposition, but he was still a little nervous; he didn't want to wait a week for Vader to return. The Jedi could do too much damage in that time. Besides, they still barely knew anything about the guy. Intelligence was searching the archives to find an ID that matched their new nemesis.

Gazing at his holoprojector on his desk, Tarkin debated whether he should shorten Vader's time on Naboo. Obviously he couldn't give Vader false orders; he'd still have to admit that Palpatine hadn't changed the parameters of the mission. But blast it, it had been a week; surely Vader had been able to establish a rapport of some sort by now.

Oh, who he was he kidding? Vader didn't even know what it meant for someone to like someone else. How in the blazes could he actually _accomplish_ it? Tarkin would get no help from Vader; if they were both lucky Vader would barely scrape by with his mission, enough to gain Palpatine's approval and kill off Amidala.

Back to the matter of the Jedi, though, there was no way Tarkin could wait a week to act. He'd already sent three fleets to search the area and eliminate the threat.

Tarkin's comlink chimed, and he activated it. "This is Grand Moff Tarkin."

"Governor, we've just found a match for the Jedi. Rahm Kota. He was a general back in the war. Didn't approve of clones, so he assembled his own militia; apparently they stuck by him all these years."

Rahm Kota? Tarkin didn't recall the name. Not that that mattered, but at least it meant he hadn't been in any of the larger battles of the war, so maybe he was inexperienced. Tarkin doubted it, though. He was grasping at tenuous bits of hope that were not helpful in the slightest at this point. "Anything else you can tell me at the moment?"

"No, sir. We've heard nothing from the fleets, either; they haven't made contact yet."

So it was a waiting game, then. "Very well. Inform me the moment you hear something."

"Yes, governor."

Tarkin deactivated his comlink and sighed, looking outside at the dull morning. He typically didn't mind waiting, but he preferred having more information. He supposed he'd have to settle for what little he had. In the meantime, he could attempt to stop worrying at the New Year's party tonight.

Suddenly, his comlink chimed again just as he grabbed some caffa. When he answered it, though, it wasn't Intelligence. "Governor Tarkin, I bid you a pleasant morning. My name is Khopak, with the Galactic United Bank. As you know, the security of your accounts are our highest priority, and I just wanted to ensure that your most recent expenditures were sanctioned by you."

Tarkin stared at the comlink, completely baffled. After everything that had been going on lately, this was the _last_ call he'd been expecting. Sipping his drink, he said, "Go on."

"We have on file that you spent 10,178 credits in Oxon City between the local time hours of one and four in the morning."

Tarkin nearly spat out the caffa. "How much?!"

"10,178 Imperial credits, governor. So you didn't spend this?"

Who the blazes would spend that much money with his account? How did they get his account? And why were they buying stuff at such ridiculous hours in the morning? What in the blazes could they have bought that cost so much?!

Wait.

"What was purchased?" Tarkin asked.

"Emergency medical packs, packaged meals, tool kits, camping packs, and a container of ice cream, governor."

"Chocolate?"

"Yes, governor."

Vader.

Sighing heavily, Tarkin said, "It's fine, thank you. I'd forgotten about those items."

"Okay, governor. I just wanted to be sure; is there anything else I can do for you today?"

_Find that idiot Sith and beat him over the head for me._ "No, thank you."

"Very well, governor. I bid you a good day."

Tarkin cut the connection. What in the blazes was that man up to, anyway? Oh, well; it didn't matter. He was going to go out for some breakfast, but after his new expenditures he figured it would be prudent to eat breakfast in the palace. Grumbling, Tarkin exited his quarters.


	18. New Year, New Possibilities

**Hey, everybody! I would say happy All Saint's Day, but I said it yesterday, lol; I didn't expect to update so quickly! I'd actually written this as part of the previous chapter, but it kind of put too many things together in my opinion, so I left it off. This chapter is shorter than most of the others, but it's also the halfway point of the story, so I guess that's all right. I'll let you guys decide, haha. Enjoy!**

* * *

The bridge of the _Liberator_ was relatively small compared to destroyers, but it served its purpose. There were half as many people staffing it, but they all did their jobs diligently. Every single person on the ship had enlisted with the sole purpose of bringing the Jedi back to the galaxy in full force.

Rahm Kota turned away from the bridge to face a small holoprojector by the wall. A commander stood there waiting for him. He approached the commander, his mind full of thoughts about the fleet's mission. For over twenty years he had remained hidden; he had been in a large battle in the Outer Rim during Order 66, and due to its size, he had to include clones in the operation. When the execution order came through, Kota had sensed the danger, but many of his militia had been killed. To this day the one decision Kota regretted was waiting to regroup; the Empire had been very weak during its conception. The war had torn apart both Republic and Confederacy, and if Kota had struck Coruscant within a few weeks of Order 66 it probably would have fallen. Instead, he had been cautious; he had gathered what little militia he'd had left, and they'd remained in hiding for almost a year trying to get more people until he thought they'd be ready to test the waters. By then it had been too late.

But he hadn't been twiddling his thumbs over the past twenty-one years after that, either. Kota had spent his time amassing an armada, learning the enemy's strengths and weaknesses, figuring out how Palpatine had managed to dupe the entire galaxy. He also searched for other Jedi and had formed a relatively large group; some of the Jedi were with his fleet, while others remained hidden, working as spies or contacts for the Alliance. Over the years Kota had done what he could to make up for his serious miscalculation. He'd at least come to the conclusion that Palpatine ultimately was the only Sith Lord – any other Force user under the Empire was simply that: a Force user. They didn't have proper Sith training; they were just taught how to kill and utilize the Force to do so.

And then Vader came into the picture.

Rahm didn't know what to make of Darth Vader. The man's title itself denoted that he was a Sith, but from what Rahm had gathered about him, he wasn't so sure. The man's battle record was without a doubt formidable, but it also didn't seem to fit within what Kota would expect from a practitioner of the Dark Side. Every move Vader made was calculated; there was never a report of him doing some random act of violence. When Vader did unspeakable atrocities, they were always responses to something. Sith were known for taking pleasure in the suffering of others, so Rahm would expect Vader to initiate such scenarios, but he'd never found any record of it. Vader had been within the galaxy's notice for nine years now; his initial appearances were patchy at best – the records would only mention him briefly and then never cite him again. It wasn't until about four years ago that he really came into prominence. But in all that time, he'd been acting as a lackey to Palpatine rather than an ambitious sadist. It wasn't typical of a Sith apprentice.

No matter. Despite his confusion about the man, Kota still knew that Vader was his most powerful opponent, and his biggest obstacle between him and Palpatine. If Rahm made enough racket taking out Imperial outposts, it would attract some attention. Rahm had been biding his time, but once he saw the Alliance taking hit after hit he'd decided to enter the fray; it allowed the Rebels to catch their breath, and it would hopefully attract Vader – Kota wanted to be the one to defeat him.

Once he reached the holoprojector, the seasoned Jedi glanced over the information presented. They'd already taken out four outposts and the fleet that had gone to Yavin 4; if they kept to their course they'd make a steady path towards Coruscant—or _Imperial Center_ as those murglaks now called the place.

"General, we don't have enough firepower to take Coruscant," the commander said, noting the planet on which Kota's gaze was transfixed. "Will the Rebels be ready by then?"

"I know some other allies apart from the Rebels." Kota replied with a smile.

"But Gen. Ti said she was going to stay in hiding so she could train the Padawans," the commander shook his head.

"Master Windu is more than ready to join us with his fleet." Kota said.

The commander raised his eyebrows. "Master Windu managed to scrape a fleet together?"

Kota laughed at the man's surprise. "You underestimate Windu's ability to rally soldiers, commander."

"I suppose," the commander replied. "Well, general, if we can rendezvous with Gen. Windu, we'll be ready to take Coruscant within a few weeks."

Kota nodded. Perfect. They would hit every Imperial post on the way until they reached the Expansion Region and then they would go quiet; hopefully they would attract Vader by that point. Once the Sith apprentice was disposed of, Coruscant would be ripe for the taking.

The Empire would soon fall.

* * *

String music echoed throughout the large ballroom as Tarkin glanced at the inhabitants. It was rather like the party for the commencement of the Festival of the Stars, but there were key differences. First of all—and most importantly to Tarkin—there were no traitors in the room. Mothma was now in prison, and any other senators in the room had Alliance leanings at the worst; none of them were foolish or brave enough to do much more than complain. Many of the senators were in their home sectors by this point, but those who were the most concerned with power and prestige still attended the parties thrown at the palace, and _that_ was why Tarkin didn't concern himself. Most of the senators who were ambitious and selfish enough to be here were equally idiotic; it took a truly conniving and clever individual to make their way to the top, and anyone so obviously desperate to kiss up to the emperor would not be in that category. The only reason Tarkin was an exception to the rule was because he _lived_ here. Under normal circumstances he'd be touring his oversector to ensure there weren't any problems, but since he had the entire military on his shoulders at the moment, that changed the circumstances.

But it also allowed for many opportunities.

While Tarkin didn't like having so much scrutiny on him from the emperor, being in constant contact with the top military officials had its perks. He had innumerable excuses to converse with all the grand admirals, generals, and moffs. He'd already made quite the beneficial friendship with Grand Admiral Kepp while discussing the Rebel base on Yavin 4 – Kepp was just as convinced as Tarkin that he'd made the right move about the Alliance and that the error was entirely Ozzel's (who was thankfully no longer a problem). Tarkin would also have the opportunity to speak to Grand Admiral Pen, who was among the most reclusive of his circle—and who was in charge of most of the fleets in the Core Worlds, including those protecting Imperial Center. He would be a valuable ally, especially since Tarkin may have made an enemy of the head of security forces for the planet during the _last_ party. Nevertheless, his error of judgment from then wasn't a concern – once he obtained some more power he could easily replace the man.

Tarkin eyed everyone in the room. The music created a strange dichotomy to everything: its tranquil tones contrasted sharply against the backstabbing attendants and the raucous partying going on outside the palace. The windows and walls were sound proof, so no one inside heard anything from outside, but simply looking outside was an indication that there was no peace out there – speeders were flying everywhere dropping so much confetti that it looked like it was raining (which was thankfully not the case – the weather division always ensured a dry beginning to the Festival of the New Year for convenience's sake), and the crowds were so large it looked like the ground had a moving carpet; every level of Imperial Center was completely packed with beings. No doubt there was loud party music and announcers bellowing cheers over the raucous crowds, as well.

The ballroom itself wasn't too different from the last party; it still had its famous enormous floating chandeliers, the arrangement of the furniture was the same as always—a throne for Palpatine sat at the head table, elevated above the rest of the room and surrounded by banners bearing the Imperial insignia, and refreshments were lined along tables by the wall sized mirrors, lounge seats were near the windows, and the center of the room was left open for dancing—but there were the additions of holographic images that displayed the Empire's biggest triumphs of the year.

Eventually Tarkin noticed Grand Adm. Pen and smiled, making his way over to the man. Tonight was going to be a good night.

* * *

The chilly evening air whipped between what was left of the destroyed buildings of the colony. Dead leaves slid across the ground as the wind blew them, making gentle scraping noises as they moved. Excited shouts overwhelmed everything, though, as the relief workers and refugees alike celebrated an end to the crisis. The slaves had since turned themselves in and were given food and medical supplies, and they were welcomed into the site warily but nevertheless without any sort of hostility. Despite the earlier disaster of the day, everything was at least ending well.

Padmé sighed, wrapping herself more tightly in her shawl. She had been wandering the site for almost an hour now. After she had returned with Rekk she had taken him straight to the medical tent, and then she had helped Iena organize all the supplies and reestablish contact with the secondary and tertiary colony sites. Once the slaves had arrived, Padmé had ensured a peaceful negotiation. Now she really had nothing to do except watch everyone prepare the New Year celebrations; most of the galaxy put on HoloNet feeds of the Coruscant Countdown on Imperial Center, and the countdown would be beginning in a little over an hour. It seemed like everything was resolved, but… she hadn't seen Darth Vader since the incident in the morning.

Sighing, Padmé sat on an empty crate, thinking over the situation. She hadn't really given Vader much consideration beyond brooding over what had happened on her way back to the colony with Rekk. Since then she'd been so busy that she hadn't even noticed Vader's absence until the past hour. Padmé wasn't sure if he was somewhere in the colony and she just hadn't seen him or if he was at one of the other sites. He'd said he'd follow her back.

A little worried, Padmé went to Iena. "Hey, have you seen my friend? The one who came with me?"

Iena paused, considering the question, and then shook her head. "No, sorry. You can ask around, though; I'm sure someone's seen him."

Padmé nodded and left the main tent. She had asked around a little, but she hadn't had any luck. Vader wasn't causing trouble somewhere, was he? All the slaves had arrived in one piece, so at least he hadn't gone on some killing rampage. So where was he?

She finally got her answer when she spoke to a relief worker who had escorted the slaves into the colony. He claimed he saw someone who matched Vader's description just outside the perimeter. Padmé immediately entered the woods, holding her blaster at the ready since it was growing dark; she didn't want to be caught off guard while wandering the woods at night alone.

Eventually it grew so dark that she had to activate a glow stick. Padmé began to worry, both for her own safety and Vader's. She didn't even know if Vader was still in the woods, and at this point she might get lost. Turning back towards the colony, she sighed and walked carefully, her cold fingers tightly squeezing her blaster.

As Padmé caught sight of the perimeter, she suddenly recognized the Sith Lord in the distance. He was entering the colony from a different direction. Padmé ran to him.

"Milord, where have you been?" she asked.

"I was salvaging the other shuttles at the secondary site." Vader answered, not looking at her. He was his usual calm self; it was almost as if he didn't remember her anger from that morning. Or he didn't care. Honestly, she wasn't going to apologize for her reaction, because she was still convinced that he had attacked too soon. Nevertheless, she held back her anger; by this point she was more frustrated with the situation itself than with him, especially since he'd actually stopped when she asked him to. That in itself was a miracle.

"Any luck with that?" she pressed on, pushing the matter aside.

"Some," Vader replied as the two walked into the main colony. Padmé looked around at all the people huddled around space heaters and campfires; the buildings were too damaged to have any sort of enclosed interior, and the tents were filled with injured and supplies, so everyone was mostly outside.

Padmé paused, not sure what else to ask or say. Their earlier argument had exhausted her and apparently he wasn't very eager to talk, either. It had been a long day. Then she belatedly remembered that at the most Vader only got twenty minutes of sleep over the past forty-eight hours. Stepping in his way so he would give her his full attention, she said softly, "You should get some rest."

"Not now," Vader shook his head, walking around her.

Growing a little annoyed, Padmé followed him. "Why not?"

"I must report about the shuttles to Iena."

"You didn't make it sound like you'd accomplished much," Padmé noted.

"I repaired one shuttle, but I had to gut the others to do it."

Padmé smiled. "How about you tell her in the morning? I'm sure Iena's already finished her work for the day, anyway. Everyone's getting ready to celebrate the New Year's Festival. You know, I'd almost forgotten about it, honestly, with everything that's been going on."

Vader didn't look very convinced. "I'm going to tell her."

"Milord, just relax," Padmé advised, standing in his way once more. "If you're too high strung to sleep, then celebrate the New Year with everyone. Come on."

Motioning for him to follow, Padmé guided the Sith Lord through the crowds of people. Eventually she caught sight of a campfire surrounded by younglings. Judging by their outfits, they were new relief and refugee corps members. Smiling, she walked over to them; she remembered how lonely it could be when she was little and serving in the refugee relief movement. "Hello, everyone. Are you excited about the festival?"

One of the younger looking ones nodded. "I heard they're going to use some stuff to make fireworks!"

"That's a waste of supplies," Vader noted.

Padmé rolled her eyes, looking at him briefly. "It's in good fun." Then she returned her attention to the younglings. "So what are you all up to right now?"

"Campfire stories!" one of them replied excitedly. "Wanna join us?"

Padmé laughed and nodded. "Of course."

Sitting beside the children, she looked at Vader expectantly. The Sith Lord stared at her. The children shifted around so there was an open space for him across from Padmé. Eventually he sat stiffly; he wasn't giving the impression that he was very comfortable with younglings.

Oh, well. It was New Year's; time to try new things, right?

"So what's the story?" Padmé asked.

"We just finished one," a girl explained. "Anyone can start the next one."

Padmé nodded. "Okay, I'll tell one."

The younglings sat up straighter, watching her excitedly; considering how much older she was than them, they probably expected her to have some grand tale of old or some exciting adventure she'd had. Padmé felt their childlike excitement within herself, as if it were contagious. "A long time ago on a distant world, there were three children: a boy, Pelé, and two girls, Shekha and Nyya. They were the best of friends and lived a normal life, but one day Shekha stumbled upon a beautiful blue bird sleeping in a park. The bird was large and made a strange humming noise, and all around it ice was forming. Shekha was enchanted by the bird, and she immediately got her friends' attention. They all gathered around the bird, but as they did so, they suddenly became tired. The three lay down around the bird, falling asleep. And then…"

Padmé looked at Vader expectantly, waiting for him to continue the story. The Sith Lord blinked, staring at her blankly. All the younglings looked from her to him, their eyes wide with wonder, but they began to look confused as time stretched on a little too long. Padmé cleared her throat, raising her eyebrows at the man to make her point clear.

Vader continued to stare at her.

Padmé prompted him with less subtlety. "What happens next?"

Vader gave her a confused expression. "I don't know. I wasn't there."

Padmé sighed heavily and shifted over to him, leaning over and whispering, "It's a story, milord. Just make it up."

Vader looked even more perplexed than before. "Why?"

"To entertain the younglings," Padmé replied, growing a little annoyed. "Honestly, didn't your parents ever tell you stories?"

Vader continued to stare her before looking into the fire, searching his mind for a memory of such an incident. Eventually his furrowed brow relaxed and he looked at her in some sort of realization, and he nodded.

"Then it's just like that," Padmé encouraged with a smile, returning to her previous spot and waiting expectantly.

Vader took a deep breath and the children looked happy once more. They all gazed at him in anticipation. Vader leaned in towards all of them, as if he were about to tell them a secret, and he said, "And they were all killed in their sleep."

The children gasped, looking horrified. Padmé felt exasperation and shock fill her and she immediately added, "Or someone _tried_ to hurt them, but they—"

"No, they died. Never let your guard down." Vader interrupted and then stood and left.

Padmé bit back a grumble. Smiling at the children, she stood and said, "I'll continue the story later, young ones."

Chasing after Vader, Padmé said, "What the blazes was _that_?"

"You said base it off of stories I've heard."

"Your parents told you about someone being murdered in his sleep?"

A loud cheer erupted from her left, and Padmé looked around and saw of a large hologram displaying the countdown occurring on Imperial Center. She could see the statue of the emperor and enormous holographic numbers floating over it. The hologram had no sound, but there was no doubt an monstrous crowd in that plaza right now. People were beginning to gather around the hologram, and someone put on loud party music, garnering another cheer. Padmé smiled; _now_ the party was starting.

Turning, she once again looked at Vader, who was still walking in another direction. She hastily caught up with him. "Hey, where are you going?"

"The shuttle."

She figured he was getting some rest. Heaven knew he needed some. Still, the new year was about to begin; she didn't want to celebrate alone, and watching the party rev up was exciting her. The service members were a great group of people to be with, but apart from Iena, she didn't know anyone. And, despite their earlier issues, Padmé decided that she didn't mind celebrating the end of the old year and the start of the new with Darth Vader, as crazy as that sounded. Hell, she wanted to see if she could actually have fun with him. Or laugh at his expense. Either was a good possibility, and either was _way_ more entertaining than letting him sleep. Even if he did need it.

"No you're not," Padmé laughed, stepping in front of him. "New Year's is almost here – let's celebrate!"

Vader blinked. "Celebrate?"

"You've never seen a New Year's celebration?" Padmé asked, fully doubting that statement; after all, Vader had grown up in the _center_ of the action – Imperial Center always had the biggest New Year's parties.

"I have," Vader replied. "I've no need to join one."

Padmé rolled her eyes. "Lord Vader, sometimes there are points in your life where you just decide to do something absolutely crazy and random. This is that moment. Now come on!"

Vader looked like he was about to argue, but Padmé grabbed him by the arm and dragged him towards the party. She ran to the nearest table serving refreshments and grabbed two protein drinks; they weren't much, and they didn't taste that good, but by heaven they were going to toast with _something_. Upon returning to Vader, she handed him the drink, which he took with a bemused expression.

"Too bad we didn't bring any wine," Padmé chuckled as she took a sip.

Vader watched her and then glanced at his own drink before observing the crowd. The music was ridiculously loud; Padmé could feel the beat of the bass vibrate in her chest. People jumped to the beat and laughed and yelled. Vader then said something, but Padmé couldn't hear it.

"What?" she yelled over the noise.

"What's the point?" he asked again.

"Of what?"

"Of any of this?"

"Just for the hell of it, Vader!" Padmé replied with a laugh; blast, her adrenaline was starting to go wild.

"Are these spiked?" Vader suddenly questioned.

Padmé paused. "I highly doubt it. Besides, I haven't tasted anything off."

Vader turned and walked away.

"Hey!" Padmé ran to catch up with him. "Why can't you just stay and have fun for a change?"

Vader didn't seem to have a reply. He just watched her and then looked away.

Padmé sighed. "Just try it, milord. Just try not caring about anything for a little while. Just try living in the moment, enjoying the party, the people, the new year."

"I thought you were mad," he suddenly said over the music, still looking away. "Why are you insistent I stay?"

Padmé sighed, all amusement gone. Apparently he _did_ remember her anger from that morning. But she didn't want to bring that up now. Her excitement was dwindling as her exhaustion returned, though; she wished he would just understand. Not everything was a mission. She herself had a hard time accepting that sometimes, but even _she_ wasn't as bad as him. "Because you deserve better."

Vader immediately looked at her.

"You… you keep _denying_ yourself, like you don't even think you matter," Padmé shook her head. "I still don't agree with what you did this morning, but… you still stopped when I asked you to, and I appreciate that. And you might have saved my life… I can't deny that. So… for me… just let yourself have fun. _Please_. You deserve that."

Vader continued to stare at her before he closed his eyes and shook his head, his brow furrowing. He was starting to get a similar expression as the one he had on Isola before he almost had another mood swing. Padmé wanted to reassure him in some manner, but she'd learned from Isola to _not_ touch him; honestly she was surprised he hadn't shoved her off him earlier when she'd grabbed him. Instead, she did something else. She bowed.

"I would appreciate it if you did this for me, and for yourself," she said. "But… if you don't feel like doing so… I'll understand. And I'll respect that."

Her words stunned Vader, and they seemed to unlock something in him. His face softened, and his deep blue eyes glistened as he looked at her. Eventually he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them, his expression was neutral once more, but it felt different, like this kind of neutral wasn't just the typical _I'm-unaffected-by-anything_ façade. "Will you come with me?"

Padmé became a little confused, but she also had the slightest glimmer of hope. "Yes, of course."

Vader nodded and then suddenly began to walk away from both Padmé and the party. Confused, she followed him. "Where are you going?"

"You said you'd come with me."

"Okay…" she muttered before trying again. "Where are _we_ going?"

"The woods."

Padmé grew a little uneasy. What was he planning? "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Vader didn't answer. Padmé grew even more nervous. They had little to fear from the forest, particularly with Vader's prowess in battle, but… why did he want to go somewhere away from anyone's notice? She was suddenly grateful she was still armed, but then also felt a little guilty for such a thought; she should feel a little more trusting to Vader, honestly, after all the times he'd saved her, but…

The two reached the edge of the perimeter; the music and the roaring of the crowd were nothing more than a distant rumble. Vader entered the woods, and Padmé hesitantly followed until the lights of the colony barely touched them. Then he stopped.

"It's better out here," he suddenly said very quietly.

Padmé stayed a few steps away from him. "Why?"

A loud hiss emitted and the area was lit with a red glow. Vader's lightsaber was active and in his hand. Padmé jumped with a yelp and took a few hasty steps back. Vader's eyes glittered in the red light, but he watched her with an expression of nervousness, as if he were more worried than she was. Padmé's hand touched her blaster, but she didn't remove it from the holster yet. "What are you doing?"

"You said have fun," Vader explained, twitching his blade a little. "You said… you said you'd be with me."

Padmé felt some sweat trickle down her brow. "Yes…"

Suddenly the blade moved, but it angled towards Vader, as if it were being pointed at him instead of her. Vader watched her expectantly. "I… I can't have fun. But I can do this. _We_ can do this."

Was… was he _offering her his lightsaber_?!

Padmé stared at him, astonished and still worried. "This?"

"Spar with me." He said with a lightness to his voice that she'd never heard before. He wasn't ordering her; he was asking her.

Padmé walked towards him slowly and tentatively reached out her hand. She felt the lightsaber hilt touch her palm, and was astonished at how warm the blade was. Vader's hands had warmed it for her, and it hummed and tickled her palm. She smiled, looking at it in wonder as her fingers closed around the hilt.

"The blade is an extension of yourself," Vader explained, beginning to pace around her. "Don't hold it like a weapon, but like you would hold out your arm. Feel its life pulsing through you. The electricity is your blood, your pulse is the crystal; let them fuse. Close your eyes. Sense the blade, feel the weight in your hand, and adjust accordingly. Nothing else matters now; it's just you. No one else exists."

Padmé did as she was told, entranced by his words and the weapon she held. Her breathing slowed, and it seemed as if the world around her disappeared. All she could feel was the warmth in her hand, all she could feel was it vibrating, and all she could hear was Vader's voice. Then she felt warmth on her left wrist, which was just sitting at her side. She jumped, startled, and then grew even more astonished when she realized it was Vader. He was touching her wrist. Gently, he guided her left hand to the hilt and made her hold it with both hands. Then he released his grip.

"You'll have more control over it that way," he pointed out, stepping away from her. "Adjust your grip accordingly; your dominant hand should be on top. Then do what I said before. Let it become one with you. Once you feel that, open your eyes."

Padmé nodded, closing her eyes once more. She was too shocked to say anything honestly, and she was also afraid she'd break the moment if she _did_ speak. Whatever she had said before, it had obviously made a huge impact on Vader. She really needed to figure out what worked so well with him. Hopefully this wouldn't end up like Isola; his behavior there had been tender and kind, but then he'd pretended it had never happened. He'd said she'd been temporarily weak. Surely this wasn't the same, though; he wouldn't be letting her use a weapon if he thought she wasn't worth it.

Oh Force. What _did_ he think of her?

"Focus."

Again, she nodded and took a deep breath. Eventually she felt comfortable with the grip and opened her eyes.

"Good. Now, stand with your feet greater than shoulder length apart. Bend your knees slightly; if they're too tight the shock of an impact will make them buckle, but if they're too soft you'll have no defense from a blow. Hold the blade directly in front of you."

"Why are you doing this?" Padmé couldn't help but ask as she did what he said.

"No questions," he immediately replied. "I teach, you listen. Then you… you'll be… just learn. Got it?"

Okay, she'd figure this out later. "Got it."

Vader then began to walk her through a series of stances and steps, making her do them over and over a million times. Sometimes he'd make her stand in one position for what felt like an eternity, other times he'd make her step back and repeat herself. Through it all he never raised his voice; he sounded calm, even content. Eventually, though, Padmé began to feel tired; her muscles ached, and her head began to pound from hunger and exhaustion. She fought it for a little while, but eventually she relaxed her posture and held the blade angled away from her.

"Haven't we sparred enough?" she asked.

"Don't let exhaustion stop you. You're stronger than that. There is no exhaustion for you. There's nothing; you're a weapon, you _are_ the blade. Weapons never tire. Weapons never hurt, or desire, or anything."

Padmé sighed. "All right, I'll be a lightsaber for a little longer, but—"

She paused when she recognized a chorus all yelling the same words. When she listened more intently, she realized it was a countdown. Gasping, she whirled around. "The countdown! The new year is almost here! Come on!"

She was about to run away when she remembered the lightsaber active in her hands. She carefully held it towards Vader. "How do you turn it off?"

Vader stepped towards her and took the hilt, and the blade vanished. Padmé then hastily bade him follow her, and she ran back towards the colony. When she reached the site, she saw everyone crowded around the hologram of Imperial Center. The countdown was at ten already. Blowing out a sigh of relief she ran to the crowd and grabbed a bottle of water, joining the chorus.

"Five… four… three… two… one… HAPPY NEW YEAR!" they all bellowed at the top of their lungs.

Padmé laughed and wished everyone around her a happy new near, offering toasts with the drinks they all had. Eventually she turned around to toast to Vader's health and the new year when she abruptly realized that he wasn't there.

* * *

The countdown was just starting. They had a minute left. Siri laughed cheerfully as she and Obi-Wan munched on some snacks that were readily available in the kitchenette. Al had the Coruscant Countdown on the large holoprojector in the lounge, but he'd vanished in his quarters. He hastily came back, though, with a bottle in his hands.

"Some Alderaanian wine in honor of our destination!" Almusian announced happily.

"Ooh, hand it over!" Siri said happily, holding out her hand. Obi-Wan went to the kitchenette, no doubt to get some glasses.

When he returned, the three poured out the wine and waited. The countdown had reached almost ten seconds by the time they'd returned their attention to it. Al and Siri hastily began to count down. Obi-Wan remained quiet, watching them with a smile, before he joined in at five seconds. As soon as they reached zero, their own wishes for a happy new year were drowned out by the ground shaking bellowing emitting from the hologram. Then music began to play once more, and Siri faced Obi-Wan while Al bellowed out the chorus to the song. The two offered each other a toast.

"To a better year," Siri said with a smile. "A year of victory for the Alliance."

"To a year of good health," Obi-Wan offered, and the two clinked their glasses, sipping the wine. It went down smoothly, and Siri took a deep breath and closed her eyes, savoring the taste. Then she smiled at Obi-Wan. Leaning towards him, she laid her head on his chest, wrapping one arm around him while the other held her wine. Obi-Wan rested his head atop hers, and she felt him take her glass. Al continued to wail the lyrics to the song, oblivious to the two of them. Siri chuckled as she heard his poor musical skills. Then she felt Obi-Wan's hands on her back; he must have put the wine glasses on the table. Eventually one of his hands slid to her chest and pushed her away slightly so they could look at each other. Siri looked into his blue grey eyes and felt the world around her dissolve. Ever since she and Obi-Wan had become friends she'd finally felt at home with someone, and it only increased over the years. Her mind was at peace, her body relaxed. Nothing mattered when she was in his arms.

Obi-Wan gave her a gentle smile and pulled her towards him again. The two closed their eyes and kissed.

* * *

Tarkin offered a toast to Grand Adm. Pen on the large balcony as he looked below him. The cheers from the massive crowd in the plaza could be heard hundreds of levels above ground, and confetti was flying everywhere. Fireworks made the entire area vibrate. The commencement of the New Year's Festival was always quite a sight to behold, and even Tarkin felt himself relax just enough to enjoy the evening.

"To a successful year," he muttered, sipping his wine with delight.

* * *

**Since we're at the halfway point, would you mind letting me know what you think is going well for the story and what could use improvement? That way the second half can be better than the first! :)**


	19. Self Image

**lol I cranked this out way faster than I thought I would. Time to hit the roller coaster ride! Enjoy!**

* * *

The lazy morning light pierced through her eyes. The blanket was heavy and warm, goading her to fall back asleep. The air was nice and cool. Sighing, Padmé stretched and blearily opened her eyes, yawning. She was in the guest room of the shuttle, having dragged herself there at some ungodly hour of the morning after celebrating with the relief workers and refugees. It had been enjoyable; after the countdown they'd listened to some music and then split into groups to play games. Padmé and Iena had helped younglings reenact favorite plays and holovids, and then the two had joined a team for several games of tug-of-war with a towing cable.

"Ouch," Padmé muttered, cringing as she sat up. Speaking of tug-of-war, her arms were pretty sore now, though she wasn't sure that was from the game or from all the climbing in the canyon yesterday morning.

Standing, Padmé cleaned herself up and got dressed. She wore some tan colored trousers and tunic with a burgundy vest over it and she still had her blaster sitting snugly in its holster on her utility belt; no sense in not being prepared considering what had been happening here.

Padmé exited the guest quarters and wandered down the short hallway into the shuttle lounge. She glanced around briefly to see if Vader was in there, but the small scattering of seats was bereft of anyone. The cockpit was also empty. Padmé had wondered where Vader had wandered off to last night; she'd wanted to spend time with him _after_ the sparring, but she supposed he'd become too tired at that point. Also, she really shouldn't have been surprised that he wouldn't show up for the countdown considering how little care he had for the entire celebration.

Now she had a new problem, though; the crisis was over… so what next? Beforehand, Padmé had wanted to help Vader and speak with him, so she supposed she could go back to that. The mission had interrupted it briefly, but… well, it also brought up some questions. Vader's behavior yesterday morning had definitely shown his more vicious side, but… Padmé shook her head. She didn't know what to make of the man anymore. She did recall that he was comfortable aboard the shuttle, though, so she supposed she could convince him to speak with her there. If she could blasted find him, that is.

Well, if he wasn't in the cockpit or lounge, the only other place on the ship he could be was his own guest room. Diplomatic shuttles normally had room for four VIP passengers; the shuttles weren't designed for very long flights, so there was no room for the pilot.

Wandering back into the hallway where the guest rooms were, Padmé looked at the doors. Two were on each wall. She looked at the left wall only; her own room was on the right, and she had a sinking suspicion Vader wouldn't want to be in a room beside her. She walked to the door that was opposite of hers and hesitated for a second before knocking softly. When she got no response, she pressed the button on the panel that would open the door; it wasn't locked, so it immediately slid open, but the room was empty. She quickly discovered the other room was empty as well, and neither showed any indication of having been used. Growing a little confused, Padmé finally turned to the room beside hers, but it was in equal condition. Bewildered, she exited the shuttle.

The clear autumn air filled her lungs and a gentle breeze blew leaves around the landing pad. Dew glistened everywhere, and a slight mist snaked its way around the compound, making Padmé's feet fade into the ground. There wasn't a single cloud in the royal blue sky. It was a beautiful morning, and a quiet one at that; it didn't seem like anyone else was awake yet.

But Padmé heard someone walking around, their footsteps crunching dead leaves. Turning, she followed the sound and finally found Darth Vader. He was back to his usual black outfit; she supposed the only reason he wore anything different yesterday was to camouflage into what he presumed to be a battlefield. The man looked relatively well rested; at least he didn't have any dark circles under his eyes this morning. His gaze was distant, and his blue eyes seemed completely unfocused. His arms hung limply at his sides as he walked slowly through the compound as if in a trance.

"Milord?" Padmé called softy as she approached him. Vader ignored her.

Both confused and annoyed, Padmé followed him. "Good morning."

She didn't receive a reply.

Padmé knew Vader didn't speak much, but she wasn't sure why he was suddenly ignoring her altogether. Typically she'd at least get _some_ sort of acknowledgement, and she would expect something after their shared moment last night. She figured he wouldn't offer her his weapon for nothing; so why was he acting as if it had never happened? She was _not_ going to have a repeat of Isola; she would get to the kriffing bottom of this.

"Lord Vader," she tried again, stepping into his path. Vader paused for a millisecond, his eyes focusing on her for a moment, and immediately his brow furrowed and his face darkened. Then, as soon as the expression was there, it was gone; once again he looked dazed, and he walked around her.

What the…?

His morning walk.

Padmé blinked a few times and then turned around to watch him. This was his morning walk? Did he always look so out of it? And why was he ignoring her? She recalled that he hadn't wanted her to walk with him the few times she'd asked, but it was downright rude to pretend she didn't exist.

Not that rudeness was anything new to him…

Sighing heavily, Padmé once again stood in his way, but before she could say anything he walked around her once more. Finally, she stayed in her place, but said, "Lord Vader, I want to talk to you—stop ignoring me."

In a heartbeat, everything changed. Vader whirled on her, a frustrated and furious expression on his face. His eyes were a fierce red and yellow. Padmé jumped, taking a small step back; what the blazes had happened to his eyes?

"What the hell do you want?!" he hissed, every muscle in his body tensing.

His behavior legitimately scared Padmé, but her anger also came forth. "What—I _just said_ I wanted to talk to you! What the hell is your problem?!"

"_You_ are!" Vader immediately replied, and he stood even taller, taking a step towards her. What the blazes had happened between last night and now? "You always have been—why can't—"

And then just like that, he stopped. Closing his eyes, Vader looked away, squeezing his fists. He took several deep breaths and a handful of steps away from her. His face paled considerably, and once his hands relaxed they started twitching incessantly.

Padmé didn't know what the deal was, but she was still angry—a little too angry to try and figure out what set him off. "_I'm_ your problem? It didn't seem that way last night; maybe I should just leave, then! Or you could always—"

"Stop," Vader immediately interrupted, and his voice was so quiet Padmé almost didn't hear it. He opened his eyes, which were a deep blue once more, and he looked at her. "I… I shouldn't have lashed out."

"No kriffing kidding!" Padmé immediately retorted. "You mind explaining what that was all about?"

"No." Vader replied at once, and then he turned and left. Padmé was going to call after him again, but between her own anger and his previous response, she figured it was best they both cool off. The two would have to see each other again once they decided to get off this moon, anyway. In the meantime, she took a deep breath and wandered off to get some breakfast, shaking the chill down her spine as she thought of those yellowish eyes again.

* * *

Grogginess was all he felt. Well, perhaps not _all_ he felt—he did also have quite the distinct headache pounding ever so lovingly in his temples. He moaned slightly, rubbing his face. _Too much wine_.

Then he felt something warm and soft beside him. In his half-conscious state he couldn't quite pinpoint what the sensation was, but in his mind he immediately knew—_Siri_. But… Siri and Obi-Wan were in a bunk bed. Why was…

Oh. _Oh._ _Now_ he remembered what happened last night.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and looked at his wife. Siri was still asleep, snuggled up against him. As the memories of the previous night began to return to Obi-Wan he was suddenly grateful that he and his wife had at least been sober enough to stumble up the ladder to the guest area before anything had progressed; he was fairly certain Al had seen enough of the two's interaction to leave well enough alone… also Siri would probably murder him if the case were otherwise.

Smiling a little in contentment, Obi-Wan closed his eyes once more, slipping back to sleep, when a scraping noise came from the intercom. Startled, Obi-Wan jumped and his eyes opened once more, but Siri barely grunted in acknowledgement.

"Rise and shine, guys," Al said in a chipper voice, making Obi-Wan's head pound even more. How in the blazes could he sound so happy? Al had drunk _more_ than Obi-Wan. "We're coming out of hyperspace."

Obi-Wan was fully awake in an instant. They had to get to Senator Organa as quickly as possible… uh, _after_ he got some clothes on, at least. Obi-Wan sat up to get out of the bunk—or he would have if his wife's head weren't on his shoulder. Sighing, Obi-Wan feebly tried to push her off, but she was too heavy. He nudged her instead. "Siri, wake up."

Siri snored.

Growing a little annoyed, Obi-Wan poked her again. _"Siri."_

"Hmmwha…"

Obi-Wan sighed heavily. "Wake up."

Siri snuggled closer, wrapping one arm around Obi-Wan's chest. He felt her leg brush up against his and his skin tingled, but he shook the feeling off. "Come on, get up."

Siri shook her head.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "Blast it all, Siri, _get up_."

Siri opened her eyes blearily and then moaned, closing them again. "No… not a good idea…"

Obi-Wan immediately grew nervous. "You're not going to get sick on me, are you?"

Siri smacked his chest.

"Ouch!" Obi-Wan yelped, finally shoving her off him… sort of. Siri was too stubborn to move, so when Obi-Wan pushed her, the only thing he succeeded in doing was pushing _himself_ out of the bed. Falling unceremoniously on the floor, Obi-Wan let out another yelp of shock as the cold floor stung his bare skin.

Siri was unperturbed, taking the blanket and his spot and getting comfortable once more. By the Force that woman was the heaviest sleeper in the universe when she was hung over. Grumbling, he quickly cleaned up and dressed himself before returning to the bunk. Noting how Siri had wrapped herself in the blanket, Obi-Wan grabbed one edge and pulled hard, making her roll out and onto the floor just as he had a few minutes prior.

After letting out a hiss and several swear words, Siri shot to her feet and snatched the blanket from him. "What the blazes was that for, you murglak?"

Both spouses winced at the volume of her voice, and Obi-Wan whispered, "We're at Alderaan."

"What? Already?" Siri was finally alert, and she hastily threw some clothes on. "How long were we asleep?"

"Heaven knows," Obi-Wan replied, rubbing his forehead.

Siri noted his gesture and smiled. At first it was sympathetic, but then it became mischievous. "I can't wait to see you speaking to Senator Organa. Try not to throw up on him, okay?"

"That's _you_, not me," Obi-Wan retorted, remembering one of his wife's first hangovers.

"You're right, you just get inordinately grumpy," Siri remarked, tossing the blanket back on the bunk.

"I do _not_ get grumpy."

"Yeah, sure. That's why you've got your grumpy face on."

"Siri, you know there's no such thing as a grumpy face."

"Yes, there is, actually, and I'm fairly certain you've perfected it."

Their banter was interrupted when they heard the hyperdrive disengage and the low rumble of the engines sounded before fading into a hum. The two hastily climbed down the ladder that led to the lounge and then entered the cockpit.

"Good morning," Al said in the same chipper voice as before.

"How is possible that you're not hung over?" Siri asked.

"I never get hangovers." Al replied with a huge smile. "It's one of the great benefits of being me!"

"I'm going to kill him," Siri immediately muttered.

"Please don't," Obi-Wan advised. "It would make landing difficult."

"I've already established contact with Organa's people," Al told them. "They said he's busy with the local nobility, but he can meet us in the afternoon before some fancy dinner."

"What time is it in Aldera right now?" Siri asked.

"About ten on the chronometer."

"Lovely," Obi-Wan sighed.

"Hey, look on the bright side," Al returned his attention to the planet. "We get to party some more before we meet him."

"Yes, that's all we need: more alcohol." Obi-Wan retorted grumpily—_irritably_. He wasn't grumpy.

"Yes you are, Obi," Siri whispered in his ear. Had he said that out loud? Blasted woman… hangovers always made him irritable; he didn't need her rubbing it in. But when Obi-Wan glanced at her and saw her delighted smile he couldn't stay annoyed, anyway, so he just sighed heavily and walked to the sofa in the lounge. Strapping himself in, he watched Siri join him as the two waited for Al to break atmo and land the ship somewhere in the city.

"We should find the nearest pharmacy," Siri moaned, closing her eyes. "I could use some painkillers right now."

"I can imagine Al would want to find the nearest cantina." Obi-Wan noted, but his mind was already considering how the conversation with Organa might go. He didn't know if Organa was aware of Senator Mothma's arrest, though if Tlenden knew, it was likely everyone else did as well. Honestly, Obi-Wan was surprised Padmé hadn't tried to bring it up during their conversation.

_Padmé_. Obi-Wan hoped she was alright.

The ship shuddered as they landed, and Al gave out a whoop of excitement. Obi-Wan and Siri immediately groaned, putting hands to their foreheads in unison.

Al ran into the room. "We're here, and we're going to have a—what's wrong?"

"I'm going to kill him," Siri again threatened softly, and Obi-Wan reached blindly to pat her shoulder in an attempt to calm her.

"Hey guys, it's not so bad," Al tried to appease them. "Look, I know how to make the perfect hangover concoction; works like a charm."

"Is that how you're so cheerful?" Obi-Wan presumed.

Al laughed, and the couple cringed again at the sound. "Nah, I never get hangovers, but a buddy of mine used to drink to the point of insanity so I learned to make it for him. It worked so well on him he started selling the stuff at the cantinas—and didn't cut me in on the profit! Least to say, we're not friends anymore."

"What a tragedy." Obi-Wan muttered.

"Hey, relax; for a decent price I can make it for you two."

"For a _what_?" Siri snapped, unstrapping herself from the sofa and shooting to her feet.

Al hastily held his hands in the air. "I was joking, Siri!"

Obi-Wan watched the exchange in annoyance. He was going to have to mediate between these two despite his own hangover. Lovely. Honestly, and Siri said _he_ was grumpy. "Play nice, younglings."

Siri and Al rounded on him, but Al only laughed. Before Siri could say anything, Obi-Wan stood from the sofa and pat her shoulder briefly. Then he looked at Al. "I would greatly appreciate that drink of yours, Al."

Almusian nodded. "Sure, no problem. You two just sit tight; it'll only take five to ten minutes."

Obi-Wan felt some happiness for the first time all morning; at least there was _some_ good news. Smiling, he nodded and sat once more, prompting Siri to do so as well. The two sat in silence, neither really wanting to speak, and Obi-Wan waited expectantly for the miracle drink. However, shortly after Al entered the kitchenette Obi-Wan heard him begin to grumble.

"Son of a Hutt…"

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow and glanced in Al's general direction. "Something wrong?"

Al exited the kitchenette with a sheepish smile, rubbing his hands together nervously. "Well… I kind of don't have the ingredients." Before either Obi-Wan or Siri could explode on him, he hastily added, "_But_ we can go buy some in the marketplace—Aldera should have everything I need. It's just… I've never been here. Do _you_ guys know where the markets are?"

Obi-Wan sighed heavily. This was going to be a long day.

* * *

Kota sighed in contentment as he groped for the next bottle of Twi'lek Fizz. His crew was celebrating the New Year with gusto; everyone was filled with exhilaration and energy after destroying so many Imperial outposts. After enduring over twenty years of Imperial subjugation, it felt nice to finally kick those Imps back.

Finding the bottle, Kota happily gulped down most of its contents. He'd developed quite the tolerance level after living as a drunk for nearly a year when the Empire initially was founded. He hadn't… quite been able to shake the habit since then. It was more of a running joke now than anything; the officers often wondered when they'd next find him passed out in the cargo hold. Not that it was ever an issue if a battle was looming.

Kota found himself eating those words as he sensed danger… or quasi sensed it. He was certain it would have felt more jarring if he weren't so addled by alcohol. Nevertheless, he still jumped to his feet (well, stumbled, but he was still on his feet, blast it), catching the attention of his compatriots.

"General?" one of them questioned, watching him intently.

"Something's wrong," Kota said, and as soon as the words had left his lips the entire cruiser shook from stem to stern. Blast it, sometimes he hated it when he was right. With a smirk, he thought, _nah, actually I don't._ Right. Battle. Focus. Too much alcohol.

Shaking his head, Kota activated his comlink, calling the bridge. "Admiral, what's going on?"

"Sir, it's an Imperial armada—they must have been searching for us. We're giving them everything we've got, but they greatly outnumber us!"

Kota bit back a curse. His fleet's main weapon was surprise at the moment; until he could rendezvous with Master Windu, he didn't have enough manpower or firepower to take on an armada. They still had a fighting chance, though. "Ready the drop ships, admiral."

"Yes, general."

Closing his eyes, Kota used the Force to help himself focus and purge the effects of his drinks; thankfully he hadn't had too much. Then he made his way to the hanger, meeting up with his marines along the way. If they could board the capital ship Kota could easily handle the internal defenses and take the armada out from the inside.

Boarding a drop ship, he made room for his marines and awaited the pilot. The pre-flight checks were done quickly and the shuttle soon began to take off. Kota felt the ground leave beneath him, and he grabbed a pole overhead. The doors were shut tightly, so the room was only lit with a dim blue light. The silence of space didn't add to anything, so all they heard was the vibration of the walls and the hum of the engine reverberating in the small room.

"Five seconds and we'll be in their hangar, sir," the pilot reported through the intercom.

Kota nodded to his men. "Be ready."

The shuttle bucked as the pilot was no doubt dodging turret fire. Eventually they heard metal screaming as the shuttle made a hasty landing, and the doors opened. Kota's men immediately opened fire, and Kota charged forward, activating his lightsaber. His reflexes weren't slowed by the alcohol, thankfully; he'd concentrated enough to focus on the fight. The hangar was filled with stormtroopers, making Kota laugh out loud as he deflected their fire. Stormtroopers were formidable soldiers, but against Kota's men they were nothing. The marines quickly defeated the local security, and Kota stationed several of them to mind the shuttle. Then he proceeded with six more; he knew Star Destroyer schematics well from his time in the Clone Wars, so he could tell he wasn't very far from the bridge.

Through the Force he could sense multiple enemies heading their way. Smiling, he charged through the blast doors; with the Force as his ally, he would succeed.

* * *

Tarkin had been reviewing reports in his oversector when his comlink chimed. "This is Grand Moff Tarkin."

"Governor, one of our armadas—Nexu Squadron—has just made contact with Gen. Kota's fleet. They're engaging him now."

Tarkin stood, filled with nervous energy. "Get the other two armadas to their position immediately; I want them annihilated."

"Yes, governor."

By the Force Tarkin was going to make sure this problem was nipped in the bud before it could blossom into anything too dangerous for him to handle. Kota would die today.

* * *

Kota let out a yell as he used the Force to throw heavy crates at the stormtroopers, knocking them into his men's line of fire. Then he charged forward, cutting down the rest. They were several hallways from the bridge, and security was getting thicker by the meter. Several more dropships had entered the hangar where Kota had initially landed, and so he was able to press the advance, but his men were still taking heavy casualties… and that didn't even include the battle going on outside.

Gritting his teeth, he deflected more blaster fire and urged his men to take cover as another squad of stormtroopers entered the hall. Closing his eyes, he gathered the Force around him, sensing out their presences, and cleared the hallway with a swift guided toss of his blade. Once he opened his eyes he nodded to his men. "Let's go."

"Yes sir!"

The group ran into the next hall—the last one before the bridge. Commandos were everywhere. A clanking noise was heard, and Kota sensed the danger just as one of his men shouted, "Grenade!"

Leaping back, he used the Force to throw the detonator towards the commandos, who attempted to dodge the blast. Some of them survived, but they were stunned long enough for the militia to finish them off. The blast doors to the bridge were firmly sealed; Kota would have to take care of that.

Rushing ahead, he sank his blade into the doors, watching the surrounding area turn red and then white hot as the durasteel began to melt. "Cover me!"

His men did as they were ordered, and just in time as more commandos appeared. Kota swore harshly as a blaster bolt exploded on the door right beside his hands. He couldn't take cover if he wanted to melt this door, so he had to rely entirely on his militia. As they were fighting off the attackers, Kota's comlink went off. "General, another Imperial fleet just exited hyperspace!"

"_Shavit,"_ Kota hissed. They were having enough trouble against _one_ fleet!

Thankfully, the doors didn't last much longer against Kota's lightsaber, and he removed his blade, gathered the Force around him, and flung the doors into the bridge. His men split into two groups, one defending the entrance from the outside while the others followed Kota inside. Kota expected immediate resistance, perhaps even worse than before, but instead, he got… nothing.

The bridge was empty save for one man.

"What in the blazes…?" Kota muttered, approaching the man slowly. As he stretched out his senses, however, he recognized the being to be Force sensitive, and very attuned to it.

The person turned to reveal a tall young man with broad shoulders, very short light brown hair, and piercing brown eyes. Kota blinked a few times at the realization that he almost didn't recognize his own Padawan—maybe that alcohol _was_ still affecting his system a little bit.

"Galen?" Kota blurted, completely stunned. "What—when did you get here?"

His twenty-one-year-old Padawan smiled. "I found an alternative route."

Kota looked up to see a ventilation shaft burst open and he rolled his eyes. "You're quite bent upon wrecking everything you touch, aren't you?"

"Hey, it gets the job done," Galen argued lightheartedly. "Besides, the bridge is ours now."

"Where is everyone?"

Galen motioned towards a steel plate covering a window. "I might have let the air in a bit… it wasn't _quite_ intentional. One of the Imps shot the window a few too many times, so I just threw him into it."

Well that explained why the blast doors were closed.

"Master," Galen interrupted Kota's thoughts. "This fleet sent out coordinates through a coded transmission. I think they were calling for reinforcements."

Kota looked at him dully, then out the window at the newly arrived fleet, then back to him. "Really?"

Galen rolled his eyes. "I know about _them_, but… I just… I sense that it wasn't that fleet."

"What do you mean?"

"I think they were contacting some sort of home base. The base sent the other fleet."

"Which means they could potentially send more," Kota muttered.

"But if we redirect them," Galen hastily continued. "We'd vanish off the map."

"By _this_ ship's standards," Kota pointed out. "Everyone else knows where we are."

"But we're on the flagship, Master," Galen said. "Surely we can give an order to the others?"

"You'd need specific codes to give text-only orders," Kota shook his head. "Otherwise they'll expect a face-to-face."

Galen shrugged. "You could always don an Imperial uniform."

Kota barked out as he watched his men finish off the commandos. "Over my dead body."

Their conversation was interrupted by another beep from Kota's comlink. Just as he grabbed it irritably, awaiting more bad news, he noticed more ships exiting hyperspace. Both Kota and Galen looked at the ships in horror for an instant before recognizing the models.

"Master Windu!" Galen gasped with a smile.

"Sir, Gen. Windu has just established contact with us." The admiral said from Kota's comlink.

"I see that," Kota replied, squeezing his comlink with rekindled energy. "Let's finish this."

* * *

"I've got to hand it to you, Al: that drink _does_ work."

Obi-Wan grunted in agreement as he examined the enormous hallway in which they stood. After several misadventures trying to find the market, get the ingredients, and blend it all together, they'd finally gotten their _pick-me-up_, as Almusian had called it. Now it was almost dinnertime; they were awaiting permission to enter the chamber ahead of them so they could speak to Senator Organa.

Eventually an attendant received some information and nodded towards them, opening the large door. The three entered and saw Bail Organa standing in the center of the large room, waiting for them.

"Representative Naberrie," he greeted with a smile and nod of his head. "It's good to see you, as well as your beautiful wife. Is that Almusian?"

Al nodded. "Yeah, it's me. I don't think you and I ever spoke apart from one holo communication."

Obi-Wan bowed. "I wish you a happy New Year, senator."

"And the same to you," Organa replied as the door behind the trio closed. "May I ask to what do I owe the honor of your visit?"

"We wished to discuss the matter of Senator Mothma." Obi-Wan replied, losing the polite charm in his voice. "I trust you've heard what's happened."

Bail sighed heavily, seating himself.

"How did it happen?" Siri asked.

"We're not sure," Bail shook his head. "But I'm fairly certain it happened during or just after the annual Festival of the Stars party at the palace."

"Does the Alliance have a rescue plan in place yet?" Siri pressed on.

"No." Bail answered. "We don't even know where she is, and we don't have anyone on Imperial Center right now. The Alliance is too busy trying to regroup and settle somewhere safe. It's a miracle that Jedi fleet entered the fray when they did."

"Jedi fleet?" Obi-Wan, Siri, and Al exchanged confused glances.

"It destroyed the Imperial forces that attacked Yavin 4," Bail explained. "They only just appeared recently. Supposedly there are several Jedi leading it."

"How did you learn about this?" Obi-Wan asked.

"My contact," Bail replied cryptically.

"Yeah, speaking of that," Al stepped forward. "You mind letting us be a little more _knowledgeable_ about what's going on in the Alliance? You guys want us to do your dirty work and negotiate with people but we have no clue what's going on internally. How are Obi-Wan and Siri supposed to strike up a deal with anybody if they can't speak for the Alliance?"

Obi-Wan gave Al a surprised look. He hadn't expected the Zabrak to speak in such a manner, but he _did_ have a point; Obi-Wan and Siri had it hard enough trying to handle the issue with Tlenden, but it hadn't looked very good on them to not even realize that Mothma had been captured.

Bail smiled weakly. "I was actually going to suggest that myself. With Mon imprisoned, it's up to you and me to be the eyes and ears for the Alliance on Imperial Center. Almusian, we'll still need supplies, but I'm placing you in charge of that; you'll have direct contact with the Alliance. As soon as they message me and are establishing a base, I'll pass the information on to you and you can deal with the Alliance Council directly."

"You're _on_ the Alliance Council," Al pointed out.

Bail smiled and nodded. "Yes, but I try not to make too many decisions without the rest of the council present. We are trying to be a _democracy_, after all." Before anyone could speak, he then asked, "What of the situation with Senator Tlenden?"

Obi-Wan sighed heavily. "He won't join. He's more concerned with his internal war, and he's not convinced the Alliance can handle itself."

Bail paled a little and looked away. "We need their help… the underworld won't supply us for a long time and Corellia still won't touch the matter; certainly not until we can find Senator Iblis."

"Shouldn't that be our next priority, then?" Siri asked. "If we can't make a deal with Tlenden, we should try to find Iblis, right? And what about rescuing Mon?"

"We're barely holding it together," Bail shook his head. "We have enough people to reestablish a base somewhere safe. Then we have to resupply and rebuild our numbers before we can do anything. If the Empire picks up on our trail again, I don't think we can survive or outrun another attack."

"Can't that Jedi fleet distract them? Has anyone made contact with them?" Obi-Wan queried.

"Aren't there any other systems that can help us?" Siri added.

"Any system capable of helping us already has or won't get near us after all the hits we've been taking." Bail replied morosely. "Salkende was our best hope."

"Perhaps with the Jedi fleet the circumstances will improve," Obi-Wan suggested. "Salkende is almost finished with its civil war; we might be able to renegotiate after the commencement of the new senate session."

Siri looked at Obi-Wan sharply, and he immediately knew why. He himself had suggested that they would get _off_ Imperial Center during the recess; that they would _stay_ off.

He had a distinct feeling that plan was changing.

Bail nodded. "Yes, perhaps you can renegotiate with him."

"We should also work on getting a new spy on Imperial Center," Siri slipped in. "To replace everyone who's leaving. Senator Amidala should leave as well; she's got Darth Vader breathing down her neck."

Bail looked at Siri worriedly. "Where _is_ Padmé?"

"She's… on Naboo." Obi-Wan replied carefully. He wasn't sure he wanted Organa to know the situation, but he also sure wasn't sure why he wouldn't trust the man with the information. In either case, he trusted his instinct and remained quiet on the matter, and Al and Siri followed his lead.

Siri, however, did say, "She's okay for now, but we've already had a close call. One of my fellow handmaidens was murdered the day we left."

Bail stood once more, alarmed. "What? What happened?"

"A supposed _accident_," Obi-Wan explained. "She wasn't even involved in any of our dealings with the Alliance. We're not sure what the Empire was after, but… Padmé is legitimately in danger. We should consider relocating her."

"If she doesn't return to Imperial Center her cover would be compromised," Bail surmised.

"But if she _does_ remain and her cover's blown, she'll be killed," Siri argued.

"We have no one else right now," Bail shook his head, looking desperate at the situation. He appeared to be just as unhappy about Padmé's predicament. "Mon is in prison, and I'm retiring in a year… and under orders to _not_ do anything. Still, we can try to find a replacement…"

Obi-Wan felt his gut clench. Padmé would kill him at this point. The only reason the three had been okay with the decision before was because the situation with Mon and Bail wasn't so dire. Or with the Alliance in general. Now… if Padmé were forced to officially join the Alliance, Obi-Wan could potentially be the next spy until they found a replacement, but he was far too close to Padmé; the Empire would immediately suspect him. The only other option was that Siri would remain and become the handmaiden of the next senator, but then they would have to find a way for her to work around the senator and the like, and all that planning and rearranging would waste too much precious time. He didn't want to say it, but he knew he had to. "Padmé… can remain until we can sort this out. It… would be appreciated if that process could be expedited, though."

"Of course," Bail immediately acknowledged. "I can get some protection for you all as well. My contact can be of assistance."

"What contact?" Al asked.

"A former Jedi," Bail answered, catching everyone off guard. Obi-Wan immediately became uncomfortable; did he want a Jedi around him after what he'd learned about himself?

"You have a _Jedi_ as a contact?" Al blurted out.

"Master Jinn prefers to remain unnoticed, but I think I can convince him to come out of hiding," Bail explained. "He's mainly been keeping a low profile over the years and keeping his ear to the ground."

"Lovely," Siri muttered. "So in other words, he's been sitting around."

"Sitting around with his ears wide open," Obi-Wan amended with a somewhat strained smile. Then he returned his attention to Bail. The matter seemed relatively settled for the time being, then; they would return to Imperial Center as if nothing had changed, Al would now be an official contact to the Alliance, and… they would have a Jedi protector. _That_ was weird to think about. In either case, that didn't leave much for them to discuss, so he offered another bow. "We'll look forward to seeing you on Imperial Center, then. I trust our, eh, bodyguard will be there by then?"

"It will take a few days to get him out of hiding," Bail corrected him. "But be assured, he'll be there within the first week of the new session. With those matters aside, though, I would love for you all to stay for dinner."

"We can't," Siri immediately shook her head. "We have to get back to Padmé on Naboo."

"Please," Bail said a little worriedly. "It would be… odd to the Imperials if you appeared only to speak to me in private and then depart. You should at least stay for the festivities for one night. Attend dinner with me; it will make your visit official. You can leave in the morning."

Obi-Wan felt his muscles tense. He didn't like this plan too much, but they didn't have a choice in the matter. Bail's logic was sound. But that still meant they'd have to wait at least thirty-six hours before seeing Padmé again. Siri looked just as conflicted as Obi-Wan, but she also understood Bail's argument. Al watched the two of them, knowing what they would answer, and he sighed and bowed. "We'd all be honored to stay, then, senator."

Obi-Wan and Siri bowed at the same time, and Obi-Wan felt his stomach clench. _I'm sorry, Padmé. Hang in there._

* * *

Palpatine recalled when Order 66 had been issued. It was executed quickly, but it was inefficient; the clones were mostly wiped out by the end of the war. He hadn't been happy; it hadn't been an ideal time, but he'd come to the conclusion that there really wasn't an ideal time. The Republic was ripe for the taking, yes, but there had been no clear way to completely eliminate the Jedi. They weren't much of a threat at that point, anyway, but Palpatine had wanted them to all go down in a triumphant crash, he'd wanted to _relish_ in his victory. Instead, he'd had to worry about ensuring the Empire stabilized as quickly as possible; they'd been vulnerable in the early months, and he had not liked that.

A pity he'd not had Vader back then. The boy would have certainly sped the process up.

And now he had to worry about the Jedi suddenly reappearing out of nowhere. He knew it would happen eventually; he knew many would have slipped through the cracks. The sloppiness of their execution had rattled him from the very inception of the order, and he was actually delighted they were suddenly returning as if they actually had a chance at winning. It didn't matter how many Jedi there were; they would all fall, and he was more than happy that they were even going through the effort of lining themselves up for him. They would all die, and he would enjoy every moment of it. His apprentice would, too.

Sighing, Palpatine closed his eyes. Stretching his senses into the Force, he immediately cut through the tangled web of life and felt his apprentice. The boy was calm and quiet now, but Palpatine could sense underlying tension. There was confusion, worry… yes, _finally_ he was getting something out of the youngling. When Vader had been a very small child Palpatine had sensed such potential in him, but by the time the boy had turned six or seven he'd suddenly taken a completely different turn in his training. Nothing Palpatine said or did, no matter how much he abused the child, changed the boy's temperament. In fact, the more Palpatine urged him to use the Dark Side, the more the boy pushed his emotions away. Palpatine was fairly certain Vader didn't even remember ever feeling anything, but Palpatine assuredly remembered.

The boy had always been _distant_, to be sure, but during their training sessions very early on, Vader had displayed an anger that could rival Palpatine's. Outside of the training rooms, Vader had always been quiet and polite, and he'd never opened up to anyone. Palpatine knew that Tarkin had paid Vader little mind in his early years since he'd thought the task of babysitting beneath him, but as the boy had grown, Tarkin had begun to show interest in him. By then any sort of favorable attachment couldn't be formed; Vader was devoid of life, of passion, of anything.

Palpatine actually found himself _worrying_ for the boy's sanity on occasion.

For a while the change hadn't been obvious. Palpatine had actually been hopeful and surprised that the boy had suddenly learned to control his anger – the hope had been that he would then know how to _utilize_ it instead of flailing it around like some rabid animal. Instead, the anger diminished more and more, and one day, probably when the boy had been about seven years old, Palpatine had stretched into the Force to tear into the child's mind and had found… nothing. It had legitimately scared him, and he had immediately pulled out and called the training off for the day. He'd spent the night meditating and brooding, wondering if he'd somehow broken the boy _too much_, but that night, the boy had come to him and had knelt before him, and he'd said he would do anything his Master ever wished of him. Training sessions after that had proven the boy's sincerity, and Palpatine had even been content to allow the boy to fight in his own emotionless way; he was still ruthless and _always_ efficient.

As the boy had grown he'd acquired different quirks and habits. He always had to have his morning walk, and he never shared it with anyone. He never spoke during that time, either. He always sparred when something was out of its usual routine. He always spent exactly two minutes ensuring he was ready for the day after cleaning and dressing himself. The boy had other rituals, though Palpatine didn't know them all; in fact, many that he did know were simply from Tarkin's reports and observations. Although the grand moff and Vader weren't particularly close, Palpatine knew Vader respected Tarkin, and that was more than could be said for any other person in the galaxy apart from Palpatine himself. Still, though Palpatine hadn't originally noticed these rituals, he'd examined them thoroughly since his discovery, and he knew their hidden meanings, even if Tarkin and Vader himself didn't. They were the boy's different ways of coping; each ritual was for different voids in the boy's mind.

Despite Vader's best efforts to be a blank slate, though, Palpatine had long since learned that the boy's mind was not actually as empty as it had originally seemed.

Darth Vader could _feel_. Oh _Force_, could he feel.

When the Sith apprentice had turned nine years old, Palpatine had given him his title. It had been the first name Vader had ever known; before then he'd been called _boy_ or _apprentice_… or occasionally 'little one' by Tarkin, who at that point had probably realized that something wasn't quite right with his charge. Upon hearing the words _Darth Vader_ for the first time, Palpatine had felt such an onslaught of emotions that he'd nearly assumed the boy was going to attack him. He'd sensed such a kaleidoscope of feelings that even he—_him_ of all people—couldn't decipher them all. It had hit him suddenly and fiercely, like a train hitting him at maximum speed; his gut had clenched, his mind had whirled, he'd gotten dizzy, he hadn't been able to catch his breath. And the most confusing part about it had been that it had hit him suddenly and then left just as suddenly. He'd sat there, dazed, wondering if it had been some sort of warning in the Force, when he'd abruptly realized it had been his apprentice. The boy's emotions were in a pressurized container somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind, and the few times the top of the container cracked open, the container would almost explode. The realization had blown him away… and excited him. Just _imagine_ the power that boy could have if he actually learned how to release the pressure on that little container of his every once in a while. Palpatine just had to find a way to help him do it.

And it seemed like his plan was working quite splendidly.

Palpatine smiled as he felt Vader's twisted inner thoughts. Even he couldn't pierce the boy's mind entirely, but he had little need to; what he could sense was enough to satisfy him. He opened his eyes and leaned back in his seat, eying the Coruscanti skyline. Yes, once the boy's mission was over, he would be able to finally mold him into the perfect apprentice.

* * *

The beautiful cloudless morning had changed rapidly as the wind had brought in heavy rain that chilled to the bone. The streets of the colony were beginning to flood, and everyone was doing their best to take shelter. With the new supplies all the refugees and most of the relief workers could stay dry in the tents, but the wind would eventually blow the water inside.

Padmé flinched as she was splashed once more. She was standing in the central tent, having been helping Iena most of the day. It was almost midnight; she hadn't seen or heard from Vader all day, so she took advantage of the extra time. At this point the relief corps and refugee movement were set; they had finally established contact with Theed and more ships were on their way. Padmé had checked on Rekk and the representative had assured her that he would be alright and would take one of the arriving shuttles. He would travel to Theed and then head back to Imperial Center. Honestly, all Padmé had to worry about now was her own ride.

If Darth Vader ever decided to show up, that is.

"You sure you don't need anything else?" she asked Iena, just to pass the time and cover all her bases.

Iena nodded with a grateful smile. "You've done more than enough, Padmé. I'm surprised you haven't left by now, actually; we've got everything under control."

Padmé sighed, looking out at the rain. "I would have left if my pilot were actually around…"

As if on cue, Padmé suddenly heard someone's footsteps splashing in the puddles outside. She peeked out and caught sight of Vader heading towards the shuttle.

"Looks like your pilot's back," Iena noted, following Padmé line of sight. Then she glanced at her. "Is everything all right between you two?"

Looking away from Vader, Padmé offered a forced smile. "Mostly. He's just… stubborn."

Iena laughed. "So are you. Birds of a feather, then."

Padmé felt her heart race and her gut clenched. She didn't like being compared to Darth Vader, but at the same time, she did see what Iena was saying. Krif. The two _did_ have a lot in common, didn't they?

"You two make a cute couple," Iena giggled.

Padmé gaped at her. _What?! _"We—no—we're not—that's not how it—Iena!"

Padmé didn't know to be more disturbed by Iena's remark or by the fact that she couldn't articulate any argument _against_ it. She certainly didn't view herself as in a relationship with Vader… but even she couldn't deny the fact that she did find herself constantly thinking about him. Son of a Hutt. She needed to leave.

Shaking her head, Padmé said, "Good luck with the rest of your work here, Iena, and be safe."

"Take care, Padmé."

Padmé hastily ran to the shuttle, trying to shove Iena's words out of her mind. After boarding, she heard the engines immediately rev up. She wasn't sure if that indicated that Vader had been waiting for her or was going to leave without her. Immediately any embarrassment or worry about her relationship with the man vanished and she simply grew annoyed. Trudging to the guest quarters, Padmé grabbed a towel from the refresher and dried herself off after strapping into a chair. The ship's take-off was smooth despite the weather, and eventually the colony vanished and the moon was a small speck in her viewport. The hyperdrive roared to life as the engines died down and they tore into hyperspace.

Okay, it was time to get to the kriffing bottom of things.

Standing, Padmé marched to the cockpit with purpose. She still wanted an answer as to what had happened this morning… and _last night_ for that matter. She just wanted answers in general, blast it. As soon as she reached the door leading to the cockpit, Padmé took a deep breath to calm herself and slow down. She didn't need to barge in demanding information out of him; that wouldn't end well.

Entering, Padmé saw Vader removing his hands from the controls; he'd just gotten everything settled. He glanced at her reflection in the viewport, but said nothing.

"So…" Padmé began as she slowly walked to the co-pilot's seat. "You do know it's after midnight, right?"

Vader glanced at her.

Well, might as well push the conversation forward. Subtlety was either lost on the man or he just didn't care to acknowledge it. "Where have you been all day? What were you doing?"

Vader looked back at the viewport, silent for a few seconds. "Scouting."

Padmé crossed her arms. "Scouting for what? The threat is over."

"Anything."

Padmé scoffed, sitting in the co-pilot's chair. This guy was dodging her so obviously a child could see it. "Are you still mad at me? So much for not having emotions. You were just saying the other day that you hadn't experienced anger, milord."

Vader tensed, and he unstrapped the safety harness he was wearing, refusing to look at her. "Can you stop?"

"Stop?" Padmé was genuinely surprised at this turn of events. It was beyond rare for Vader to request anything… which was when she realized that he'd actually been doing it almost frequently in the past few days. But then the question made _her_ angry; he was acting as if this were somehow _her_ fault, as if he hadn't been the one to randomly explode on her that morning. "Stop what? Why are you acting as if _you're_ the victim in this situation?"

"I am no one's victim, senator," Vader said, and his voice held a threatening undertone to it.

"Then why don't you actually face me instead of run?" Padmé demanded, ignoring the threat. "Every single time something is brought up that you're not comfortable with, you _walk away_, you don't face me!"

Vader closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Am I not dealing with you now?"

Padmé bit back a retort and instead continued the conversation. "Why did you get angry at me this morning?"

"You interrupted my walk," he replied in the same quiet, even tone as before.

"Do you normally bite off people's heads for doing that?"

"People know better than to interrupt me," Vader said, and he opened his eyes and looked pointedly at her.

Padmé was unperturbed. "Are you so sensitive you can't handle having your routine messed up?"

Vader shot to his feet. His face was stormy, but his voice grew even quieter. "You don't understand. _You don't know me._"

Padmé also leapt to her feet to defend herself against the ridiculous accusation—and it _was_ ridiculous; she'd spent the entire vacation _trying_ to get to know him. "Because _you don't let me_! I have been asking you about yourself for _days_, and on Isola you told me to stop—now you're getting angry because I don't know you because _you wouldn't answer_?!"

Her words cut into the Sith Lord, whose face suddenly bore an uncertain expression. "I… it…"

Vader looked out at the viewport once more, keeping his eyes anywhere but on her.

"Why don't you take the advice I gave you on Isola?" Padmé offered, trying to calm both herself and him. "Just be kriffing _honest_ and _answer_ my questions."

Something snapped; a piece of machinery popped, and a small spark flew from it. At the same time, Vader faced her once more with a glare. "_Fine_, dammit. Ask away."

Padmé took a moment to catch her breath, a little startled from the coincidence, but she quickly recovered. She'd start small; maybe that would appease him. "Why were you angry this morning?"

"You really _do_ have hearing issues," Vader echoed his statement from several days ago, growing even more annoyed. "I already told you: you interrupted my walk."

Padmé rolled her eyes. "Really? _That's_ why?"

"Yes."

She tried a different avenue. "Why is your morning walk so sacred to you, then?"

Here Vader paused, and his defiant expression crumbled. He didn't look like he was sure how to proceed, or maybe he did but just didn't want to. Shifting his weight, he looked beyond Padmé. "It… helps me."

"How?" Padmé pressed relentlessly.

"It…" Vader sighed, taking a step away from her. "I… when I walk… it's… it's just me. It's just me."

Something about his expression, his tone, his demeanor, made Padmé pause. Several times she'd hit this point, this moment where the conversation felt like it was about to deepen, about to finally reveal something intrinsic about Vader, but it had always been interrupted. She wouldn't mess it up again this time. "It's just you. So you like being alone?"

Vader shook his head.

"Then what do you mean?"

"It's not like that."

Padmé held her exasperation in check. "Then what's it like?"

"It's…" Vader shook his head, apparently having difficulty articulating himself. "It's _just me_. You… you wouldn't understand. You _can't_ understand—you're too kriffing blind."

Padmé immediately felt her ire return. "What the hell does that mean?"

Vader finally looked her in the eye. "It means you need to make a choice."

"What choice?" Padmé asked. "Stop speaking riddles, blast it!"

"Rebels or Imperials. The Alliance or the Empire." Vader took a step towards her, not breaking eye contact. "You're a Rebel spy, senator."

Padmé's blood ran cold. Her heart stopped. Her breath was punched out of her chest. Staring at him in horror, she took a small step back before finally reassembling her expression. Immediately after the shock hit her the adrenaline coursed through her body, and she was suddenly panting for air, her heart was beating too fast, and everything was spiraling out of control. On the exterior, though, she carefully constructed her face into confusion. "What makes you say that? How would you even come to that conclusion?"

"I knew you were a spy before we ever left for Naboo." Vader said quietly, and his eyes seemed to pierce through her defenses, making her expression crumble. They moved in unison as he took another step towards her and she took another step back. "You tried to tip off the Rebels on your homeworld, but you failed. I got them first."

Padmé never claimed to be the bravest person in the galaxy, but any fear was dashed from her as soon as her allies were mentioned. It was immediately replaced with rage and defensiveness. "So why haven't you killed me like the rest of them, you sick sadistic murglak? Prefer to play with your prey? And what about _Sabé_?! Did you even know she wasn't a Rebel?"

"It didn't matter."

Padmé's rage increased, and she took several steps towards him until they were a breath apart. "What do you mean it didn't matter?! You killed her for no reason?!"

"Technically, the crash killed her."

She snapped. Raising her hand, Padmé smacked Vader as hard as she could, leaving her own hand stinging from the blow. Vader's face was thrown to the side, and his cheek was steadily growing redder as the seconds ticked by. Both stood there, frozen in time for a terrifying second, but the fear only barely tickled her like an icy cold breeze under her pain, and the frozen moment in time passed. _"Why did you kill her?!"_

Vader faced her once more, looking more annoyed than before but otherwise relatively unperturbed. "Because I was ordered to."

She wanted to smack him again, but all her energy was diverted to her words. "Is that _really_ all you can do—just follow damn orders?! What the hell is wrong with you—what kind of person lives like that?!"

"I'm not a person."

His quiet words cut through her more than any dagger, and her anger immediately dissipated. Some cold dread filled her, like she somehow had known this was coming and wasn't sure she wanted to hear it. At the same time, she was absolutely floored; that sort of remark was an insult someone would hurl _at_ Vader, not spoken _by_ him. "What… what the blazes does that mean?"

Vader watched her. His piercing gaze was gone; his eyes were dull now, as if he didn't want her to see anything within them. At the same time, he almost looked like he was about to burst, as if he had been dying to say this for years. "I… I'm not a person. I never have been. I'm a means to an end. I was created to serve the emperor. If he wishes me to be a weapon, I'll be a weapon. If he wishes me to be a diplomat, I'll be a diplomat. I have no needs, no wants, no desires—everything I do is for him. I will live, breathe, work, fight, and die for him. I am his means to an end." He took a deep breath at this point; his words had begun tumbling out of him as if he were stating a creed, but now he looked at her pleadingly. "You weren't created like I am… but… but you could still be with me. _Please_—just make the right decision, stay with the Empire, be the emperor's weapon with me. We would be unstoppable together, and—and… and we wouldn't be lonely."

Padmé gaped at him. Her mind was whirling and yet she couldn't grasp a single coherent thought. This was too much at once—this was _way too much_. So the entire reason Vader never let himself act like a human being was because he himself didn't believe he _was_ a human being? And somehow he'd gotten himself attached to her and wanted _her_ to be like _him_?

Oh shavit. She'd succeeded all too well in her original mission. It almost made her feel sick that she'd tried to manipulate someone as lost as this, someone so _screwed up_… and it scared her. At the same time it was strangely freeing to hear him say it, like she'd suspected something similar but hadn't been able to put her finger on it. But this opened the doors to so many more questions, and they were all cascading on her at once, so she just took a step away from Vader, staring at him, unable to close her mouth or say anything.

He stood watching her expectantly, even patiently, with bated breath. As the seconds seemed to stretch for hours, though, he began to reconstruct his features into the typical mask of aloofness that she'd grown so used to seeing. It was as if she was watching the door to his mind and heart slowly close, and she knew that if she didn't grab it now it would never open again.

_Say something, dammit. Say something!_

"You…" she stammered, trying to put words together into a coherent sentence. "How… you… what—how could you think that?"

His eyes glimmered slightly; the door was still open, only by just a crack. "It's just what I am."

_What I am. I'm not everyone. People have wants, not me. You're a weapon. You'll learn eventually. I do whatever is required._ By heaven, he'd been saying it all along. Padmé felt nauseous. She felt as if a mountain had been erected in front of her, one that was impossible to climb. She wanted to help him, but now her own emotions were tearing her apart. He finally confirmed that he'd killed Sabé—something she'd basically concluded on her own, but it still _hurt_ hearing him _say it_. She recalled their game of truth or dare, where he hadn't shown any indication of remorse over Sabé's death, and just now when he spoke of the Rebels. Every time she thought of it she wanted to smack him again, but she felt an empty ache instead; he was just too pitiful now. But how the hell could she help him? And why would she? Just hearing the words _help him_ in her head made her heart ache and her mind scream; there were too many contradictions going on—there was too much _everything_ right now.

"Work with me. Fight with me. _Be_ with me." Vader asked her, taking a small step towards her.

"Where did this come from?" she suddenly asked. "Why… when did you… what difference do _I_ make?"

_Stupid question, Padmé._ She wanted to smack herself now. This man had no exposure to emotions, to any sort of concern from anyone, including himself. She had him eating out her hand as soon as she told him she cared—as soon as she said he _mattered_. She felt sick. She felt _so sick_. This was so wrong; she'd known, she'd _known_ as soon as she'd kissed him on Imperial Center that she would regret this. This wasn't fair to Vader; she couldn't manipulate him like this.

But was it really manipulating? Did she really feel nothing for him at this point?

Padmé felt her heart skip a beat. No, no! Why would she feel anything for him? He was a murderer! He was…

Lost. Alone. Just like her.

_Dammit!_

Padmé shook her head fervently. "I… I need time. Just… I need time."

Before Vader could say anything, she hastily left the cockpit.


	20. Training

**Happy Advent! :D**

**First, I want to thank you all so much for your reviews; they always bring a smile to my face and I'm really happy you're enjoying the story. Sorry I can't reply to everyone individually; I've been pretty busy. Anyways, I hope you like the update! :)**

* * *

Tarkin slammed his palm on his desk. _"Shavit!"_

This wasn't his day. Intelligence had just informed him that not only had Gen. Kota pushed back the Imperial offensive, but he'd gotten reinforcements from a brand _new_ fleet that had been completely unknown up to this point. He thought he could nip the problem in the bud, but this problem was already out of control; it had become out of control long before he'd known of it. This had to _stop_.

He needed more resources. He needed more Intelligence, more information. As the temporary head of the military he had access to everything the Empire had to offer, but at the moment the blasted Empire wasn't offering _anything_ that could help him.

Well, almost.

Grabbing his comlink, Tarkin was about to key in the frequency for Darth Vader when he suddenly noticed that Vader was actually calling him. Right on time.

Activating the link, Tarkin patched it through to his holoprojector on his desk. He immediately opened his mouth to tell Vader the situation and order him to return, emperor be damned, when he froze.

Something was wrong. Vader fidgeted restlessly, unable to stand still. His hands were fiddling with his tunic. His usually cold and neutral expression had morphed into one of uncertainty and anxiety. He looked at everything except Tarkin.

"What's the matter?" Tarkin asked.

"I…" Vader tried replying, but his voice faded away. He still wouldn't make eye contact. "I need advice."

For the love of the _Force_, did this have to do with Palpatine's idiotic notion of making Vader emotionally manipulate Amidala? This was the _last_ thing Tarkin cared about right now. Still, if it had Vader this upset, he probably should at least hear the young Sith out. "Get on with it, then."

"I may have broken the senator's trust," Vader quickly explained. "I don't… she… I only have four days to get the information, and—I've been laying the groundwork, but—we—she—things—Master—"

As Vader continued to put words together incoherently between gasps of air, Tarkin grew slightly more unsettled. He eventually interrupted the young man with a hand; he didn't think it would get this bad, but he recognized the distress he saw. He hadn't seen it in Vader for years—maybe even almost a decade—but he knew it well enough. If there was one thing in the universe that could rattle Darth Vader, it was the idea that he could fail an assignment. He hadn't botched up anything in such a long time Tarkin had almost forgotten his reaction… but honestly, he'd also been expecting this. Hadn't he been thinking it would happen before Vader ever left for Naboo?

Of course, he'd also been thinking how he'd handle the situation as well. Naturally Vader would be extremely upset, but Tarkin would guide him. He always did. He was assigned to the man a very long time ago to look after him, and while he hadn't originally been happy with babysitting, he'd taken to handling the young Sith. Besides, this was a _perfect_ opportunity. Imagine what would happen if Vader failed; Palpatine would be furious, but Tarkin would convince him to allow Vader to live; he'd say that he'd teach the boy, and as he did so, the two would grow closer. Vader would need Tarkin's advice, he'd trust his advice, he'd depend on it… and once Tarkin disposed of Palpatine, Vader's loyalty would be unquestionable.

"What information do you have so far?" he asked.

"We didn't miss anyone on Naboo," Vader answered, trying to get his bearings. Having Tarkin interrogate him seemed to help him regain his calm. "All the Rebels are dead. The handmaiden we killed had no ties to the Alliance, either, so it must be one of the other two."

"One of the other two?" Tarkin repeated.

Vader took another calming breath. "The senator must be obtaining and relaying information somehow. She's a public figure and watched by the Empire; while she may be in charge of Rebel operations on Imperial Center, she can't do all the dirty work. I'm assuming someone who comes in contact with her often would be an operative. Most likely it would be someone nobody pays attention to, someone who's supposed to be with her. That would make a handmaiden the appropriate contact. Since we needed to eliminate one anyway I figured I might be able to handle both problems, but I miscalculated. It wasn't the right woman."

"Do you know which one it is, then?"

Vader shook his head, and then he began to speak once more. "Governor, I—what do I do? How do I—I mean, she—I should have never said—"

He immediately grew silent and shook his head, looking away. Tarkin took a steadying breath; he had to choose his words carefully. He needed to reassure and advise Vader without giving him too much help; he wanted the boy to fail, after all. What were a few injuries from the emperor if the reward down the road was having the boy fully under his control? "Milord, it's fine. Just keep trying. Don't change your approach. Try to be amicable with her."

Vader didn't seem very reassured. "It's _not_ fine; I need_ results_."

"You have plenty of time for that," Tarkin replied. "Just be sure you don't mess things up again. How did you break her trust?"

Suddenly the Sith was reticent. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and looked at the floor. Growing curious, Tarkin prodded him. "Did you attack her?"

Vader shook his head. "It… I'll sort it out."

Tarkin nodded, crossing his arms. He could survive without the Sith's help for four days. Hopefully the issue with the Jedi wouldn't cause too much of a problem until then. Once Vader returned, Tarkin would have to play his cards just right, both so Vader wouldn't die at the emperor's hand and so he could convince Palpatine to let Vader be under his control so he could properly learn how to accomplish whatever assignment the emperor gave him.

And so he could finally be rid of those blasted Rebels. He'd start with Mothma.

"Then do so," he acknowledged the Sith, who bowed and cut the transmission.

Tarkin had a lot of planning to do.

* * *

_I'm not a person._

_I'm a means to an end._

_I will live, breathe, work, fight, and die for him._

Padmé couldn't sit still. She walked across the guest quarters, paused, and then would think of something else he'd said and start moving nervously around the room once more. Her fingers twitched, her heart raced, and her breath came in short gasps. This explained _so much_. Darth Vader thought he was a tool, a _droid_, essentially – he had no sense of humanity, no sense of self. It was no wonder he didn't bat an eye at the atrocities he committed.

Even killing Sabé.

Padmé froze and buried her face in her hands, moaning. Hearing him say those words… now that she was going over the conversation and not in proximity to him, it somehow just automatically turned off any anger in her mind. She'd initially been shocked and enraged over his comments about Sabé, but the more she thought about it the more _sense_ it made until it just rang in her mind like a clear bell. She couldn't argue the point anymore; he didn't care about anyone or anything because he didn't care about himself.

What the hell kind of upbringing did that guy have?

Of course, what frightened Padmé was his sudden interest in her. And not the previous _I'm your killer_ interest, but a genuine one – the kind of interest she'd been trying to generate initially.

Padmé swore harshly. What the hell was wrong with her?! What had she been thinking?!

What had she gotten herself into?!

Moaning, she finally just collapsed on the bed. She didn't know where to go, who to turn to, _she didn't know what to do_. She wished Obi-Wan was here; he always offered the best advice.

Calm down. She needed to calm down.

_Be with me._

"Oh _shavit_," she muttered into the blanket, grabbing it in bundles between her fingers. "What is _wrong_ with me?"

Because as much as Vader's desire for her was frightening, there was something even more terrifying.

Her desire to respond.

Her parents had instilled in her a deep sense of compassion for others, and _blast it_ she really wished now of all times that she didn't have it. But as soon as she thought that, she dismissed the thought, growing angry with herself. Darth Vader had done something she was fairly certain he'd never done before—he'd opened up to someone. She shouldn't let him down; she had to _help_ him.

She _wanted_ to help him. And that's what scared her the most.

He couldn't help it, after all. He couldn't help everything he'd done if he thought about himself in such a manner. To him it was just orders, just _programming_.

Padmé's mind whirled at how anybody could ever be molded into thinking in such a manner.

A soft knock came from the door.

Jumping, Padmé immediately shot to her feet. Her nerves sent electricity surging to every corner of her body, and she couldn't catch her breath. She stood still as a stone, suddenly frozen in place in contrast to her earlier restlessness. Shaking her head violently, Padmé put her face in her hands and took a deep breath. She had to deal with this. Vader needed her.

_Darth Vader_ needed her… just hearing that in her mind made her think she was crazy.

Another knock came, slightly louder.

Taking another calming breath, Padmé stood straight and faced the door. "Come in."

The door opened with a soft hiss, and Darth Vader stood before her. At first glance he looked his usual neutral self, but upon closer inspection Padmé could pick up on the subtle differences. His left hand twitched slightly, playing with his tunic. He blinked too much. His skin was slightly paler than normal.

Vader took a deep breath and stepped forward, but he stood in the doorway rather than inside the room. "I… you… it would be best for both of us if you simply forgot what I said earlier."

Forget about it? _What?_ After he'd nearly given her a heart attack and poured his soul out to her, he just wanted her to pretend it had never happened? Was he joking right now?

Of course he wasn't. He either didn't understand the emotional impact his words had had on her… or he was wrestling with his _own_ emotions on the subject.

Watching him standing there, looking steadily more uncomfortable, steadily more _worried_, Padmé finally found her calm. This man needed a miracle, a protector, a guide. This man needed _her_. She could help him; she _would_ help him. She'd show him that he _was_ a person, that he _was_ worth the time of day, the attention, the love, the concern. Maybe she could even convince him to help the Alliance instead of the Empire… but that would be far, far down the road. First things first. "Milord, I can't do that."

Vader paled a little more, and his jaw tightened. He took a small step towards her, and his eyes seemed to harden as if he were coming to some sort of resolution.

Padmé took a deep breath. "You wanted me to be with you. So I will. I'll be with you, Lord Vader. I'll help you."

Vader froze. He apparently hadn't been expecting that reply. His mouth opened slightly and then closed again. His eyes widened, and the coloring in his face finally returned. And then, all of a sudden, the corners of his mouth turned slightly into the smallest but most genuine smile Padmé had ever seen. He took three large steps towards her, suddenly full of energy, and stopped just in front of her. "You—you will? This—okay, we need—you—I—we can—"

His energy surged through Padmé despite the distance between the two of them, and she mirrored his smile to a much larger degree. She'd never seen him light up like this; his eyes were glowing – they were suddenly so _expressive_.

And then, something seemed to click in his mind, and he immediately sobered. He blew out a breath and shook his head, closing his eyes and growing still, and then he looked at her. "We… have a lot of work to do."

Padmé felt her heart ache. He'd been so _alive_ before. What had changed? "What happened?"

Vader furrowed his brow, confused.

"You were so animated," Padmé noted with a smile. "Why'd you stop?"

"I wasn't being rational. And I wasn't saying anything useful, anyway."

Padmé sighed heavily and she took a step towards him. He immediately knew what was coming as she reached an arm out to place her hand on his shoulder, and he took a small step back.

Okay, she had to set some things straight immediately. "Milord, you're right. We _do_ have a lot of work to do. If we're going to work together, I have some ground rules."

"Master's rules are the ground rules." Vader immediately responded. "Not yours."

"Who's Master?" Padmé asked, suspecting who it might be but not entirely sure.

"The emperor."

Of course. "Does he make you call him that?"

"It's a form of respect."

"So is calling him _Your Imperial Majesty_," Padmé pointed out, feeling sick. That sadistic son of a Hutt made Vader call him Master as if he were his slave?

"He's my Master."

"You're _not_ his slave, you know."

"I know that," Vader replied, catching Padmé off guard. "But he's my Master."

Oh _Force_. He didn't… no… did he…? "You… you don't think you're _below_ a slave, do you?"

Vader shrugged, unperturbed. "A slave is a person. I already said I'm not. It's not a matter of being above or below someone else. The only person who is supreme is Master."

Dear heaven he practically _worshipped_ the guy. Padmé had her work cut out for her. "Well, in either case, I still have ground rules."

"Only Master's rules matter." Vader repeated.

"I don't think these will really interfere with his rules," Padmé said carefully; she knew better than to try and rip him from his comfort zone. "They're simple, I promise."

Vader looked skeptical, but he remained silent.

"First, call me Padmé," she began. "You have to understand that if we're going to be working together, our relationship isn't quite as formal anymore." She paused for a moment before immediately blushing and adding, "B-but that doesn't mean it's, you know, _intimate_ or anything either. It's still business."

Why was she even stuttering about this? Vader obviously didn't catch the meaning of her remark anyway; he simply continued to gaze at her in the same expectant manner. Shaking her head, she continued. "Secondly, you _have_ to stop being nervous around me. I'm not going to give you a disease by touching you. I know you were raised on Imperial Center and the culture there is different, but even within _that_ culture you can touch someone you're familiar with. Aren't we familiar with each other by now?"

"Is this relating back to your weird hand holding thing?" Vader asked, eying her suspiciously.

Padmé laughed at his behavior. "It's not _weird_, you shaak."

Vader looked like he begged to differ, but he didn't express his opinion on the matter. "Very well, your ground rules can stand for now. But now you have to stand by Master's."

Padmé felt her stomach churn. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear these ground rules.

"Never show weakness." Vader started. "You are a servant of the emperor. You will never tire, you will never fail, and you will _never_ show weakness. If Master tells you something, you do it immediately. Never argue. His will is supreme."

Padmé was very tempted to argue with him about that, but she again reminded herself to not push him too much. She'd learned that he was too stubborn to force into anything; she had to _convince_ him, not just tell him things (even if they were true). So she just nodded. She wouldn't verbally acknowledged the commands; she didn't think she could stomach it. Listening to him speak, though, as if it were his creed, made her feel even more sorry for him. These words were his life, his reason for breathing. These words were _poison_.

"Well, now that that's settled," Vader immediately continued, sounding more chipper than she'd ever heard him. "Let's sort out what we're going to do upon our arrival. Varykino is a suitable spot for training, so we'll return there. It'll be dark, so we can start with nighttime skills. Have you ever been in combat at night? Do you know how to track?"

Padmé was certain she should be feeling even sorrier for him; his immediate thought was to prepare her for her new job. But honestly, all she could do was laugh, albeit sadly; he was like an excitable child all of a sudden. "I don't know, it's been a long day. We should rest."

"Master's servants never tire." Vader shook his head. "That's a ground rule, remember?"

"But we also never show weakness, right?" Padmé rebutted. "Wouldn't we be showing weakness if our exhaustion got the best of us?"

Vader paused, considering her words. Crossing his arms, he said, "That would be true under typical circumstances, but since no one else will be around to witness it, it won't be a problem."

Blast it, she'd hoped for some time to get her thoughts together before Vader got everything rolling. She supposed she wouldn't have that. "Can we talk while we train?"

"Talking is unnecessary."

"What if you need to teach me something?"

"Then I will speak." Vader answered, eying her in a manner she couldn't quite pinpoint. "It's not like you can use the Force."

Both were silent for a moment. Vader looked lost in thought. Padmé wasn't sure what to say or do at this point. She needed to make sure she wasn't led around blindly; she was doing this to help _him_, not the Empire. She had to maintain the upper hand somehow.

Blast, she had a feeling this would be even _more_ exhausting than her previous objective. But it was definitely worth it.

"You'll need some new weapons," Vader muttered, his eyes clouded.

Padmé raised an eyebrow, a little nervous. "What's wrong with my blaster?"

"Nothing," Vader shook his head. "But you'll need more. You have to be ready for anything. Blasters are useless in close combat unless you want to use them as blunt weapons, but they're not very versatile. You need to learn close ranged combat."

"I learned a little hand to hand combat when I was preparing to become queen," Padmé admitted honestly.

Vader looked impressed. "How much?"

Padmé sighed, trying to extract the vague memories from her mind. "Enough to ensure I didn't get myself killed for a little while, at least."

"A servant of Master never fails." Vader shook his head again. "I'll teach you how to win."

They were quiet once more and then Vader suddenly snapped his fingers. "A shoto!"

Padmé immediately became confused. "A what?"

"You need a shoto," Vader explained. "A lightsaber wouldn't suit you; you don't have the perception to block blaster fire with it, and the only time you would clash blades would be with a Force user. A shoto would be perfect, though; it's made like a lightsaber, but it's shorter, like a dagger rather than a sword. You could cut through anyone."

A wave of nausea overcame her. "Do all your missions end in someone dying?"

Vader pondered her question for a moment and then shrugged. Then he sobered all of a sudden. "We still have ten minutes before we exit hyperspace. Now we can talk."

Padmé brightened immediately, but before she could say anything, Vader said, "Tell me everything you know about the Rebels."

For the second time that day, Padmé's blood ran cold. For a fleeting moment she wished this day would just end before her nerves finally came apart, but then she immediately felt panic set in. What would she say? She didn't want to lie to him outright, but she sure as hell wasn't going to give up any information that could hurt the Alliance. She'd settle for known information. "I… I know… their base… Dantooine. They're on Dantooine."

She hastily looked away, both pretending to be ashamed that she'd admitted something and nervous to look him in the eye. Her political façade did little against him, and she felt exposed.

Vader's response was immediate. "The Rebel base is on Yavin 4. Tell me something I don't know."

Padmé's gaze snapped back to the man. He… he _knew_?! The _Empire _knew?! No, no, no… this couldn't be happening… this couldn't…

Wait. If the Empire had destroyed the Rebel base on Yavin 4, they'd have annihilated the Alliance. Vader wouldn't have any reason to question her.

They got away.

She began to breathe again, and she shook her head. "I don't know anything else. I just joined the Alliance. That's all they told me."

"Who's your contact?"

"Someone named Kuna." Padmé replied carefully, her knees trembling. She recalled that Vader had brought up the late Rodian back on Imperial Center, so it was no secret that they'd been in contact. Vader looked unconvinced. His eyes were narrow, and his body was tense. Before he could ask anything else, Padmé suggested, "How about we plan the training schedule for tonight?"

Vader suddenly looked uncertain. He gazed elsewhere, debating her words. To add to her argument, she reminded him, "You did say we have a lot of work to do."

"You said you'd be with me. You'd train with me. You'd serve Master with me." Vader noted as he looked at her once more, and his tone held a bite to it. "You're not keeping your word."

Padmé swallowed and held to her resolve. "What do you mean?"

"You're lying."

She took another steadying breath. She was a politician. She could handle her own against him in a verbal battle. She _had_ to. And the first rule of any political debate is deflection. "I don't know what you mean. You _did_ say we had a lot of work to do."

"I meant about—"

"Milord, do you trust me?" Padmé interrupted, her heart rate increasing slightly with nervousness.

Vader gave her a befuddled look, not expecting the question. Then he shook his head.

She grew confused and concerned at once. He'd seemed very open and honest with her, he'd _confided_ in her; why didn't he trust her? She supposed she shouldn't be too surprised; despite the fact that his emotional stability was nonexistent, he was nevertheless very intelligent and wouldn't easily trust anyone. "Why not? Aren't we supposed to be working together? Didn't you want me to work with you, to _be_ with you?"

"Do _you_ trust _me_?" he rebutted unexpectedly.

Padmé paused, considering her options. If she said yes outright, she might win him over, but she suspected he'd sense her lie. If she said no, it would give him an excuse to not trust her in return. "I will if you trust me. That _is_ what makes a partnership."

Vader remained silent, taking a small step from her. Blast it all, how did this situation turn from a somewhat normal conversation to an interrogation? She really needed to figure out how to deal with his mood swings. Well, she did know how to make him uncomfortable, at least… stepping towards him, she put a hand on his arm and gave it a slight squeeze as a reassurance and encouragement. He tensed immediately, his gaze moving from her hand to her face.

"Why _are_ you so uncomfortable with touch?" she asked sincerely. "Your parents have a lot to answer for; they never took you on vacations, never held your hand… let me guess, they never hugged you either?"

"There's no purpose to a hug."

"Who were your parents?" Padmé asked abruptly. Vader had said he didn't have a family, so she assumed they were dead by now; at least they'd _better_ be – she didn't think she could stomach it if she heard they were alive and had willingly let Vader grow into the man he was.

"Imperial officials."

"That's _what_ they were, not _who_ they were." She was insistent. Not only did she truly want to know, but she was also unbelievably relieved that he'd taken the bait and was no longer talking or thinking about the Rebels.

"Who they are is of no importance. It's not pertinent to anything we need."

"So you want me to be your partner on a need-to-know only basis?" Padmé questioned, raising her eyebrows in a challenge.

"My parents are not a part of any mission or training. Therefore they're unimportant."

"You said you were _created_ to be Sith," Padmé pressed onward, taking a step towards him. "Did your parents have anything to do with that? What did you mean when you said that?"

"You have to understand something, senator—"

"Padmé," she reminded him, finally at ease now that she had the high ground.

Vader continued, unperturbed. "Our existence is based solely around serving Master. Nothing outside of that matters, including my parentage."

"We can still serve the emperor and enjoy being actual _people_, you know," Padmé said, once more putting her hand on his arm. "We can have each other, just like you said earlier."

Vader furrowed his brow, but he looked more concerned than irritated. He was stiff to her touch, but he didn't pull away. "But… we… I don't know why I… it doesn't matter… it doesn't matter…"

Padmé felt her heart melt at his timid voice. She took another step towards him, putting her other hand on his other arm in a quasi-hug. "It _does_ matter, milord. _You_ matter." Vader shook his head, but Padmé argued. "Don't deny it. You _do_ matter."

"No," he stepped away from her. "_No._ I'm a means to an end. I _don't_ matter. _Master_ matters… and so do you."

Padmé felt her nerves tingle. "Me?"

Vader nodded shyly, looking away.

"Why?"

Vader shook his head.

Padmé wasn't sure how to approach this. She wasn't even sure _if_ she should approach it. She was curious to know how she had managed to finally succeed in her original mission; she figured it had to do with being nice to him since she had a sinking suspicion he'd never been treated well. But… surely _someone_ was friendly to him; the probability of him running into a decent person wasn't _that _low, was it?

Eventually she just decided not to push the issue, though she did have to marvel at how she managed to "catch" him when she had decided to _not_ flirt with him. "Well if I matter, so do you."

Vader looked unconvinced. "My only purpose is to serve."

"Isn't that technically my purpose as well now? What makes me different from you?" Padmé asked.

"You weren't designed for this."

"Yet you want me to help."

"I can mold you into a weapon." Vader explained, and his eyes suddenly burned with such intensity that Padmé felt slightly unsettled. Before she could say anything, he continued. "I'll make arrangements for your training regimen tonight. Rest in the meantime."

With that said, he left the room.

* * *

They were all on an adrenaline high. Loud voices rang through the halls and rooms as people cheered and shouted obscenities at their fallen foe. One of the hangars erupted into applause and whoops of delight and triumph as a battered landing craft returned and its passengers filed out.

Kota smiled at the soldiers' excitement. He himself was quite pleased with how the day had turned out. Turning to his Padawan he saw the grim smile of satisfaction spread across the young man's face. Galen was born a year after the Empire had been created; it was actually the boy's birth that had helped snap Kota out of his self pitying alcoholic haze – Kota had stumbled upon the boy's parents when their base of operations was being attacked. There hadn't been much Kota could do for Galen's parents, but he at least saved the baby from the Imperial devastation. As a result, Galen had grown up amongst Kota's militia; he could swear, fight, and drink with the best of them, but he didn't share their cheer. Kota had raised him to be a Jedi warrior, and Galen had taken the task seriously – he'd let out the occasional quip and show a softer side to the men, but he mostly kept to himself and didn't participate in the militia's more exuberant gatherings. Watching him now, Kota figured Galen would probably get a drink or two and retire to his quarters to meditate and relax. He was a fine Jedi. Certainly better than Kota, who was rather well known by this point for getting a little _too_ aggressive in the heat of battle.

Then again, Galen did follow in his Master's footsteps in that regard.

But enough brooding. It was time to finish that drink he'd started several hours ago. Smiling, Kota said, "Come on, boys; let's head back to the mess hall."

The militia agreed with a loud cheer and led the Jedi down the hall. His trek was interrupted, however, when another figure bearing a lightsaber approached him. The man was well built with dark skin and a grim, worn look on his face. Kota offered a nod of acknowledgement and smiled. "Well, well, if it isn't the hero of the hour. Good to see you, Master Windu."

Jedi Master Mace Windu gave a small bow in return. "I'm glad my fleet got here in time. You mind explaining how that battle started?"

"I wouldn't know," Kota replied with a shrug. "I was enjoying the New Year's celebrations when our ship got pulled out of hyperspace. I'm fairly certain they only managed to find us out of sheer luck."

"There's no such thing as luck, Kota," Mace replied, folding his arms with a somewhat irritated look.

Kota waved his hand dismissively. "Well if you want to call it the will of the Force then I'll just have to say the Force has bizarre ways of taking care of its Jedi. Care to join us for a drink?"

"Master Windu," Galen acknowledged, just catching up to Kota. He bowed. "Thank you for your help."

Mace once again nodded in return and then looked back at Kota. "I might join you for a drink, but we have business to discuss."

"Aw, general," one soldier said. "Can't you mix business with pleasure?"

"Did you manage to contact the Alliance?" Galen pressed on, ignoring the side dialogue.

Mace shook his head. "They've gone deep underground. I haven't been able to find them at all. They're out there somewhere; we know the Empire missed them on Yavin 4. I wasn't able to get very far, though, because I received your distress call."

"You sure did respond quickly," Kota noted with a bark of a laugh.

"We were near the sector," Mace replied. "But I have to return to my search. It's best we don't stay too close; we'll attract more attention that way."

"That's the point, isn't it, Master?" Galen asked in almost a growl; he wanted Vader to come as badly as Kota did.

"Be patient," Mace advised before Kota could say anything (not that he really would right now; he was too busy thinking of the matter of the Rebels… and what drink he would be enjoying as soon as this conversation was over). "We will get Darth Vader soon enough. In the meantime, we need to make sure Imperial armadas don't destroy us first. I'm taking my fleet back into the Outer Rim; we can regroup in a week. I have to establish contact with the Alliance, and you lot have to keep the Imperials panicking and guessing about our numbers and intent."

"Yes, Master."

"Great!" Kota clapped his hand on Galen's shoulder. "Now that that's settled, let's get some drinks. I don't know if you'll join us or not, Master Windu, but I'd recommend you do so – Crix is a great bartender!"

Mace offered a small smile, and his tired eyes brightened slightly. "Just one drink, then, Kota."

* * *

The rest of the trip to Naboo had been short; they'd arrived barely five minutes after Darth Vader had returned to the cockpit. The two made their way out of the spaceport and through Oxon in silence. The city was decorated with banners and festive holograms, and confetti littered the streets from parties. It was almost midnight local time, so most of the parties were indoors at this point, though Padmé heard loud music and raucous laughter from a nearby cantina. Looking at the surroundings she suddenly felt very disconnected from it; it felt like New Year's was an eternity ago, like she couldn't quite grasp what it meant to have a normal life anymore. It bothered her, but it also made her feel all the more resolute in her decision to help Vader; after all, if _she_ felt disconnected, she couldn't even imagine how _he_ felt.

The two rode in the taxi to the docks, still as silent as before. Padmé couldn't muster up enough energy to start a conversation, and she knew Vader wouldn't want to speak anyway, so she rested while she could. To the taxi driver they'd just seem too exhausted to do much of anything. In reality, Vader was no doubt going through whatever plan he'd concocted for Padmé's training, while Padmé was figuring out how she could keep the upper hand through it all… not to mention how she was supposed to do that while _helping_ Vader.

Honestly the conversation on the ship could have gone much worse, so she supposed she'd take her small victories where she could get them. After all, she'd successfully steered him away from the topic of the Rebel Alliance. She needed to do _more_ than that, though; she had to get to _him_, not just avoid his questions. She had to convince him he was a person. She had to _help_ him.

The taxi reached its destination and the two exited, grabbing their duffel bags. Padmé reacquired the boat they'd been using and Vader quickly hopped into the driver's seat. Half amused, Padmé sat beside him. She supposed this could be a good place to start. "Why do you like driving?"

Before Vader could deny any sort of attachment for anything, she amended her statement. "Why do you always have to drive?"

Vader started up the engine, not looking at her. "I know how to."

"So do I."

"I'm better than you."

Padmé laughed. "You only _just learned_ how to drive a boat. How can you be better than me?"

Vader paused just as he was about to take the boat out of the dock. He glanced at her. "You think you can drive better than me?"

"I have far more experience than you," Padmé noted, leaning back into her seat, amused by his expression. He looked slightly annoyed, but also on edge, as if he were expecting something or preparing for something. "I've been able to _practice_ more than you."

Vader lowered his hands from the controls. "Get a boat."

Padmé grew confused. "What?"

"Get another boat."

"You're kicking me out?" she asked incredulously.

"If you're better than me, you could easily outmaneuver me." Vader explained. "You could beat me to Varykino."

Padmé raised her eyebrows, floored. "You want to _race_?"

Vader nodded.

She had to laugh, surprised, delighted, and suddenly full of energy. She wasn't particularly interested in racing, but to see Darth Vader actually acting normal for the first time was enough to make her accept his challenge. "Fine. I'll get another boat."

Vader pulled out a holoprojector and brought up a map of the Lake Country. "I'll plan the route while you do that."

Padmé stepped back onto the dock, giddy. She knew these boats better than Vader, so she had a good deal of confidence in winning the race, but more importantly, she was simply relieved and happy beyond belief that he just wanted to race her. This didn't have to do with training or interrogating; it was just pure fun. He was having _fun_.

Heck, _she_ was having fun with him.

After obtaining a boat of the same model, though different color scheme (his was orange and light aqua while hers was orange and lilac), Padmé strolled over to Vader once more. "So what's the route?"

Vader highlighted it in red on the hologram. They'd be circling several islands, taking a somewhat roundabout path back to Varykino. She knew the area well, though; this would be great. She couldn't wait to see the look on his face when he arrived at Varykino to find her waiting for him.

The two revved their engines and Padmé felt her adrenaline surge. Smiling challengingly at Vader, she saw his eyes brighten and he nodded. Over the noise, he said, "On three."

Padmé took a steadying breath, glancing ahead.

"One."

She mentally mapped out the route and what kind of obstacles she'd run into. This was going to be great.

"Two."

As Padmé continued to focus, all her concerns over the Alliance, the galaxy, the Empire, or anything else left her mind. It was only her and Vader right now.

"Three."

As soon as he spoke the word the two gunned their engines, charging out of the docks. Padmé immediately veered her boat towards the right as she began to tackle the first obstacle. The route Vader had chosen circled four islands before they reached Varykino, two of which were rather large and one of which was surrounded by rocks. The first island was simply one of the large ones, so she was giving herself plenty of room to get around it. The water was pitch black, and though one of Naboo's moons shone brightly in the sky, it was still rather difficult to see. Padmé had the lights on at maximum and she still had to squint sometimes. Her nerves began to tingle a little; maybe they should have saved the race for the _morning_. Oh, well. She knew the route well enough. She just hoped Vader wouldn't get into trouble.

Padmé easily cleared the first island when she distinctly saw headlights ahead of her. Vader was in the lead, hugging the island's shore as he twisted around it. Was he insane? He didn't know what was on those banks; he could smash right into a rock!

And blast it, he was in the lead!

Increasing her speed, Padmé dove towards him, making a sharp left turn to get to the other side of the next island they were to circle. She caught up to him, but he still maintained minimal distance between himself and the next island. This was the one riddled with rocks, so Padmé hastily pulled away to avoid the mess. Vader, on the other hand, did not. She was tempted to call out to him, but one glance showed that he was fine; he dodged between rocks, easily maneuvering the boat. Padmé would have watched, impressed, if she weren't also speeding along in her own boat. Hastily returning her attention to her own path, she took advantage of how much Vader would have to slow down to avoid a collision; she shot ahead, letting out a laugh as she cleared the second island.

The other two islands were relatively easy to drive around and Padmé didn't see Vader the entire time. Smiling in satisfaction, she finally caught sight of the villa's dark and distant silhouette against the starry sky. She was almost there. She was going to _win_! As Padmé glanced around for the dock, she felt her joy plummet and morph into shock, however, as she saw Vader pulling in far ahead of her.

"What?!" she snapped, suddenly annoyed. Pulling the boat into the dock, she immediately cut the engine and stood on her seat. "How in the blazes did you get ahead of me? I was ahead of you at the second island!"

"You went too far from the rocks. You lost time that way." He replied, and his voice held a distinct smugness to it.

"You had to slow down to maneuver those rocks, though! That would have made up for it!" Padmé retorted, distinctly annoyed.

"I didn't need to slow down."

"What—are you _crazy_?!" she leapt onto the dock and stormed over to him. "You could have gotten yourself killed doing that!"

"I told you I know what I'm doing." Vader replied calmly, grabbing his duffel bag and disembarking. "Now let's train."

Padmé huffed. "Fine. But let me drop my stuff off in my room first."

"That's unnecessary."

Sighing, Padmé decided it wasn't worth the effort to argue. Besides, Vader sounded a little impatient; apparently he was rather eager to start their training now that the race was over. "All right, then, let's go."

The Imperial nodded and immediately walked away from the dock. Padmé hastily followed him, wondering what he had in store for her. The two were silent as they went wherever Vader decided would be best. Eventually Padmé heard the distant crash of the waterfalls as Vader finally stopped. Padmé watched him expectantly.

"At night your reliance on your senses must change." Vader spoke firmly. "Your eyes are of little use to you, especially if they haven't adjusted to any kind of change in lighting. The most important sense you can use at this point is your hearing, but don't place your trust solely in any one sense. Smell, touch, even taste can assist you. Your ears tell you that those waterfalls are distant, yet you can taste the water in your mouth, so we're relatively close. Still, we're not _too_ close; you can't feel the breeze of the waterfall. Using all of that information together, you can gather that we're approximately seven or eight meters from it. What else can you detect?"

Padmé immediately glanced around out of habit, but then she paused and closed her eyes. She knew Varykino well enough to find her bearings based on her other senses. "I… think I can hear some movement in the grass…? A shaak herd must be nearby." As Vader waited for her to continue, she opened her eyes and glanced at him. "When did you start your training?"

Vader eyed her, silently asking for an elaboration.

"I assume you had special Sith training on top of everything else," Padmé explained. "When did you start training? When you were a teenager? When you started the Imperial academy? Did you even _go_ to the academy?"

"I'm not an officer."

"Then what exactly are you? Does being a Sith have its own rank?"

"I'm second-in-command. I'm head of the military. None of this information is currently pertinent. Go back to your observations."

Padmé shuddered a little. It was common knowledge that Darth Vader was essentially the top dog in the Empire apart from Palpatine, but hearing him actually say it reminded her of just how much power the man had.

"I… hear a firework. Someone's celebrating New Year's on their island." She eventually continued.

"How far?"

"I don't know," she shook her head. "Close enough that I can hear it over the waterfall but far enough that it's relatively quiet?"

"Fair enough for now," Vader responded.

Padmé suddenly got an idea and she immediately turned to Vader. "Milord, may I suggest something?"

Vader crossed his arms and nodded.

"How about we exchange some wisdom while we train?" she suggested carefully. "I tell you a story of how I learned something, and you tell me one of your own."

"A story?"

"I'll start," Padmé offered. "I'm sure you know the benefits of gathering intelligence. I learned how to network and get information at my first political event when I was preparing for the election as princess. I had just turned thirteen, and while I'd been in the Junior Legislative Program, it still was a little daunting. The event was a dinner, and it took so long and was exhausting at my age. I met a lot of people and had to keep up with who was who and what they knew and how they could help. I knew I had to impress all of them, but it just never really registered how helpful that would be until a few days later. I'd been trying to figure out the complicated economic situation in Theed but kept getting conflicting reports from people with their own agendas, but at the dinner I'd met people who were in charge of homeless shelters, job matching agencies, and support groups. When I correlated the information they gave me I got a far clearer picture than the ones the politicians were providing."

Vader looked at her in bewilderment. "What's the point in telling me all of that? If you wish to relay the information you learned, just say networking is important."

Padmé rolled her eyes. "It helps you retain the knowledge better when it's told through a story; it makes it more interesting." When the Sith continued to look skeptical, she prompted him. "Your turn."

He was silent for a while longer and then suddenly seemed to get an idea. "Eight years ago I was scouting contested ground on a planet in the Outer Rim; there were a lot of Rebel sympathizers, though Intelligence denied any official Rebel activity. I was there to confirm that. At the moment I was on the outskirts of a village. No one paid me any mind since I didn't dress like any sort of Imperial official. There was a girl, probably about seven or eight, who approached me. She asked me who I was and why I was there; she said nobody ever passed through her village. I said nothing. Apparently the sympathizers were looking for me, though; as soon as they picked up that I wasn't associated with anyone in the village they came to the conclusion that I was Imperial. They just happened to come to that conclusion while the girl was talking to me."

Padmé shook her head in horror as she realized what was coming next. "They didn't…"

"They threw a grenade." Vader continued. "I didn't react fast enough; I killed the sympathizers, but I was hurt. I had been relaxed; I didn't think there was a threat since there was a youngling in the area. That's why I say you should never let your guard down."

Padmé felt sick. To think that anyone who would associate themselves with the Alliance would do such a horrendous thing made her nauseous. She put a hand to her head, trying to rid her mind of the unwanted images of the aftermath of that explosion. "Why would anyone do that?"

"They're the enemy. They're capable of anything. Never assume otherwise."

"People like that obviously _are_ the enemy," Padmé agreed wholeheartedly. "But why are the Rebels the enemy too? The people you dealt with were just terrorists."

"The Rebels are Master's enemy."

"Why is everything dictated by Palpatine's wishes?" Padmé shot back. She knew she shouldn't be pushing him like this, but after his story she felt like she had to dissociate the Rebels from those disgusting criminals he encountered. "Are the Rebels really that bad in your mind?"

"Why did you align with them?" Vader queried, ignoring her questions. "Why are you still protecting them?"

Sithspit, she really shouldn't have started this conversation. "I… wasn't sure about the Empire. I disagree with some of its rules. Tell my why I shouldn't align with the Rebels, and I'll listen."

"Because they're Master's enemy."

Padmé rolled her eyes, looking away. He really had no opinion of his own, did he? She was beginning to grow a little frustrated. "Why is Palpatine's will supreme, then?"

"Because he's Master."

"For such a pragmatic person you have some pretty thin arguments for your core beliefs." Padmé pointed out, crossing her arms. "You're flesh and blood like the rest of us. What makes you different? Why _aren't_ you a person?"

Vader was silent, his gaze downward. He seemed extremely reluctant to reply. When Padmé prompted him, he shook his head.

"What does that mean?" she asked.

"I can't tell you."

So there _was_ a reason for his insane view? One he could articulate? Why wouldn't he tell her? "Why not?"

He shook his head once more. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. "We need to continue with training."

"You can't keep avoiding it, you know," Padmé said. "I _will_ keep asking."

"I _will not_ tell you."

"Why not?"

Vader ignited his lightsaber. Padmé gasped, taking several hasty steps away from him. The red glow of the blade made him almost look demonic. His typically blue eyes reflected the light, reminding her strikingly of when she'd interrupted his walk.

"Never let your guard down," he said in a low voice. Then he suddenly lunged forward, swinging his blade horizontally. Padmé yelled, falling to the ground to dodge the attack. Then she rolled to the side to get away from him, barely missing another attack that would have decapitated her. The bright light dazzled her eyes, making it difficult to see her surroundings, and she blinked incessantly as she gasped for air and hastily took off, running as far from Vader as she could. She headed towards the sound of the waterfalls; she doubted his weapon would work in water.

Why was he attacking her? Was this training, or had she pushed him too far? Surely it wasn't the latter; he wouldn't have gone through all that effort just to lose it and _kill_ her. The more she thought about it the more the former became apparent, but she still wasn't sure he _wouldn't_ kill her if he thought she was too weak to work alongside him.

Was this how _he_ had been trained?

Darth Vader suddenly appeared out of nowhere, landing directly in front of her as if he'd jumped. Padmé hastily tried to alter her course, but his blade singed her neck and she froze as he held it inches from her.

"Heading for the waterfalls – a good use of your surroundings. Impressive." He remarked, but he didn't lower the blade. He seemed to be having some sort of internal conflict with himself; his grip tightened on the hilt and his eyes narrowed, but then he closed them and let out a hiss, pulling away and deactivating his blade. Padmé stood still, just trying to _breathe_ after being petrified, and she also noticed that he seemed similarly unnerved for some reason.

After finally catching her breath, Padmé rubbed her neck. She still had a slight burn from the _last_ time he held that blade to her, thought at least then it hadn't seemed intentional. "I thought training wasn't supposed to get you _killed_. You're not very useful if you're _dead_."

Vader didn't reply, too preoccupied with whatever was bothering him. She observed him for a few seconds, wondering what kind of internal conflict had caused this, what he'd been thinking when he had almost kept that blade there, maybe even prepared to push it closer to her. She wondered why he suddenly looked afraid. "Milord?"

He snapped out of his daze. "You dodge relatively well, but you should be more coordinated and less panicked. Fear is a good motivator, but it shouldn't overwhelm you unnecessarily. Fear is good; panic is useless."

"If fear's good, then why don't you fear?" she asked. Of course he _was_ capable of being afraid; his previous expression had just shown that. Still, she knew he'd deny it every time, so she wanted him to realize the unreasonableness of his own argument.

"Fear is an emotion. People have emotions."

"You're Human. You're capable of feeling emotions."

Vader looked away.

"You can admit anything to me, you know," Padmé said softly, trying to reassure him. "After all, you said we can show weakness to each other. You saw me cry. Why don't you let me be there for you?"

Vader returned his gaze to her, looking a little suspicious. "You want me to cry?"

Padmé shrugged. "I just want you to let out whatever's bothering you. Everybody needs to vent." When he said nothing, she continued, "Everybody's scared of something, milord. I'm scared of dying, just like most people, but I'm even more terrified of losing someone I care about. What about you? What are you afraid of?"

Vader was still and then he sighed heavily, sitting in the grass. Ever so softly, he finally admitted, "Failing."

Padmé slowly sat beside him, offering a reassuring smile. "Most people are, even me. Was it really so hard to admit that you feel fear?"

"It's not the same," Vader shook his head. "People's emotions… they come and go. Mine don't. They _never_ come and they _never_ go."

Padmé furrowed her brow, confused. "How can they never come and go?"

"I can't feel. I _can't_. Weapons don't feel. Master doesn't need an emotional mess, he needs _me_. I can't remember ever feeling. But I also… I can't…"

"But you feel fear," Padmé insisted.

"I don't _feel_ it." He replied. "It's just _there_. There's nothing to feel; it's part of my existence. That's not emotion, that's my _being_. _I cannot fail._"

"Everybody makes mistakes," Padmé tried to argue gently.

"I'm _not_ everybody." Vader said with a firm voice. "I _don't_ make mistakes. I _won't_." Then he looked at her. "But you… you're just… I can't fail, but you're _making_ me fail. Why can't you just be honest? Why can't you actually be with me like you said? Why can't you tell me about the Rebels?"

"I _am_ being with you," Padmé replied, feeling her stomach knot. "That doesn't have to include anything about the Alliance _or_ the Empire."

Vader looked too tired to argue. Padmé herself felt pretty drained, and she was sweating from their previous training; she was still dressed for chilly autumnal weather, but it was summertime in the Lake Country. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she gave him a smile. "Come on. Let's go back to the villa and clean up. We can relax for a little while and get some sleep."

Vader almost pouted. "We haven't finished training."

"I've got a great training exercise," Padmé immediately suggested, standing once more. "Survival cooking."

Vader looked at her curiously.

"Well you have to eat if you're stranded." Padmé shrugged. "So let's assume we're stranded on a remote island with a lovely villa full of food waiting for us. It's a survival test."

Vader rolled his eyes, also standing. "That's a lousy test."

"But alas, it's the scenario handed to us," Padmé replied with faux gravitas. "We must deal with it."

Vader folded his arms indignantly. "You're making fun of me."

"Oh no, I'm much too scared to tease a Sith Lord," Padmé laughed. "Come on, let's go."

Her laughter seemed to relax the man, and he simply followed her orders. The two returned to the villa in silence, and Padmé happily cleaned up while Vader cooked a small meal. After showering she wondered if she should dress up again, but decided against it. She put on a comfortable nightgown that reached a little beyond her knees with short sleeves and braided her hair. Then she went to the kitchen. Vader wasn't making anything particularly filling, having told her it was too late for any substantial meal. Instead he'd cooked some ground shaak meat and scattered it into a salad. She took the salad bowl from his hands and nudged him playfully with her waist. "Go change, milord. Get comfortable."

Vader blushed furiously at her gesture and muttered that he was fine.

"The rule is never let your guard down, but I'm giving you an exception," Padmé rebutted. "After all, you and I can show each other our weaknesses, right? Relax."

"How is changing clothes relaxing?"

Padmé giggled and rolled her eyes. "You're hopeless. Go put some nightclothes on. I'll be waiting."

Vader obliged, albeit with bemusement. Padmé set the table and settled into her chair, sighing and thinking about the day. By the Force had things taken a wild turn. Sometimes she still grew nervous glancing at him, but she suddenly found herself feeling far more comfortable around him as well. And for the _first time_ he finally seemed to be getting comfortable around her. He'd kriffing admitted a _weakness_ to her, and he hadn't run off to spar or be by himself since then. He'd stayed with her. He'd _stayed_. He was finally starting to open up, and the more he did it the more she drank it in, the more she enjoyed being around him and apparently vice versa. She wanted to feel like this more often, she wanted to decrease the uneasiness between the two of them. Just being able to _talk_ to him was the most freeing feeling she'd had in what seemed like an eternity.

Darth Vader returned a few minutes later in a loose brown nightshirt and black pants. He sat across from her and the two silently began their meal.

"I still can't believe you beat me at the race," Padmé eventually remarked, thinking back to their adventure getting to the island. "You haven't even been driving that long." Vader continued to eat, so Padmé approached the conversation in a different manner. "Are your missions normally related to the military?"

Vader nodded.

"So you don't know much about normal social interaction," she surmised, though that was kriffing obvious from their interactions over the past week.

Vader paused. Padmé was about to remind him that he could be honest with her when he finally did admit the truth. "No, I don't."

"Then let me enlighten you," she said happily, leaning back in her seat as she finished her salad. Before she could continue, she suddenly got another idea and asked him to wait a moment. Rushing back into the kitchen, she dug into the freezer and pulled out the container of chocolate ice cream she had. He'd apparently liked it, so she figured it would be a good treat. Also, she wanted to finally show him the rest of the villa; it was an enormous place, but she'd left most of it closed off to both of them because she hadn't wanted him there in the first place. Varykino had always been a sanctuary for her and her family, and she hadn't wanted him to ruin it. But now… now she wanted to include him. She wanted it to be _his _sanctuary too.

Padmé returned to the dining room with the container in one hand and a couple of bowls and spoons in the other. "Care for some ice cream?"

Vader's gaze immediately fixed upon the container. He then hastily looked at her once more. "It's not necessary. I ate salad."

"But you might still be hungry." She tempted him by sliding the container towards him on the table.

He didn't take his eyes off it. "If I still require food, then I'll eat it."

Padmé placed the bowl in front of him and let him decide for himself. If he had any debate in his mind, he'd long since resolved it before the bowl became accessible; as soon as Padmé put it on the table he filled it with ice cream.

Padmé filled her own bowl and then motioned with her head. "Follow me."

Vader looked at his ice cream and then at her. "But it'll melt."

Padmé laughed. "We're not going too far."

Sighing, Vader picked up his bowl and reluctantly followed her. She guided him out of the dining room and down a hall. The hall was fairly large, and it led to a guest refresher, Vader's room (which was actually a servant's room, Padmé now recalled with a little guilt), and the room she'd chosen for herself. Beyond these rooms another doorway led to a large atrium with beautiful furniture in the center. Glass doors to the right allowed for a view of the lake. The stars were innumerable, and Padmé kept the lights off so they could still be seen. She opened one of the doors to let the warm summer breeze in and then lounged on a chaise. Vader watched her for a moment, his ice cream forgotten, before she pat a chair beside her with a smile. He silently obeyed her and sat beside her before recalling what was in his hands.

"The sky's beautiful," she whispered as he finally began to enjoy his ice cream. "I love watching the stars." She stared out the doors thoughtfully before asking, "Were you ever scared of anything apart from failing?" When Vader didn't reply, she explained. "When I was a little girl and I still lived in my home village in the mountains, I went hiking with Obi-Wan and Sola. One time, we walked too far and tried to take a shortcut to get home. Obi-Wan and Sola got ahead of me; Sola slipped and fell a long way, and Obi-Wan just ran as fast as he could to get to her. I couldn't keep up. Suddenly it was getting dark and I couldn't find either of my siblings. I remember being so scared. There was no way anybody could find me out there. I was lost and alone, and I just started to cry. It felt like an eternity, but eventually Obi-Wan somehow managed to find me. He held me so close, and he carried me the whole walk home. I was terrified of being lost, of being alone, and Obi-Wan had been there to comfort me. Did you ever have an experience like that?"

Vader paused for a moment but then continued to eat his ice cream. Padmé wasn't sure if he was ignoring her or trying to ensure his delicacy didn't melt. Apparently it was the latter; as soon as he finished he placed the bowl on the floor and sighed, drawing his knees up under his chin and hugging his legs. "Once." Padmé motioned for him to elaborate, and he eventually, reluctantly, did so. "The governor was running some errands. I requested to come along so I could begin to get my bearings; I didn't know much about Imperial Center outside the palace. He allowed it, and it was fairly uneventful. I studied the street names, sectors, travel routes, anything I thought I would need to know. When we reached the governor's destination, he started talking to some merchant. I didn't care about that, so I continued to investigate; I wandered around. I… didn't consider the population."

"Someone tried to hurt you?" she asked, worried.

Vader shook his head. "It wasn't anything belligerent; it was just the volume of people. I got pushed too far from the governor. I lost sight of him. I wasn't concerned; I thought I could sense him, but… when I finally accessed the Force to find him, I… I couldn't. There was _so much noise_. There were too many people. I followed the path I took, I retraced my steps, but he wasn't at the merchant's stand anymore. I figured I should head for the palace, but it was evening; I was due to train with Master in less than an hour, and I didn't have money for a taxi, and… things piled up. I tried to maintain my focus, but I started thinking about too many bad possibilities. I got hopelessly lost while doing so. It… wasn't a good day."

"How did it end?"

"The governor found me."

"Was he worried?"

"He was angry."

Padmé sat up a little. She felt irritation course through her – why would Tarkin be _angry_ at Vader? Sure, he shouldn't have wandered off, but any person really should have been worried out of their mind if they'd lost a—wait. "How old were you? Where were your parents? Why was _Tarkin_ of all people looking after you?"

"The governor has always looked after me." Vader answered.

"Why would a grand moff be charged with watching a youngling?"

"Because Master ordered it."

"So Palpatine's been training you since childhood," Padmé surmised, feeling a little queasy. She'd figured Palpatine had begun training Vader when he was a teenager; she hadn't realized the monster had gotten to him when he was _that_ young.

"Yes, which means you're really behind," Vader sighed. "We should resume training."

Padmé stood, grabbing his bowl and stacking it on hers. "All right. You mentioned tracking, right? How about hide and seek?"

Vader also stood. "Hide and seek?"

"You know, the game?" Padmé explained, saddened but not surprised that he wasn't familiar with it. "One of us counts to thirty and the other person hides. Then the person counting has to find the other person."

Vader gave her a puzzled look. "You have a strange fondness for games."

"Seeing as you never played them, you really don't have a right to argue," Padmé replied lightly. "You hide, I'll seek."

"Are there parameters to where I can hide?"

"Anywhere in the villa," Padmé answered. "I'll count in here."

Placing the bowls on a small table, she sat on the chaise once more and closed her eyes. She began to count, and she heard Vader's bare feet hastily leave the room. She counted quickly; she knew most of the nooks and crannies of the villa, having played this game often with her siblings, but she still didn't want to underestimate Vader's ability to hide. It took her almost a good half hour to find him despite the small amount of time he'd had, and even then she was fairly certain he'd let her find him. Growing annoyed at being toyed with, she'd challenged him to another round. This continued on for what seemed an eternity. Padmé grew steadily more exhausted until on the fifth round she finally accidentally fell asleep while counting. For the first time in over two weeks, though, she slept peacefully, without a care in the universe.


	21. To See Through Another's Eyes

**Merry Christmas, everybody! Especially you, didi! ;)**

**This chapter is by far the longest I've written to date, so enjoy!**

* * *

Poke.

_The scenery was beautiful. She twirled in the meadow as flower petals tumbled around her._

Poke.

_Obi-Wan called to her. He was standing on the balcony. Siri was beside him, and the two were waving at her. She could see Sola and her husband, Darred, as well. Little Ryoo was squealing in delight and rushed to join Padmé in the meadow._

Poke.

_Then she saw her parents. They were just arriving from the dock. They smiled brightly at her, happy to see her. Last of all, there was someone who normally didn't join the family festivities at Varykino._

_Vader was there._

POKE.

Padmé grumbled, swatting whatever was prodding her. She didn't want to let go of this dream… though it was already slipping. She wasn't even sure what she'd been dreaming about now, only that it had been pleasant. Then she heard a sigh, one that sounded annoyed. Was that her breathing?

Padmé opened her eyes abruptly.

The room was still pitch black. The stars were twinkling outside. A silhouette was right beside her, kneeling on the floor. Gasping, Padmé put a hand to her heart, but this time her brain quickly put the pieces together. "Blast it all, didn't I say to _not_ do that?"

"You fell asleep." Vader stated, and his voice held a deep indignation to it.

Padmé rubbed her eyes. "I'm sorry; I didn't realize how tired I was."

"You fell asleep." He repeated.

Padmé looked at him. "Yes, I know. You could have just left me here; this chair is pretty comfortable."

"We never completed the game. You lost. You fell asleep."

Padmé grumbled, sitting up, and she poked his forehead. "There, I found you." Then she glanced up at a chronometer that was sitting on a mantle and suddenly realized why Vader was so annoyed.

She'd been asleep for three hours.

Blanching, she looked at him once more. "You weren't _hiding_ for three hours, were you?"

Vader folded his arms, looking sour.

Honestly, Padmé didn't know whether to apologize profusely or laugh. She settled for the former, partly because she was genuinely sorry but also because she was fairly certain he was grumpy enough to take offence to her laughter. "I'm really sorry – I didn't mean to fall asleep. Come on, let's go to bed."

Vader looked like he wanted to argue, but Padmé stood and walked by him, not giving him the opportunity. He followed her sullenly, but he sobered when he noted they weren't heading back to their usual rooms. "Where are we going?"

"The bedrooms back here are better," Padmé explained as she trudged through the large hallways. Eventually she found the room she was looking for; it was one of the many available master bedrooms. Her family typically reserved it for her grandparents since it had the most comfortable bed in the entire villa.

As she entered the room, she gazed around. Despite the size of the villa, none of the bedrooms were particularly large; they were "comfortably snug" as her father had put it once. This bedroom was no different. The room was built symmetrically, with arching ceilings and two white pillars flanking the large bed. Beside the pillars were sizable windows that allowed for a view of the lake. The windows, pillars, and bed were all along the back wall; the left wall had some chairs and artwork while the right wall had dressers and a closet. A rocking chair was in the corner, and a small table and a sofa were in the other corner.

Padmé motioned to the bed. "It's the best one in the villa. Take it."

Vader glanced at her. "I don't need the best bed."

"I'm offering it to you as an apology." Padmé insisted.

"I don't need the best bed."

"It's not a matter of _needing_, it Vader," Padmé argued, growing annoyed at his stubbornness. "Just sleep there."

Vader shook his head.

Padmé sighed heavily. "Why not?"

"You need it."

Padmé did a double take. "I—what?" Vader's eyebrow twitched, and before he could make a remark about her hearing once more, she shook her head. "Why do I need it?"

"Because it's the best bed."

She froze in the midst of whatever argument she was formulating, touched and surprised by his words. She didn't know how to reply. Vader turned to leave when her silence lingered long enough for his satisfaction, and she hastily found her voice once more. "Wait! I… this is supposed to be _your_ bed."

When Vader simply shook his head and turned to leave, she sighed heavily and sat on the contested furniture. "All right, all right. Just come here."

Vader did as she bade, watching her curiously. For an instant—just an _instant_—she was so relaxed it felt like she was with family. She pat the spot beside her as she would with Obi-Wan or Sola, and then as soon as she did so, she regretted it. Her cheeks flushed so hot she felt like she had sunburn, and Vader mirrored her. Then she awkwardly hugged herself and was trying to figure out how in the blazes she'd make him _not_ do as she just suggested without seeming like she'd lost her mind, which she obviously _had_.

Okay, just change the subject. "Let's do more storytelling."

The tension in the room eased and Vader hesitantly climbed onto the bed beside her. Well, she hadn't really detracted him from doing so… "You mean exchanging wisdom?"

"Exactly." She remarked, tightening the hug on herself. She was sitting on the same bed as Darth Vader. She was insane. She was _really_ insane.

Vader seemed to be similarly ill at ease, and he shifted slightly so he was as far from her as possible.

Padmé blew out a breath. She'd gotten herself into this mess. She could at least make it less awkward. "Okay, I'll go first." She racked her brain to figure out what she could tell him or teach him, and she realized that there was something he was sorely lacking—well, there were a _lot_ of things he was sorely lacking, but a large one was the experience of the _simple_ aspects of life. "This bed has a long history to it. My grandparents normally sleep here, but when they're not with the family at the villa, it was always our favorite place to play inside, apart from the music room. We'd sneak in here—we always had to sneak because we weren't allowed to actually do this—and start jumping on the bed – it's the bounciest and we always had so much fun. One day, though, we were all arguing because nobody wanted to be on guard duty for the parents, so we all finally decided to jump on the bed together. Inevitably, Mom and Dad found us and we got into trouble, but it was so much fun, especially when we got into a pillow fight. There were feathers _everywhere_."

Vader looked at her in bewilderment. "And the wisdom learned was…?"

"Never let your guard down," Padmé replied smartly with a smirk. "After all, we were caught because we didn't have someone keeping an eye out."

"Jumping on the bed is a strange pastime," Vader noted, looking unimpressed. "And useless."

"There's a distinct joy to jumping on the bed," Padmé argued with mock annoyance. "You feel like you're flying and will never come down."

"But you _do_ come down."

Rolling her eyes, Padmé suddenly leapt to her feet on the bed. She held her hands out to Vader. "Get up here."

Vader looked at her hands, then at her.

"Get up," she repeated.

Vader stood without touching her and looked at his feet before watching her once more. "Beds aren't for standing."

"Nope. They're for jumping." She laughed, jumping slightly. Vader wobbled a little as he fought to maintain his balance. He watched her in utter befuddlement, and she had to laugh at his expression; he probably thought she was absolutely crazy at this point. She was inclined to agree with him, honestly; she didn't know why she was doing this. A part of her wanted to expose him to the innocent and simple pleasures of life, but the other part was yelling that this wasn't going to do anything at all. He just wouldn't understand.

She didn't care.

"Jump!" she told him between laughs.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because!"

"That's not a good reason."

"It's the same as saying, _because Master says so_," she retorted, still bouncing happily.

This seemed to annoy Vader slightly, but he didn't reply. Instead, he sighed heavily as she once again bade him to jump with her. Eventually he gave in, and she had to laugh even harder at how ridiculous he looked—at how ridiculous they _both_ looked. As she laughed, his sour expression dissolved, but he still just looked bemused. However, things changed when Padmé yelped as she suddenly lost her balance. For a split second she thought she would fall off the bed, and she felt her gut clench in a heartbeat, but then she realized to her horror that she was actually falling forward— towards Vader. The Sith's eyes widened slightly as he saw her fall, and he reached out to grab her so she wouldn't knock them both off the bed. She _did_ succeed in knocking them down, though, but they thankfully landed on the mattress… and on top of each other.

The world around her stopped. She panted for air as she lay atop Vader, feeling her skin tingle and her heart race. Vader was gasping as well, and the two looked into each other's eyes for an eternity before Vader gulped, blushed, and prodded her shoulders. "Um…"

The frozen moment in time thawed, and Padmé hastily rolled off of him. At the same time, he quickly got out of bed, straightening his nightclothes. Padmé remained where she was, trying to ignore the smell of his skin, the feel of his muscles under his shirt, the blue oceans that were his eyes…

"I'll find another room," Vader said, snapping her out of her daze. Padmé gulped and nodded mutely. She couldn't find her voice or catch her breath until long after he'd left.

* * *

The _Invariant Beauty_ hummed softly as it flew through hyperspace. Most of its inhabitants were asleep; they'd left at the crack of dawn to cut as many corners as possible. Obi-Wan, however, couldn't really fall back asleep, so he simply lay on his bunk listening to his wife snore softly in the bunk above him.

A million thoughts were swirling in his mind. He thought briefly about the situation with Salkende. He wasn't sure how they could really convince Tlenden or Adelig to join the Alliance's cause beyond waiting for their civil war to end. Tlenden seemed to have very little interest in the Rebels altogether, while Adelig had at least been sympathetic. She'd even mentioned that she wanted to help, but her priority was her clan. Obi-Wan presumed that the only way she'd get involved was if the Empire somehow threatened her clan. That didn't seem likely; Salkende was known to be the powerhouse of its system, but it was fairly quiet in the galactic scheme of things… at least when Tlenden wasn't voicing his opinion. Perhaps Obi-Wan could use that to his advantage; Tlenden was as vocal as Padmé, but he was older and more experienced, so he often phrased it in a less hostile, though equally direct, manner. Obi-Wan figured the Empire was investigating Tlenden to ensure he wasn't a sympathizer. Maybe if he brought that to the senator's attention it would convince him. He'd need proof, though; Siri would have to provide that. Hopefully they could find proof quickly so Padmé could be replaced by some other spy.

Obi-Wan shook his head. He felt trapped. He knew Siri felt it too, and he could imagine Padmé did as well. As he and Siri had noted with Organa, they'd blow their cover if they left abruptly, but if they remained heaven only knew what would happen. Padmé was being actively investigated and threatened; it wasn't as if they were still hiding in the shadows as they used to. They were literally standing in the line of fire and just glaring defiantly at the Empire. It was admirable, but it was foolish; they needed to get off Imperial Center permanently. Just how long would it take for the Empire to find the proof it needed? What proof did it have?

He sighed and clutched his shirt as he felt his chest tighten. Despite all the insanity of his time with the service corps and during Padmé's tenure as queen, he'd never had to deal with this. He supposed he was holding up well enough; he _had_ to. He had to be the stable one; Siri would never back down from a challenge and she wouldn't let the stress tear her apart, but it _would_ affect her judgment. She'd become more reckless, more proactive, more _dangerous_. Padmé was similarly rash and had even less experience than Siri in such matters. Just thinking about Padmé alone with Darth Vader for the entire duration of their trip made his stomach churn. He knew it hadn't sat well with Siri, either, but for the most part they'd both lied to themselves and said she'd be fine.

Was it really a lie? Did Obi-Wan have that little faith in Padmé? He knew she wasn't incompetent… but he didn't know if Vader would put up with her or just kill her. She'd sounded healthy but nervous, stressed, and on edge when she'd spoken to him last. He supposed he should take some comfort in the fact that she herself hadn't called them; _they_ had called _her_ out of concern. It meant she hadn't been desperate enough to do so. She was in control of the situation, for the most part, even if she _had_ subtly insisted they get home quickly.

So why did he still have a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach? And speaking of bad feelings, what in the blazes was he going to do about their new Jedi protector? He supposed it should ease his concerns about being murdered before they can get off Imperial Center, but… wasn't it also all the more obvious? Couldn't Darth Vader sense if a Jedi was with them? And what in the blazes was _Obi-Wan_ going to do around a Jedi? His opinion of them had changed dramatically since Adelig had told him he was a Jedi hopeful when the Republic fell. He'd originally admired the Jedi and mourned their loss, but he'd never felt connected to them. They were just another victim of the Empire. Now, though… he felt a connection he wasn't sure he wanted. He wasn't exactly thrilled to be thrown in with the Empire's number one enemy. Yet it also filled him with a strange sense of purpose, like the oath he'd sworn to himself about helping the galaxy had suddenly become all the more important. He could do so much more if he had the ability of the Force… but he had no training. Well, there was that Jedi…

Obi-Wan shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. _No._ He was _not_ going to start gallivanting around the galaxy swinging a lightsaber and claiming he could save all of creation just because he could sense the Force. That was beyond silly; he had no time for special warrior training, and he preferred to _not_ fight at all. The Jedi had been known as the serene protectors of the Republic, but that was only by reputation; all the stories about them were always war stories, and Obi-Wan was no soldier. He didn't want to be one.

As Obi-Wan's mind wandered through the situation he eventually sighed and got out of bed. Grabbing his comlink, he decided to call Padmé again, at least to tell her they were finally on their way home.

She didn't answer.

Despite trying his best to be calm, Obi-Wan's mind once again immediately filled with a thousand concerns. He wondered if he could somehow sense through the Force if Padmé was alright, but he was too nervous to attempt it. Besides, it wouldn't do him any good; he had no clue how to use the Force, and he'd probably just work himself up into even more of a frenzy.

He was so blasted tired of worrying.

_Breathe. I need to breathe._ Obi-Wan tossed the comlink onto the bed and climbed down the ladder to the lounge. Al's loud snores could be heard through the closed door leading to his quarters. Apart from that and the gentle hum of the hyperdrive, the lounge was silent. Good. He needed some silence. Sitting on couch, he sighed heavily, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. He needed to calm down. Letting his mind sift through the worrying thoughts, he eventually pushed them out and settled on happier memories in an attempt to be patient; there was nothing he could do for Padmé at this point. They would be on Naboo in eight hours.

Those eight hours couldn't pass quickly enough.

* * *

The gentle beeping of a comlink echoed hollowly in the empty halls of the lake retreat. Its futile calls fell on no ears at all since it was in an empty guest room. Further into the villa Padmé was completely unaware of the call, having fallen asleep two hours earlier. The sun was barely rising, making the room glow dimly. A figure stood in the doorway, watching Padmé as she slept. He stood uncertainly, shifting his weight as he seemed to be mulling something over. His jaw clenched and loosened as if he were tasting words in his mouth, contemplating something spoken by him or to him. He took a hesitant step forward, paused, and then stepped away once more. He'd been doing this for almost an hour; he hadn't slept much.

The room seemed to grow heavier as his eyes darkened. A thought crossed his mind, brief determination and worry crossed his face. Something was bothering him. Something he would share with no one, not even his new partner. The worry vanished as he glanced outside. He needed to walk.

Vader left the room.

* * *

_Snap-hiss._

Padmé awoke with a jolt to see a bright red light blinding her. With a gasp she saw the light descending towards her and she scrambled back. She became tangled in the blanket and sheets and wrenched her arm as hard as she could to pull farther from the light, which her adrenaline-pumped mind hastily recognized as a lightsaber. The fabric of the bed was singed where she had just been.

Falling out of the bed, Padmé stumbled to the wall, watching in horror as the blade moved closer to her.

How did—what—when—why—

"Surroundings."

Padmé gasped and leapt to the side as the blade came down upon her once more. The word triggered some sort of reminder in her and she grabbed the nearest chair and shoved it in the direction of the attacker.

The attacker—Vader—why was he—

The blade sliced through the chair and a flick of the wrist sent the debris flying towards her. Yelling, Padmé once again dove for cover and then rushed out of the room. She was gasping for air as she ran down the hall, her eyes quickly adjusting to the intense light of the midmorning sun.

What the hell was going on?!

With a terrifying jolt she heard footsteps running behind her and she hastily took a sharp right down a winding marble stairway that led to a large living room. She wasn't thinking about anything apart from _getting away_, but as soon as she saw the living room she was grateful she'd chosen to go here; there were four different exits. Running through one that led to a smaller sitting area, she looked around, panicked, as she frantically searched for a place to hide. The bay window had a bench that served as a storage compartment, so she hastily slid in there and sealed the lid, trying to quiet her breathing.

As she finally grew silent, she listened intently for any kind of movement. She heard none. Padmé took that moment to try and figure out what the hell just happened.

Darth Vader had almost killed her. He was _trying_ to _kill_ her. What had happened? Had he just lost his mind? Had he finally given up on letting her join his side? Did he finally receive the kill order?

Darth Vader. Sith Lord. Force. _Shavit_.

Just as Padmé had the gut wrenching revelation that Vader could probably use the Force to sense her, the door to the storage compartment opened, dazzling her eyes. In a heartbeat she kicked at random and tried to get out of the death trap when she felt a hand grab her by the arm and knock her to the ground.

She was _not_ going to die like this.

She twisted herself and kicked at the darkly clad legs that belonged to her attacker. Vader was forced to dodge, allowing her to get to her feet once more. She grabbed a chair and threw it at him and then rushed back into the living room, heading for the stairs. She had to get her blaster, which was practically on the other side of the villa. How the hell was she going to get there before he killed her?

She'd reached the stairs when she felt herself freeze in place. Her muscles struggled and she felt a scream begin to come forth, but she couldn't vocalize it. She couldn't move at all. It felt as if some cold electrifying energy were holding her in place, and every time she struggled it hurt all the more.

"Impressive."

Whatever was holding her released its grip and she gasped, almost falling down the stairs. She quickly got up to run once more, though her mind was registering why Vader would complement her if he was trying to kill her—

She stopped. _No._ He _couldn't_ have. Slowly turning, Padmé saw Vader watching her calmly, his lightsaber no longer active. He clipped it to his belt and left it there to hang harmlessly. His sharp blue eyes were observing her.

"You… you…" she gasped, shocked and enraged. "You were _testing_ me?!"

"You weren't very compliant with training last night," Vader replied nonchalantly. "I decided to do some unscheduled exercises. You fought relatively well."

_Relatively_ well?!

"You could have killed me!" Padmé shouted.

Vader shrugged. "I didn't."

And, in his defense, that was the stark truth. He could have killed her a million different ways, none of which included waking her or shouting tips during the fight. Still…

"I have a new ground rule," Padmé immediately said. "No kriffing combat training before breakfast or after dinner. By the Force, Vader, you can't just attack me in my _sleep_—"

Vader took three large steps towards her and he was a breath away from her in a heartbeat. "That's when they'll strike, though. That's when they _always_ strike: when you're vulnerable. That's why you_ can't be vulnerable_. It's a ground rule: you must never show weakness. Why can't you understand that?"

Padmé felt her insides churn. She was still upset with him, but his eyes held something she'd never seen in them before. They held concern. He was worried about something… he might even be worried about _her_. Before she could ask, he'd stepped away, suddenly filled with nervous energy as he paced around the room.

"The entire galaxy is your ally and your enemy. At any moment someone could turn on you. You can't trust _anyone_. You can't. Don't you realize—you _have_ to realize—the position you're in—you—you're so close to death, and I—you _can't be weak_." After ranting he stopped, panting for air, and then whirled on her. "Again. We need to do it again."

"No!" Padmé quickly shook her head, holding a hand out to stop him. "This is _not_ how to prepare, nor is it the time."

Vader didn't listen. He charged towards her. He didn't brandish his weapon; instead he threw a punch towards her. Padmé quickly ducked and sidestepped the attack. Vader immediately grabbed her by the nightgown and tried to throw her to the ground, but she wrapped her hands around his wrist and kicked his gut. With a grunt he released her and aimed a chop at her neck. Padmé tried to block it or catch it, but the force of his attack only hurt her hand and knocked her to the ground. She kicked at his shins but he hopped over her leg. Instead of attacking her again, though, he crouched beside her and grabbed her shoulders desperately, giving her a shake.

"Blast it, Padmé, you can't be this sloppy! You have to improve, you have to be _perfect_, you can't—"

He cut himself off, releasing her and standing. He began to pace around the room once more, running a hand through his hair. Padmé didn't know to be more shocked by the fact that he'd called her by name or his behavior. Sitting up she twisted her torso to watch him, not knowing what to say. He'd never seemed to obsess _this much_, even when they'd done brief training exercises before she'd agreed to partner up with him. When they'd gone swimming and when they'd sparred on CC4 he hadn't been like this. He hadn't even been like this last night.

"What's wrong?" Padmé asked.

"I just said!" Vader replied, nearly tearing his hair out. He was starting to panic. She'd never seen him in this state before.

Padmé hastily stood and went to him, grabbing his wrists and pulling his arms towards her. "Hey, stop it. Look at me. It's fine."

Vader did as he was told, and the concern in his eyes was clearly aimed at her. What had brought this on?

"Milord," she said softly to calm him. "I will improve. It's going to be fine. I'm not going to be perfect overnight, and running me ragged won't help. Just relax."

"You don't _understand_," he argued, trying to step away from her. She wouldn't let him. "You're—they'll—anyone could attack you at any moment—"

"I held my own against you for a little while," Padmé offered to appease him. "And I've fought before. I doubt many attackers are as skilled and talented as you. It's not like you're going to be actually trying to kill me, so just relax. I can handle other opponents."

Vader's mouth became a thin line. He looked like he was about to burst. So Padmé did what she always did to comfort people: she hugged him. He tensed under her grip, but he didn't pull away. His breathing, coming in short rasps, eventually began to slow. She felt it move her hair and tickle her scalp. He didn't move, and she didn't dare break contact; she'd never seen him this worked up, even when he'd told her about his opinion of himself. The thought that he was actually this worried about her was… well, she didn't know what to make of it. She supposed it was a good sign; it showed he was capable of making favorable attachments. But a part of her worried that maybe she shouldn't be trying to get an emotionally unstable killer to have an attachment to her.

Padmé sighed and began to rub small circles on Vader's back. It didn't matter. She'd promised to help him. She _would_ help him. The fact that he was acting this way about her was proof enough that she had a chance in succeeding. Bolstered by this, she continued to hold the Sith Lord and offered whispers of comfort. "It's okay. Everything is going to be okay."

There was silence for a long time as she held him. Then, in a quiet voice, he asked, "Can we train now?"

Something about the softness of his voice just made her laugh. And almost cry. He really knew nothing else; the reason he kept insisting on the same continuous grueling exercises was because he existed only for that; only for honing his skills in everything possible, so as to serve his beloved Master.

In that moment Padmé felt such an unadulterated hatred for Palpatine that she was practically floored by it. The only link to sanity from that rage was the physical contact with Vader, which quickly reminded her of the situation. "Let's eat, okay? Then _I'll_ decide the agenda for the day."

Vader was silent, but it was a heavy kind of silence. He wanted to reply. He wanted to argue. Instead, she felt him nod and she allowed him to step away from her. Vader glanced at her for a moment longer before he climbed the stairs, leaving Padmé to herself. She was grateful for it; as soon as he was out of sight, her body sagged in exhaustion, and she sat on the floor with a heavy sigh. The whirlwind of emotions and situations that had just occurred within the span of ten minutes left her head spinning. She'd been right when she'd assumed this would be more exhausting than her previous objective. Was it still worth it?

Absolutely.

Taking a deep breath, Padmé went to her room to dress for the day. She cleaned herself up, contemplating the situation. She still wasn't sure why Vader was suddenly so petrified about her training and her well being; yesterday he'd been insistent and excited, but today… had he felt any of this concern yesterday? What had brought this on? He'd spoken as if she were in danger; did he know something she didn't? Had the Empire finally ordered her execution? How did that fit in with her new partnership to him? How was _he_ going to sort this all out?

Maybe _that's_ what was wrong.

Whatever the issue was, Padmé knew that her first priority was to calm Vader. Having very little experience with handling his own emotions, she was fairly certain Vader was no doubt a wreck and unable to stop the panic that was currently throwing him into a frenzy. At least the hug had managed to stop him from attacking her again.

The hug. She'd _hugged_ him. She'd just done it in the spur of the moment; she always hugged people to comfort them, at least when the situation was informal. It hadn't registered what she'd done until just now. She'd hugged him. And, more notably, he hadn't pulled away. Padmé didn't know what to make of that. More importantly, though, how was she going to reassure Vader?

Looking outside, Padmé sighed heavily. She was tired. And sore. The playing from New Year's, the training from last night, the emotional and physical roller coaster this morning… she couldn't keep that up. At least not today. There had to be a way to avoid physical training today.

Then she had an idea. If Vader didn't know how to control his worry, physical training was the last thing they needed to worry about. Padmé wasn't sure how appreciative Vader would be if she redirected the training on him, but it was worth a shot. She could come up with plenty of ways to teach him about how to act like an actual human being.

Smiling, Padmé grabbed the same dress she'd worn when they'd gone on a picnic. That had been so long ago; it had been when they first broached the subject of family, love, emotion in general. Thinking back to it his words made _so much sense_ knowing what she did now. She shuddered.

Padmé eventually made her way to the dining area. Vader, who had already been dressed and prepped for the day before she'd even woken up, was pacing on the balcony. He immediately detected her presence and turned to look at her. Before he could speak a word, though, she cut him off. "Milord, I have a suggestion for our agenda today."

Vader paused, took a deep breath, and collected himself into his usual calm façade. He nodded once in acquiescence.

"Let's go to Thecine." Padmé said. "It's a bit of a distance from here, but it's still in the Lake Country. It's the biggest city in the area, and is very famous through all of Naboo. I love going there, and we haven't had a chance to see it."

"That has nothing to do with—"

"While we're there, we can both train," Padmé interrupted to assure him. "I can show you how to actually interact normally since you seem to have quite the problem with that, and you can teach me your powers of observation. We'll get to learn from each other, milord. We'll get to see the world through each other's eyes."

"Your fighting skills are still sorely lacking," Vader noted, shaking his head.

"Yes, about that," Padmé walked towards him. "What caused that panic earlier? You didn't seem so nervous last night."

"I wasn't panicked." Vader immediately replied, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I spent some time considering your ability to defend yourself and found it to be inadequate. I chose the appropriate action."

"So running around the room ranting is an appropriate response?" Padmé shot back, not letting him avoid the subject.

Vader took a deep breath and said nothing. Padmé wasn't quite sure how to proceed; she'd won the argument, but she hadn't really gotten a legitimate answer out of the Sith Lord. It was quite possible that he'd simply thought about her fighting ability and decided to do what he'd done, but it didn't seem to fit. It felt like there was more to this, but she didn't quite know how to ask… and she wasn't sure she'd get a reply. It might be better if she just allowed herself the victory and moved on.

She didn't. "Why were you panicking?"

"People panic, not me. I was simply making a point."

Padmé crossed her arms. "Then you were _pretending_ to panic?"

Vader didn't answer. He simply looked away.

Padmé sighed heavily. "What made you think about my ability to defend myself?"

"You wanted to go to Thecine, milady, so let's go."

"You can't keep avoiding this conversation, you know. And it's _Padmé_, remember? You had that down earlier."

"Not now."

She was hitting a duracrete wall and she knew it. Shaking her head, she finally relented. She shouldn't be pulling any punches at this point, but if he refused to be compliant it wouldn't do her any good anyway. "All right, then. Let's go."

Quickly grabbing a small pouch for her belongings and money, Padmé led the way to the dock. Vader hopped into the driver's seat, but they now had two boats. Should she just drive her own and lead him? Should they race again? What could calm him down? Was he already calm at this point? He certainly seemed to be, if a little snappish. She wished she could read him better; she thought she'd been getting pretty good at that. Based on what little she'd been able to observe, he did legitimately seem his usual self now, but whatever response he refused to give hung heavily over the both of them. Perhaps she could still glean some information out of him from a different point of view.

"So… I see you're listening to _some_ of my ground rules," Padmé noted as she sat beside him in the boat. Vader gave her a quizzical look, so she elaborated. "When I hugged you, I mean. You didn't pull away."

Vader averted his gaze, busying himself with the navigational computer on the dashboard. Padmé gave him a few moments to fiddle with it and find the directions to Thecine before she pushed him further. "Milord, this day is supposed to be an opportunity for us to see through each other's eyes. Don't avoid conversations."

Vader paused. Then he leaned back into his seat slowly, exhaling softly through his nose. "What do you want to see?"

Padmé looked at him confusedly. "What?"

"You want to see through my eyes. That's quite a bit… so what, specifically, do you want to see?"

Oh, she had an opportunity here. "Just walk me through your day so far."

Vader pondered her request for a few moments. Padmé wasn't sure if he would even respond. Eventually, though, he spoke. "I awoke and realized we had a lot of work to do, so I didn't bother going back to sleep. I… contemplated a few matters, walked, and then woke you."

Padmé rolled her eyes. "That was truly insightful, milord."

Vader started the engine, paying her remark little mind. Padmé wondered if she should wait for them to reach the city or if she should push him some more while they were at Varykino. It would be better to speak here; the city would be a distraction. Still, he seemed very reluctant – trying to get anything out of him right now was like pulling ears off a gundark. It was a little too tiring for her at the moment.

The trip to Thecine was spent in silence as Padmé closed her eyes and allowed herself to rest. She imagined what she could do with Vader once they reached the city. Thecine was the largest city in the Lake Country, and it was among the most popular cities on all of Naboo. It was known for its wonderful architecture, its canal streets, its New Year's festivities, its food… essentially everything. It was a hotspot for tourism, and it had plenty to offer for both Padmé and Vader. She would certainly be interested to hear his opinion on the many things they would see, experience, and do. She imagined he'd mostly claim that what they were doing was irrelevant, but she'd somehow manage to make him at least go through with it. She expected that Vader probably didn't find enjoyment in anything because he'd never let himself actually _do_ anything. No one was an island. No one was entirely heartless (except the emperor…). Vader just needed a little push and he'd start seeing that life had far more to offer than just _serving Master_.

Once they arrived, Padmé smiled. The docks to Thecine were quite extensive and vastly populated. It was nothing like the calm docks of Isola or the isolation of Varykino. People milled about everywhere; dock workers and droids guided people and manned different stations, families arrived at different docks with excitable younglings straining to jump out and run amok, and large groups of friends tried to push through crowds and laughed at each other as they failed miserably. Thecine didn't allow for any kind of air speeders or speed boats within city limits so as to minimize pollution and noise, so gondolas lined the walls of the canals. The gondoliers driving the boats stood expectantly, each styling their gondola with different decorations and cushions to attract customers. The city was decorated festively for the New Year; holographic miniature fireworks went off near some stores while other places had music playing. The architecture mirrored Theed, and banners flew from the top of buildings with messages of well wishing for the New Year. Looking at all the bustle and sights, Padmé nodded to herself. This was going to be fun.

"All right, milord, what do you see?" she asked him after he paid to leave the boat at the dock.

"The Festival of the New Year has brought many tourists here, though judging from how well prepared they are and how large the city is, they're probably used to sizable amounts of visitors, anyway." Vader remarked, slipping his money pouch onto his belt. "Most of these people are harmless for the moment; any sort of incident could cause a panic. You can use the people to your own devices if required. If you need to cause a stampede this would be a good place to do so. This would also be a good place to lose a tail… or be a tail to someone. Cities like this offer many opportunities. They can also be death traps. It all depends on how you take advantage of it."

Padmé sighed. She expected more of a 'these people are doing frivolous useless things,' but she shouldn't be surprised that he instead saw a possible battlefield. It made her chest tighten; to think that all he saw of life was war was depressing.

"You want to know what I see?" she asked. "I see a chance for an adventure. The unknown. I see many opportunities to try new things, meet new people, and to wind down after our mission to CC4." Before Vader could point out that he didn't need to relax, she added, "And winding down _is_ important, milord. If you don't, weakness shows through; you get exhausted, you become stressed, and you can't handle situations as well. Everyone needs a break, even you."

"People need breaks."

"Good. Then we're on the same page." Padmé smirked at him and slipped her arm through his. His slightly frustrated expression immediately changed to confusion and alarm and he stared at her arm. Sighing, she remarked, "Milord, it's a casual gesture here. Learn from my lead; you have to know how to blend in to populated areas if you don't want people to know who you are."

Vader sighed and reluctantly allowed the touch. He hadn't been this upset about the hug earlier; she wondered why it mattered now. Perhaps he was in his right mind now, as opposed to earlier? She'd have to find out.

"So what new opportunities did you have in mind?" Vader asked, glancing around the area.

"Lunch," Padmé immediately answered with a laugh. "I'm starving."

It was a bit of a walk, but Padmé managed to find a café that actually had some tables without a thirty minute wait period. The two sat in a fenced off area that was filled to the brim with talkative customers. A family with a youngling no older than three or four was just beside them. Padmé watched the girl with amusement, but Vader paid the entire scenario little mind. He glanced at the menu and then began to watch the street.

"What do you want to get?" Padmé asked him to get his attention.

Vader glanced back at the menu and pointed to the first meal on the list.

"Do you like salads?" Padmé asked. She already knew the answer.

"I've no opinion on it."

"Then why are you ordering it?"

Vader shrugged. "It's food."

"There are other options, you know."

Vader sighed. "What do you want me to order, then?"

"It's not about what I want," Padmé shook her head. "It's about what _you_ want. You have to have _some_ sort of preference for food."

Vader leaned back in his seat. "What's your true motive for this trip? It's not training. We both know that."

Padmé smiled. "But it _is_ training, milord. It's time you learn how to be a human being."

Vader's eyes briefly glossed over everyone in the area to ensure they weren't listening in. He didn't seem comfortable having this conversation here. Still, he should recognize just as she had that nobody cared about the two of them except for their waitress; everyone else was caught up in their own affairs.

"I train _you_, not vice versa," he finally replied.

"Why not?" Padmé rebutted. "You always strive to be the best you can be for the emperor. So why not improve yourself?"

Vader snorted. "I don't view people as an improvement over me."

Well _that_ was interesting. It shed a little more light on some things, at least; he did seem to have some self worth, even if it was in a twisted way. "So you're superior to them?"

"I'm not them. It's as simple as that."

"Then why aren't they an improvement?"

"Emotions are messy. They can provide opportunities, but they're rarely useful when it pertains to yourself. Anger is a good fuel, but…" Here Vader trailed off, shifting in his seat uncertainly. He didn't seem sure how to continue.

"You seem to linger on that emotion a lot," Padmé noted, recalling previous conversations. "Is that something the emperor has in vast amounts?"

"Anger is… a weapon of the Sith." Vader muttered, his brow furrowed as he observed the designs of the lattice table. "The emperor…"

Strange. He called him nothing but 'Master' before, but now he was calling him the emperor? Ah. They were in public. Then she deduced what it was that Vader wasn't saying, and suddenly his expression made sense. "The emperor wants you to use anger like a Sith should."

Vader blew out a frustrated breath. "I can't. I don't understand why he… I can't not obey him, but I can't feel anger…" He suddenly looked up at her, his eyes sharp as knives. "You want to teach me? Tell me how to use anger if I can't feel it. I have to obey the emperor."

Padmé mulled it over in her mind, her gaze drifting. He obviously _could_ feel anger, but how could she tell him that? How did one describe anger? Vader had described it as a reaction to losing something or not getting something one's way. Perhaps she could use his argument. The fact that she had to explain something so impossibly inexplicable and intrinsic to a person's being made it difficult to articulate, and she almost had to laugh at the thought of what she was doing; this was _not_ how she had expected her vacation to go.

"You once said that anger is a reaction to being denied something." She began, but then she recalled that he'd also added at that time that he hadn't been denied anything. Still, it was worth asking; she could use the time he spent formulating a reply to remember when he'd shown anger to her. Then she could use those moments as examples. "Have you ever been in that situation?"

Vader paused as she had suspected, so she began going over their many interactions in her mind. Vader typically showed anger when Padmé stepped too far… though most recently it had been when she'd interrupted his walk. Speaking of that, his explanation _still_ didn't make sense; what did he mean when he said it was _just him_? Did he never get a moment to himself on Imperial Center?

"No."

Padmé locked eyes with him, her mind returning to the present. No? He'd _never_ been denied anything in his life? "I find that hard to believe."

Vader shook his head. "It's true."

Padmé crossed her arms. "Your parents never said no to you when you were a youngling? If you asked for something, they'd _always_ give it to you? You've _never_ failed at a mission? You've always gotten your way in everything you do?"

"Any time a mission didn't go according to plan I always rectified the situation."

"You've never made mistakes in your life? Never had to deal with someone who screwed something up?"

Vader sighed. "Scenarios have gone wrong, but… I… I _can't feel anger_. Even if I have been in those situations, I just _can't_."

"Why not?" Padmé asked, suddenly leaning forward. They had to cut to the heart of this matter.

"You _know_ why," he replied, glancing around once more.

"Because you don't think you're a person," Padmé answered for him. "Why do you think that?"

"I've already said I wouldn't tell you."

Padmé leaned back once more, growing frustrated. "How do you expect me to help you when you don't cooperate?"

"Then you cannot help me."

"I didn't say that," Padmé shook her head. "Honestly, it's not like you _haven't_ felt emotions before. Even you admitted you have a fear of failure. Even you admitted you've felt loneliness."

"Loneliness is a state of being, not an emotion. It implies you're alone."

"That is _not_ what loneliness is and you know it," Padmé immediately argued.

"Well I'm not lonely anymore, anyway," Vader replied, his voice darkening. "I should have never felt it in the first place; such a pathetic weakness…"

"Stop speaking words that aren't yours," Padmé watched him shrewdly. "You always use words that aren't yours because you don't formulate your own opinions. Isn't being a mindless puppet a weakness in itself? Can't you think for yourself?"

Vader looked slightly annoyed by her remark. "Of course I can think for myself."

"You sure don't act it sometimes."

"There are some matters for which I have no opinion. No opinion is needed; the matter isn't important enough to merit my attention."

"Such as your opinion on your family?"

"That's not important."

Padmé felt her heart ache. Before she would have become angry; now it was just depressing hearing him say that. "Why? Because the emperor said so?"

Vader shrugged. "What does my family have to do with any of my missions?"

"Family serves as a foundation for your entire life, for all of _society_." Padmé explained. "If that's not important, I don't know what is. If family wasn't your foundation, then what was?"

"The emperor," Vader answered in a heartbeat.

"That's when your training began," Padmé said, shaking her head. "What helped you stand your ground before him? What gave you purpose, stability, love, comfort? What made you think that you didn't need all of that? There had to be _some_ point where you still knew what it meant to be human."

"I've always been his servant."

"Then what about your family?"

"What about them?"

"What was their purpose in life?"

Vader looked away.

Padmé was suddenly struck with a realization. "Besides, if you aren't a person, then how can you even have a family?"

"It's the term used for the appropriate unit of people," Vader met her gaze this time; whatever had bothered him before was no longer being discussed. "A man and a woman produce a child. That's the family unit."

Padmé laughed sadly. He spoke about it as if it were some sort of foreign concept he learned in a class. But it was time to try and make him trip up. She had to say something that would trigger some sort of memory or conversation that didn't match up with what he was saying. "So your parents taught you that the only reason you were born was to serve the emperor."

Vader nodded.

Padmé felt her gut clench. Surely he was exaggerating, lying, _something_… no parent would _ever_ say that to their youngling. _Ever_. She didn't even know what to say now except to call him out on his lie. "No. They didn't."

"Yes, he did."

He? "Your father?"

Vader studied his menu intently.

"Your father actually said that?" Padmé pressed on, in denial over the realization. "He _couldn't_ have—who _says_ that?"

"I'm a means to an end, milady. End of story." Vader looked at her, and his tone held finality to it. He would discuss this no further. "I'm not a person. So stop making me one."

Padmé watched him, and the two held a look. His eyes were hard, his face like stone. He didn't want to back down from this. But this wasn't some firm confident look; his fists were balled, one pulling at his trousers and the other holding the menu. Holding on to her own resolve, she made her defiance known. "You're wrong. I'm not trying to _make_ you a person. You already are one. I'm trying to help you _realize_ that."

"Why?"

Funny that he didn't argue the point. But now she had to give a reason, and honestly, she herself was still searching for one. Yes, it was the principle of the matter. Yes, Darth Vader—just like any other person—deserved respect. Yes, his predicament was the saddest she'd ever heard. Was that all enough of an explanation, enough of a reason to do this impossible venture?

Why was she even asking herself this? She already knew the answer. She'd known since two nights ago. "_Because_ you're a person. Because you deserve better than what you think of yourself."

"So you would do this for anyone?"

Something about that question held another meaning to it. Padmé watched him carefully. He wasn't just asking if she was a do-gooder. So what was he asking? She suddenly recalled that every time she caught him off guard in a genuinely good way, it was always when she acknowledged that he was worth the time, the noticing. Him. Darth Vader. He wasn't asking if she'd help anyone. He was asking if she'd help him for _his_ sake, not just because she'd do that for anybody. But… that _was_ why she was helping: because she _would_ do that for anyone. Was Vader any different, apart from their insane circumstances? She certainly was fairly invested in him, having been trying to get to know him for the past week and a half… but she wasn't sure if she even knew who _Darth Vader_ truly was, even after all of this. Was he really just this droid with flesh that claimed to be everything that Palpatine needed? Or did he actually have a personality in there somewhere? Padmé didn't find him abhorrent; just… she didn't know what to think of him. But it seemed like this question Vader was asking was critical; if she answered this wrong, he might very well shut her out permanently. But she couldn't lie about this, either.

"Be honest with me, milord. Be absolutely honest." She said slowly. "Don't avoid any of my questions. Don't pull any punches. Don't lie. Don't hide. Don't dodge." Then she took a deep breath. "Who are you to _you_? Not _what_ are you, but _who_? And then, what are you to yourself, and _why_?"

"I'm Darth Vader, second-in-command of the Empire." Vader answered slowly, obviously trying to figure out where she was taking this. He seemed to understand the gravity of the conversation, though, and he was at least—so far—answering sincerely. "I'm a weapon of the emperor."

Padmé waited for him to continue. When he seemed to be wiggling out of the last part of her question, she repeated it. "Why?"

"Haven't we already brought this up?" he asked, sounding exasperated.

"Until you can answer that question, I can't answer yours," Padmé said with finality. And it was true; she couldn't formulate any opinion of him that would distinguish him from anyone else she'd helped if he didn't give her a logical explanation for his opinion of _himself_.

Vader was silent for a long time, and the arrival of the waitress extended the pause in the conversation. After the waitress had left, Padmé continued to watch him intently until he finally seemed to figure out what he wanted to say. "My heritage is my reason. I can tell you nothing more than that. I'm sorry."

And for once, he did sound genuinely sorry. He _wanted_ to tell her. He was _dying_ to tell her. The yearning was all over his face, but it slowly dissipated, carefully hidden under his usual calmness. "Why can't you tell me more?"

Vader shook his head. "Perhaps after Naboo… but not now. I can't tell you now."

So that was it? They'd hit a dead end? Was all this time spent trying to get to know him wasted?

Padmé shook her head. Of _course_ not. Had she really learned nothing about him since their arrival on Naboo? It had only been a week and a half, but it had felt like a _year_ had passed; the change between them was phenomenal. She'd gone from just viewing him as a murderer to actually acknowledging his humanity and _insisting_ he'd acknowledge it as well. But he was still just Darth Vader, just a faceless Sith Lord. She had to piece this together; surely he'd given her enough to manage _something_. His heritage was his reason for thinking he was basically a droid? He didn't deny that it was his father who instilled the idea in him, so that was likely the case. So when he was younger his father had told him that? Or was it…?

"Did the governor teach you that?" she asked. "Did he tell you that you were nothing but a servant of the emperor?"

"The governor simply took care of me. He aided me on my early missions. He made sure I didn't die. That was his duty."

"Under the emperor's orders, I presume."

Vader nodded. So it wasn't Tarkin, then. It had to be his father. Who else could "he" be, certainly in terms of family? Vader had already said he had no siblings. But where did his mother play into all this? Was that why he didn't care about his family? They'd instilled this sense of nothingness inside him, and so he felt nothing for them in return? What a _sick_ thing to do – who says that to their own youngling?

Well for now that would be all she could get out of him about his origins. She allowed them to spend the rest of their time at the café in silence. If she could find a way to get through that thick skull of his long enough to make him _experience_ some of the pleasures of life then she could probably get a better feel for _him_, who he _really_ was. He'd admitted weaknesses to her, she'd grant him that, but… she needed more.

As the two left the café, Padmé allowed herself a reprieve from thinking about the Sith Lord and turned her attention to her surroundings. If there was one place she'd wanted to visit since deciding to come here, it was the spa; she wanted to get all the tension out of her muscles. And by the stars, she was dying to see how Darth Vader would react to getting a spa treatment. She had to keep herself sane _somehow_, after all, and laughing her head off at his expense was certainly one way of doing it. That was assuming he'd even do anything amusing, of course; he could just be his usual stubborn unemotional self, which would ruin all the fun. She could hope, though.

Her hopes weren't unfounded. As soon as she suggested the spa, he immediately gave her a befuddled expression mixed with disgust. "The _spa_?"

"My muscles are sore," Padmé argued, hiding a laugh. "Surely you can agree that sore muscles aren't conducive to good training."

Vader bit his lip. She'd beat him with his logic, and he didn't like it. "Fair enough. Where shall I meet you afterwards?"

"You're not meeting me anywhere," Padmé corrected him, and she couldn't hide her smile. "You're going to enjoy a nice relaxing spa session as well."

"My muscles are fine." Vader immediately argued with a little force in his voice.

"Do you have some sort of problem with the spa?" Padmé asked with a smirk.

Vader huffed. "I don't see the point in it. That place is for nothing but recreation."

"I just said it would help with my muscles."

"Yes, but _I'm_ in perfect shape."

"You've never had a massage, have you?" Padmé laughed. "Believe me, you're not in perfect shape until you've had one. And with the amount of tension you had in you this morning, you _need_ a massage."

"A massage solves nothing."

"Before this morning you would have said a hug solves nothing." Padmé faced him fully, crossing her arms. She had him cornered. "But it calmed you down."

Vader's mouth twitched. He looked slightly flustered. "That's… that's because you've got that weird touch."

Padmé felt her eyebrows shoot to her hairline. "I've got _what_?"

"I've seen it with people. It happens a lot when people are crying; somebody who isn't crying touches the person who is, and that seems to help…"

Padmé was about to explain that it's called _comfort,_ but honestly she was interested to hear _his_ explanation. "Why do you think that's the case?"

Vader shrugged, mulling it over. "I… I'm not sure. Maybe people have bizarre non-crying healing powers. I don't know. When you touched me before it never felt like that. Not that it matters—I can't cry, anyway."

"Why _are_ you so uncomfortable with touch?" Padmé asked. She was certain she'd asked this before, but she'd never really gotten a straight answer out of him.

Vader shrugged. "I just don't see the reason to it. On Imperial Center it's protocol to not make contact with someone you don't know well. No one knows me."

"I thought you wanted _me_ to get to know you."

He suddenly blushed. "That's _now_. Besides, it's still weird. I just don't see the point in it. And you… you make my vitals… I don't… it's not normal."

Padmé laughed so hard she was afraid her gut would burst. The passerby gave her strange looks, and Vader only grew grumpy.

"What's so funny?" he asked irritably.

"You _really_ haven't dealt with women much, have you?" she managed to ask between roars of laughter.

Vader blushed and looked away, his eyes darkening.

Padmé finally managed to calm down to an acceptable level; at least people weren't looking at her as if she were insane. "Stars, milord… how _old_ are you? I know women aren't as accepted in military positions, but… by heaven, have you really not dealt with women at all? Not _once_?"

Vader shrugged. "I've interacted with female personnel before."

_But none of them were trying to flirt with you_. By the stars, Padmé was even more clueless than Vader – how did she not see the signs? No wonder he was uncomfortable, though a normal person probably still would have been more inviting to the feeling. Oh, well; it was a long established fact by now that Vader wasn't normal.

"Come on," she eventually said, resuming their walk. "Let's go the spa."

Padmé was more than happy to reach their destination. After finally coaxing Vader into the building the Imperial stood around somewhat impatiently as Padmé arranged appointment times for them. The Twi'lek at the front desk advised that they could relax in the large hot tub while they were waiting for their scheduled appointments, which gave them a good half hour. Padmé happily agreed that was a good idea and dragged Vader towards the dressing rooms.

"Since when was a hot tub part of the plan?" Vader asked loudly. As a result most of the inhabitants hushed him with intense glares and violent hisses; spas, after all, were supposed to be quiet environments. The venomous look the Sith Lord gave them in return almost made Padmé burst out laughing again. Instead, she pinched his arm to get his attention, making him jump.

"It's a good way to pass the time while we're waiting, and it's still relaxing." She explained softly. After finding the dressing rooms, she shoved Vader into the men's room and dressed in a provided swimsuit before going into the hot tub. The warmth soothed her aching arms and legs and she sighed deeply in contentment just as she heard someone else enter the room.

"I still don't see the point in this."

"Shhh!"

Padmé ducked her head under water so she wouldn't lose her composure after half the room hushed the impudent Sith Lord. When she emerged she saw Vader entering the water—fully clothed.

"No, don't—" she quietly tried to advise him when several attendants rushed over, looking frantic.

"Sir, you can't enter the water like that—"

"Sir, you need to go to the dressing room—"

"Be silent, I'll do as I please." Vader snapped, waving them off. They continued to argue, and Padmé hastily came over.

"It's okay," she said to the attendants. "I'll get him to change."

"That's useless for training." Vader folded his arms irritably. "Nobody goes on a mission in their swim trunks."

"If you're very well prepared you do," Padmé rolled her eyes. "Just change clothes or don't come into the water; you're going to get us _both_ thrown out."

Vader huffed and sulked off. When he returned he quickly entered the water and said, "All right, now here's the scenario. Each person in here is an enemy."

Padmé couldn't help it; she let out a bark of a laugh, making everyone throw death glares in her direction. She winced and apologized softly in embarrassment, but Vader only made the situation worse.

"We can do underwater subterfuge, I suppose. See the fat one in the corner? He's your target. Swim to him underwater without being detected and then pull him under."

"What?" Padmé looked at him in astonishment.

Vader shrugged. "I didn't say drown him; just pull him under. He's got enough buoyancy to handle himself."

Padmé sighed heavily. "You _really_ need to learn tact."

The next twenty minutes were spent arguing why training in an enormous hot tub full of other clients was _not_ a good idea. Padmé was relieved when it was finally time for their appointments. She dragged Vader out of the pool (after searching for the kriffing idiot since any moment not arguing was spent underwater shoving random people around with the Force) and pushed him towards the showers. "Go clean up. I'll meet you in the waiting room. Remember to wear the _robe_, not your street clothes."

"I'm _not_ exposing myself to strangers."

"It's for a blasted _massage_."

"How can you trust them? What if they add something toxic to the mixture they put on you during the body treatment?"

"What reason would they have to do that?"

"You don't know them. They may know more about you than you realize. You're relatively recognizable, you know."

"These people are paid for their discretion, milord, and I haven't been in office long enough to merit recognition. No one would know me as queen because of my makeup."

Vader sulked. "I still don't trust them."

"Put. The robe. On."

"_Fine."_

Relaxation _finally_ came when Padmé was taken into a private room and given the massage she'd been waiting for all day. It was so nice to just have a moment to herself, and she let her mind be totally clear; no thinking about the Rebel Alliance, the Empire, Darth Vader, anything of the sort. Her mind lingered on her family, but she just exhaled and assumed the best. She was too tired to worry anymore. The massage was allowing her that moment of peace that she'd needed since CC4.

After what seemed an eternity, she finally reentered the lounge and waited for Vader while sipping some tea that was provided for her. Eventually the wait began to take too long, though. A little worried, Padmé asked what room Vader was in and went there. When she knocked and entered, the masseuse was sitting politely and silently in the corner, staring at the wall. Vader was nowhere to be found. Watching the masseuse confusedly, Padmé asked, "What are you doing?"

"I'm sitting here quietly and contemplating the universe." The woman replied in a dazed tone. "It's a beautiful thing, you know. The universe."

"Right," Padmé slowly replied, taking a few hesitant steps back. What was wrong with that woman?

"There you are."

Jumping with a yelp, Padmé whirled around. Vader was in the doorway, still in nothing but a robe and slippers. "What—where were you? You were supposed to be getting a massage in here."

"I wanted to ensure this place was legitimate." Vader replied shrewdly, looking suspicious. "And I didn't want her touching me."

Padmé rolled her eyes. "Of _course_ it's legitimate. Besides, a massage won't kill you… we just need to get another masseuse… was she like this when you got here?"

Vader waved his hand towards the masseuse. "You can get back to work now."

The woman blinked quickly a few times and then shook her head slightly. "Right. I can get back to work now."

Padmé felt the pit of her stomach churn as the masseuse stood and walked by them, presumably to find another client. Then she glanced at Vader. "Did _you_ do that?"

Vader nodded. "Let's go."

Padmé snorted. "Shouldn't you change first?"

"I'm going to. Meet me outside."

"I _paid_ for you to get a massage," Padmé argued a little indignantly. "You're not wasting my money."

"I don't want them touching me."

Padmé grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into the room, closing the door. "Then _I'll_ massage you. Now lie down on the blasted table."

Vader hesitantly sat on the table, staring at her to see what she'd do next. He obviously didn't know what a massage entailed. Then Padmé abruptly realized a slight problem. "Um, right, you'll have to take that off. I can just face the wall…"

"Why do I have to take it off?"

"Because that's how the massage works, you big shaak!"

Vader gave her a grumpy look and immediately began to untie the sash holding the robe. Padmé quickly whirled around to face the wall. After a few moments she asked, "Are you covered?"

"But you said take it off."

"Then lie on the table and put a towel over you!" Padmé nearly beat her head into the wall. Eventually she heard him shift around and then relax. "You ready?"

"I suppose…?"

When Padmé turned around she immediately felt goose bumps rise all along her body. Vader was on his stomach, and he had appropriately covered himself, but he was propped up on his arms, gazing at her curiously. Her automatic reaction changed, however, when she saw minute details she hadn't noticed before when she'd seen him shirtless. There were scabbed tears everywhere along his back, scarring horribly. His left arm had the same strange pink tree-shaped marking as his foot, but it surrounded a terrible looking burn that seared from his upper arm into his shoulder. Occasionally his back bore the same marking and it trailed all the way from his leg to his foot. It was nearly faded into his skin, which was far different from when it was more noticeable when she'd seen it during their picnic nearly a week ago.

Walking up to him, she traced her hand along the mark. It felt rougher than the rest of his skin. He shuddered slightly under her touch. "What is this, milord?"

"Burn. It's healing."

Padmé immediately removed her hand. "I'm sorry—I didn't—does it hurt?"

"Not really."

"I've never seen a burn leave a pattern like this," she muttered, looking at the marking once again.

Vader didn't seem too eager to explain the situation, and Padmé felt a little woozy. His reticence spoke volumes. She knew where he'd gotten this, though _how_ he got it was another story entirely. Somehow this was the emperor's fault. She slowly stepped closer to him and pushed gently against his shoulder blades. "Just lay flat, milord. I won't hurt you."

Vader relented, and she finally began to massage the coarseness out of his muscles. He was tense initially, but he soon relaxed. She smiled at the reaction. "See? I told you it wasn't so bad."

"It feels funny."

Padmé chuckled and the two were silent. This was surprisingly cathartic for her as well. Her eyes still lingered on the burn, though. "Why would the emperor allow you to be hurt like that?"

Vader didn't reply for a few seconds, but eventually he said, "I didn't move fast enough."

Padmé paused. "He was punishing you for being slow? But what sort of machine leaves a mark like this?"

"Lightning."

Padmé blanched. "Lightning? Were you training at a lightning spire or something?"

Vader said nothing. Eventually Padmé resumed the massage, but she let the question linger in the air for a while longer. It was Vader, though, who changed the subject.

"What does it feel like?"

Confused, she leaned over a little to look him in the eye. "What does what feel like?"

"Loving someone." He elaborated, watching her sincerely.

Padmé felt her heart clench. Moving her hand slowly, she traced his jaw and caressed his cheek with her thumb. He was either unaware of the maneuver or thought it was part of the massage since he didn't react to it.

She wanted to tell him so much. She wanted to show him how amazing and wonderful love was, how love was what really was needed in this galaxy. She wanted to tell him _everything_. But love was something that one couldn't really explain; she could try her best, though. She was a politician; using words to her advantage was her forte. "It's like having trust, security, friendship, happiness, joy, and a sense of peace all wrapped together. It's like always knowing someone will be there for you and always wanting to be there for that person. It's the most important feeling you could ever experience, and it saves lives. A lack of love is what garners so much hatred and despair in this galaxy."

Vader looked away. "The emperor always said love was a weakness to be exploited. He said anyone who had it could be broken into so many pieces you could scatter them like dust. It's one of your most powerful allies."

Padmé held back a good number of choice words she had for the emperor. She crouched further so she and Vader were at equal eye level. "Love _is_ a powerful ally; without it you have very little to no support. Any kind of tragedy or setback in life could put you in a very dark place without it."

"The darkness is my ally."

Growing both desperate and frustrated, Padmé asked, "Then why did you bother asking in the first place?"

Vader's eyes glazed over, as if he were looking within himself. "I… wanted to compare."

"Compare?" she repeated. Did he actually _feel_ something? Who did he feel love for?

Taking a deep breath, Vader placed his hands on the table and began to sit up. Padmé looked away long enough for him to put his robe back on, and then she simply watched him stand and head for the door. Both were in a trance, both were caught in their own thoughts. Eventually Padmé wandered into the lounge and awaited Vader's return. When he came in his street clothes, she nodded to him and walked alongside him towards the exit. Eventually, she asked, "Milord, what do _you_ think about love? Not the emperor, but you."

Vader paused. Without turning to her, he said softly, "I… I know he's right. Love is a prison. It leaves you with everything… and nothing. And it always takes pieces of you away from yourself… until there's nothing left of you. Nothing."

His words tore into her. His voice was so quiet, and it held just a slight tremor in it. He knew what he was talking about. He knew of love. He'd felt it before.

"What happened?" she asked, watching him intensely.

Vader continued to watch the sky as the sun kissed the horizon. "We require food. It's getting late."

"Don't shut me out." Padmé insisted, stepping directly in front of him. "Just tell me."

Vader closed his eyes. Then he shook his head. "Food. We need food. Then sparring. Then sleep."

He was tired. He was stressed. This topic was bothering him a lot. His fingers were madly playing with his tunic, and she could tell his hands were trembling. She held his arms steady. "It's okay, milord. You can talk to me."

Vader swayed in place as if suddenly dizzy. Padmé increased her grip, alarmed. He shook his head once more. "Food."

Nodding, Padmé took him by the hand; maybe that was why he was suddenly dizzy. "Okay, let's go."

They found a lovely restaurant full of the New Year's festivities. A band was merrily playing, there was a dance floor packed full of people, and they were lucky enough to get the last available table. After sitting, Padmé watched Vader carefully. He was still trembling, and he looked pale. His gaze was swift, shifting from person to person without even looking them over. He wasn't looking at anything or for anything. He either really was ravenous or their conversation bothered him a lot. Or both. He probably didn't like feeling this way in public, so she decided she'd save that particular conversation for the villa. Instead, she tried resuming their discussion from lunch. She recalled that he'd asked her if she was helping him only because he was a person, or because he was _him_. She hadn't been able to answer; she hadn't had a clear picture of who Darth Vader really was.

Honestly, part of her problem was that she simply hadn't had (or made, she thought a little regretfully) the time to mull over everything that she'd learned about him, certainly since he'd finally broken down on the ship. But she knew what would be better than simply _thinking_ about what she'd pieced together. "Milord, do you know what I see when I look at you?"

Vader raised an eyebrow, beckoning her to continue.

She took a deep breath, compiling all of her experiences with him into one coherent picture of the man sitting across from her. As she did so, she was surprised to find quite a bit hidden amongst his unflappable veneer. "I see a man who loves flying—heck, who loves working machinery in general if your insistence on driving the boat is any indication. I also see a man who seems to love proving people wrong; when I said that I was a better driver than you, you challenged me to a race. I see a man who is gentle enough to allow me to lead him around, but who has an iron will and more stubbornness than anyone I know. I see a man who puts his heart and soul into everything he does. I see a man who wants to be loved, who wants to be _needed_, who feels so deeply he gets burned. I see a man who wants to share his life with someone and feel like he's worth something."

Well, stang. She supposed she _did_ know him more than she thought. Apparently she knew him more than he knew himself; the look of pure astonishment and even wonder on his face was indicative of that. Then he scrunched his nose. "Gentle?"

Oops, she probably shouldn't have used that word, even if it _was_ true. "I meant politely acquiescent."

Vader gave her a shrewd look that screamed he knew she was covering her flub, but he didn't vocalize the fact. At least he looked a little healthier than when they'd initially sat down. To make him feel a little more like he hadn't made himself look like some adorable, harmless little puppy, she added, "I also see a highly intelligent man, a strategist, and a warrior. I see a man who can easily carry the weight of the Empire on his shoulders without flinching, even if he _is_ falling to pieces on the inside."

She probably shouldn't have added the last part, but by heaven it was _true_.

Vader looked at his hands, blushing slightly, and then back at her, unsure of what to say. Eventually, he whispered, "You can see all that?"

"Yes," she whispered.

He processed her words, still not sure how to reply. Eventually he just flipped it on her. "You said this morning you wanted to see through my eyes. When I look at you, I see a woman worthy of my notice. I see an intelligent, charismatic, strong woman. I see someone who has many secrets and who wishes to keep them, but someone at the same time who wants to share herself. Someone who's lonely. Someone who has so much potential. Someone who has a great chance to live and a great chance to die. Someone who could be so much more if she just… stayed with the right people."

_If you stay with me_ was the unspoken sentiment. Padmé watched him for a long time after he finished. The world around them faded into nothingness. After an eternity, she said, "Yes."

Vader gave her a puzzled look.

"I would do this for anyone." Padmé explained, bringing up his question from brunch. "But that's not why I'm helping you. I'm doing this for _you_. I want to help _you_."

As she spoke, a slow waltz began to play. Rising, she held out her hand to him with an inviting smile. Mesmerized, Vader took her hand and the two went to the dance floor and waltzed together, lost in each other's eyes. Darkness hung on the horizon and began to overtake the night sky. Darkness lingered between the two of them. But in that moment, the soft light of the candles was enough to keep the darkness at bay. And all they saw was each other.

* * *

**Finally all that character development is coming together, haha. At least I hope so. Let me know what you think! ;)**


	22. Too Little Too Late

**Happy Epiphany! ^_^ And thank you all so much for your reviews!**

* * *

The sky was amazing.

Thecine had a long-lasting tradition to throw one of the largest New Year's parties on the planet on the first night of the fete week, but after that the city always went dark by midnight if the weather was just right. New Year's came in the summer in this hemisphere of Naboo, but the lakes often cooled the temperature just enough to make the evenings crisp. When that happened and the city went dark, the still water channels acted as mirrors that reflected the infinite night sky.

Padmé and Vader were on a gondola heading back to the docks. It was time to return to Varykino for some much needed rest, assuming Vader didn't come up with a new training protocol. The gondolier made the trip smooth and quiet so the two could enjoy the scenery. People filled the streets, whispering in awe over the majesty of the sights above and below them. Padmé glanced at the water but despite the gondolier's gentle rowing the ripples disturbed the perfect reflection, and so she returned her gaze to the sky. Tonight was a rare gift; all three of Naboo's moons were new moons. It was so rare that it was part of the reason people crammed into the city today; Thecine had one of the best views of the stars on this side of the planet, if not all of Naboo. It stole Padmé's breath away.

She glimpsed to see if Vader was watching as well. The Sith Lord occasionally glanced up before looking around once more; he seemed to be keeping more of an eye on the stilled crowds than on the stars. Padmé wanted to urge him to look up, but it made little difference; besides, _she_ didn't want to miss this once in a lifetime sight.

The rest of the gondola ride was spent in the same manner. Eventually they reached their destination and Padmé reluctantly returned her attention to Thecine. To think there were so many stars out there, so many populated worlds, so many _beings_ out there… it inspired her to do as much good for them as she could. And then she looked at Vader and all her focus came forth; she was smart enough to know she couldn't save the universe, but she _wanted_ to save him. She wanted to help him. She _would _save him.

Smiling, she stood at the same time as him. "Shall we?"

Vader disembarked and tossed her a brief glance before continuing. Padmé sighed in slight exasperation; she needed to teach that man some manners. She followed him back to their speeder, but she placed her hand on his arm when he reached to start the repulsorlift.

"Milord, why don't we just let the lake flow guide us out of the dock for a few minutes?" she whispered. "That way we don't bother the stargazers."

"They don't have sensitive hearing. It won't hurt them."

Padmé rolled her eyes. "It's called being _considerate_."

Vader eyed her. "What purpose does that serve?"

"Simply for its own sake," she replied.

Vader shook his head. "You make no sense."

Padmé laughed softly. "What does that mean?"

"You can't save everyone," he watched her carefully. "You can't be nice to everyone. You can't rescue everyone. Yet you're always nice to them and think that'll cause some sort of miracle. It's time consuming and wasteful of your energy. You can do so much more than waste your effort on people who neither care for you nor need your concern."

She heard the quiet complement couched in the callous words. "What exactly can I do?"

"You… you can do as you said you wished." Vader replied awkwardly. "You can help me. And… you can be… we can work together. We can be partners."

"Isn't that what we're already doing?" she asked gently.

"Yes," he answered. "But your focus has to be on Master, not _them_."

"I remember the ground rules," she replied. "But that doesn't mean I won't be considerate to others."

Vader sighed. Turning slightly he eyed the dock and then stretched his hand out. With a lazy flick of his wrist the boat suddenly moved as if it had been pushed from the dock. Padmé looked to see if somebody had done just that but saw no one. It must have been Vader. The gentle lapping sound of the lake against the boat relaxed Padmé and they traveled in silence. She pondered the day and her situation. Overall the day had gone incredibly well; she'd been able to finally enjoy her vacation as a vacation, and she'd learned much about Vader. And she'd finally been able to articulate her desire to help him. It had seemed to make a difference to him, too; he wasn't as demanding, he was more acquiescent to her, like he wanted to show he cared without ever saying anything. Or she was reading too much into it; after their dance they'd barely spoken at all. Words didn't seem to convey what they'd wanted to say to each other.

But now the only question burning in Padmé's mind was… what next?

"Milord," she began slowly. "What will happen when the final recess is over?"

"We'll return to Imperial Center."

_No kriffing kidding_. "I mean what will happen to _me_? You already said you knew I was a Rebel spy. I've turned away from that now, but… won't I still be in trouble? What will happen? How can I be your partner if I'm in trouble?"

Her gut suddenly twisted. She felt sick bringing this up; during their vacation Naboo had become a safe haven from everything in the galaxy, especially the Empire. She didn't want to talk about this, and she _especially_ didn't want to mention the Rebels or her connection to them. But the more she hid it the sicker she felt, the less she wanted to hide anything from Vader. Their time was almost up; she just wanted to be honest with him, she wanted to see what he was willing to do to help her. Then, with some more time, she could maybe, _finally_, convince him to come to the Alliance with her.

It was so incredibly frustrating that the war would get in the way of what they had together.

Vader began to twist his hands together on his lap. The same body language from that morning, the same urgency, panic, and fear suddenly returned. "You… need more training before I can present you to Master. He won't accept anything but the best. You have to be his means to an end, and you have to be _perfect_."

Padmé waited expectantly, but when Vader remained silent for too long, she prompted him. "So… what are we going to do?"

"Train." Vader immediately replied. "Train a lot. As soon as we get back. And you have to finish telling me about the Alliance. Tell me now."

She knew she shouldn't have brought this up. "Finish telling you? I told you what I know."

This was so screwed up. Why couldn't she just tell him? She wanted to. She _needed_ to if he was to truly trust her… but something in her just wouldn't allow her to do it. She would say it was her loyalty to the Rebel Alliance, but that implied she was trying to betray them by confiding in Vader – that wasn't the case, was it? She wanted to _help_ him, she wanted to bring him to the Alliance to be with her. She wanted to aid the _Alliance_.

Yet somehow, deep inside her, she felt as if those two ideals didn't coincide.

Vader breathed deeply through his nose. His hands finally stilled. His face grew stormy. His muscles tensed. His brow furrowed. His eyes darkened. She recognized the expression on other people; it was anger. But on Vader… it was this strange experience, as if she were watching anger simmer beneath duracrete, if that could even be possible to describe or explain. And then, suddenly, as if the lake itself were pouring into him to cool the lava flowing beneath the surface, he slowly settled into his usual calm self. He reached for the repulsorlift, engaged it, and then activated the engine. They spent the rest of the trip in silence.

Padmé had always hated the Empire. But all of a sudden she found herself hating the Alliance, too.

* * *

The night sky reminded him of his first kiss with Siri. It didn't reveal as much of the heavens as that night many years ago, but it was still beautiful to behold. But he couldn't really enjoy the scenery; though he cast a brief glance heavenward, his attention was fixed upon what would happen when they reached their destination. He and Siri had barely spoken since their arrival on Naboo; Al had said he would remain with the _Invariant Beauty_ to prevent suspicion. Siri and Obi-Wan had arrived in Theed a little over two hours ago and had taken a shuttle to Oxon. They'd since taken a taxi to the docks that led to the expansive Lake Country.

Siri, of course, had hopped straight into the driver's seat; she was a fair pilot and drove a speeder well enough, but her favorite machine to maneuver was a boat. Ever since Obi-Wan had first taken her to Varykino when they were teenagers she'd fallen in love with the speeder boat; she immediately learned to drive it and got a license. She loved the speed, the thrill, the smell of the moist air, and most especially, she loved the water. Obi-Wan certainly preferred it to air transport; he wasn't a huge fan of flying.

Siri finally broke the silence between the two of them, interrupting Obi-Wan's reflections. "Is it the usual cover story, then?"

"I should think." Obi-Wan replied, stroking the stubble on his chin thoughtfully.

"Do you think he'll verify it?"

"Undoubtedly," he immediately answered. "But that's why we landed in Theed instead of Oxon."

Siri sighed heavily. "I know."

The Naberrie trio had only been Rebels for the past four years: the second half of Padmé's term as queen and all of her term so far as senator. In that time they often met up with other Rebel contacts and had to come up with numerous alibis for their clandestine dealings. Obi-Wan and Siri often attributed it to their old acquaintances in the RRM, and since Obi-Wan was Naboo's representative, he could also claim to have been touring the planet. Up until Padmé was nineteen most of their operations were on Naboo, anyway; they'd been fairly passive on Imperial Center until Kuna had come into the picture.

Obi-Wan shook his head. It didn't matter if they used their usual alibi or not. He and his wife were almost always in sync with each other; they'd easily come up with a cover story on the spot. That wasn't his concern.

He was worried about Padmé.

"There's Varykino," Siri noted, and Obi-Wan immediately looked ahead. The island came ever closer, barely visible in the darkness. The dock had a single light, allowing them to reach it. There was a speeder boat tied toward the edge of the dock, so Siri snuggled their boat in behind it. Glancing at Obi-Wan, she whispered, "Ready?"

Ready to see Padmé? Absolutely. Ready to face Darth Vader?

Not so much.

"Yes," Obi-Wan replied with a nod.

The couple stood and began their steady trek towards the villa. Obi-Wan had spent most of his time worrying about Padmé, but he suddenly grew nervous thinking about his newly discovered Force sensitivity. He'd already reasoned that if no one had noticed before, even the Sith Lord, then it was unlikely they'd notice now, but since he himself knew about it he felt like it was painted all over him in neon colors – _I'm a Jedi._

He shook his head firmly. Siri gave a sidelong glance but didn't make a remark. She probably knew what was bothering him, but they needed to focus now; the time for worrying and fretting was over. It was time to act.

When they finally reached the balcony, Obi-Wan paused. Something was wrong… well, perhaps not _wrong_, but something was _off_. There were no lights on in the villa from what he could see. Checking his chronometer for the local time, he looked at the villa once again in confusion. It was ten on the chronometer; surely Padmé wasn't in bed yet. She was quite the night owl, after all. Then again, she may want to avoid Vader and probably would use the excuse of sleep as a good reason to get away from him. But something still didn't seem right… Obi-Wan had a sinking suspicion that she wasn't there at all. If that was the case, then where was she? Where was Darth Vader?

"Nobody's home," Siri immediately surmised, coming to the same conclusions. She sounded similarly befuddled, but also worried. "But there's a boat in the dock…"

Obi-Wan glanced back at the dock instinctively. Then a low humming sound emitted from the lake. He held up a finger. "Do you hear that?"

The two listened intently and saw the headlights of a speeder boat making its way to Varykino. They watched from the balcony as it pulled in, hugging the shore since the dock was mostly occupied by the other two boats. Voices echoed in the distance; one was a soft feminine tone sounding tired, the other a steady, calm baritone. Or not so steady; Obi-Wan felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he heard it. His insides shivered as a freezing wind suddenly blew into him. Siri shuddered at the same time.

"Padmé?" Obi-Wan called, taking a step forward.

"Obi-Wan! Siri!" He couldn't make out her face, but the pure joy in her voice was enough to indicate she was relieved and happy to see them.

Siri immediately rushed down the stairs, but Obi-Wan remained on the balcony. As happy as he was to see Padmé was alright, he wanted to watch Vader. The man's silhouette was motionless as Siri rushed to Padmé and nearly tackled her in a hug. Although she seemed similarly disturbed by Vader's presence, she didn't seem to notice the distinct differences. When Obi-Wan had run into the Sith Lord before, he'd felt cold and something about the man had felt off. Now, he felt jittery, as if he were full of energy and was about to burst. He paced the balcony a little and his temples pounded. What was wrong?

He jumped when Siri dragged Padmé up to him and nearly threw Padmé and Obi-Wan together. Padmé didn't need much prompting; she squeezed Obi-Wan so hard he could barely breathe. Just seeing her was enough to appease his fears, but he knew to hug her back. It was a nice feeling, even if he often had to force himself to do it.

Before Vader could get a chance to reach them, he whispered, "Are you alright?"

"Yes," she replied softly, her voice quivering from emotion. "I'm _so_ happy to see you two."

"We missed you," Obi-Wan said, smiling. He felt his knees tremble slightly; it was an enormous comfort to know she was safe and to finally reunite with her.

Padmé sniffled and buried her face in his chest. He held her more tightly until he saw Vader walking up the stairs. Siri stood firmly between the two of them and Vader as if to shield them. Obi-Wan eventually pulled Padmé away from him; if she showed this much relief to see them the Sith Lord might get suspicious. When Vader was finally on the balcony, Obi-Wan and Siri bowed deeply.

Vader nodded in acknowledgement. "Enjoying your vacation?"

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to reply when he found his voice had fled him… along with his resolve. He stood firm and his face showed no indication of his fear, but he didn't realize just how badly it was affecting him until he'd tried to answer. Siri hastily replied for him.

"Yes, actually. We were in Theed meeting with some old acquaintances. And stopping by home," Facing Padmé, Siri then remarked, "Ryoo wants to show you her latest drawings, so you should stop by if you can. Also, Sola asks if you've found yourself a handsome man to sweep you off your feet; she figured that surely at least one of the two fete weeks would provide some opportunities."

Padmé would normally laugh such a remark off or, more likely, roll her eyes. In this instance, however, she suddenly grew pensive, and then looked a little unsettled before finally emitting a forced chuckle. "Sola is quite persistent, I'll give her that."

There was a sudden awkward pause where everyone was either nodding or staring at each other. Obi-Wan hastily tried to move the conversation along, looking away from Vader and grabbing his resolve; if he wasn't looking at that cold void of a man he could at least say _something_. "How have you been?"

"Busy," Padmé said, and she sounded quite sincere. "Lord Vader and I have been engaged in quite interesting conversations as of late."

Immediately, Vader nodded again and excused himself, saying he needed rest. He vanished into the shadows. The three were silent for a solid two minutes before Siri blew out a sigh. "That was awfully fast; I expected more of an interrogation from him."

"He's probably tired," Padmé muttered, though she didn't sound convinced. She pushed aside whatever was bothering her, though, and she smiled at them, dragging them into a hug once more. "I'm so happy you two are safe and here. Come on, you've got to be exhausted as well—and hungry, I can imagine. Let's get some food and then go to bed."

"Perhaps we can skip the food," Obi-Wan shook his head with a gentle smile. Internally he was still reeling from his earlier hiccup, but he was steadily shoving that down. He didn't need to concern himself with that now; he needed to look after Padmé and Siri. Padmé obviously had missed them greatly, and Siri… well, he wasn't sure if she'd go berserk being in the same villa as that Sith Lord. "Maybe something to drink and then we can go to bed."

"Yes, I'd love to hear about your vacation," Siri said, her body tensing slightly. Obi-Wan reached a hand over to her shoulder and squeezed it; _not here. Not with Vader around._

Siri sighed heavily.

The three pulled away from the hug and Padmé shrugged. "Like I said, some interesting conversations. Nothing particularly eventful… though I probably _should_ mention what happened on CC4."

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. "CC4? I haven't heard anything about it."

"I'm not sure it got much coverage even within our own sector," Padmé shook her head. "I doubt it got any publicity outside of Chommell. CC4 had a groundquake and the slaves rebelled."

"It wouldn't be the first slave rebellion on that colony – weren't there issues with that before the final recess?" Obi-Wan asked, recalling Rekk's report back on Imperial Center. That seemed so long ago now… how long had it been since that conversation? Two weeks?

"Yeah, actually, you're right," Padmé sighed as she made the connection as well. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, then. Either way, Vader and I handled the situation."

"You two went to CC4?" Siri blurted out, surprised.

Padmé nodded. "Yeah, my _vacation_ has been pretty eventful and not so relaxing, but lately it's been… nice. How about you two? Was your free time spent productively?"

Obi-Wan caught her meaning. He still didn't really want to reveal anything, especially with Darth Vader heaven only knew where in the building, but he indulged her a little. "Marginally. We hit a few… obstacles."

"And learned some interesting things," Siri muttered.

"But in either case, I'm very tired," Obi-Wan hastily moved the conversation forward. Padmé had enough to worry about—honestly, they all did; he wasn't going to add his newfound Force sensitivity to that list. "Perhaps we can discuss more over breakfast, Padmé, though I will ask this: are we going back to Imperial Center together?"

_Just say yes. Just say yes, Padmé. Come with us and let Vader return alone._

"I'll be returning with Lord Vader," Padmé replied with a neutral expression. She was hiding something. Why was she hiding something from him?

Siri looked like she wanted to argue, but she bit her lip. "Suit yourself. We'll see you in the morning, then."

"Good night," Padmé hugged them a third time, and the hug lingered so long that Obi-Wan began to worry about her again. He really didn't like that she wasn't telling them everything, but he supposed it was simply because Vader was in the vicinity. At least he hoped so.

Eventually the couple separated from Padmé and went to their usual room in the villa. Siri paused on the way.

"Is that… a broken chair?" she asked softly, trying to make the object out in the dim light.

Obi-Wan immediately followed her gaze. Why was the furniture broken? The two steadily walked closer to the site and saw a chair leg innocently lying in the middle of the hallway.

"Maybe Vader's fat ego broke it," Siri said so softly Obi-Wan wasn't even sure he'd actually heard it or just imagined it in his head. He picked up the leg and examined it for a few seconds; the breaking point was shredded, and splinters were hanging out. Some sort of blunt force caused this, but he wasn't sure what. Obi-Wan resolved to ask Padmé about it tomorrow.

"Let's go to bed," he advised, and the two went to their room, tossing their one luggage bag beside the bed. The couple collapsed.

"Something's wrong," Siri said as soon as they'd settled in bed. "She's not telling us something."

"I know," Obi-Wan responded, staring at the dark ceiling.

"How are we going to figure out what it is with Vader around?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. _Not now._ Siri seemed to catch his meaning, and she gave him a sour look.

"She's fine, Siri," Obi-Wan replied, reassuring himself as much as he was reassuring her. Padmé seemed awfully clingy; he could imagine it wasn't easy at all dealing with Vader constantly, but it seemed like she was seeing them for the first time after a war. "She's uninjured."

"Physically," Siri remarked, but Obi-Wan wouldn't comment. Instead, he brushed his fingers against her face in a small gesture of assurance and then closed his eyes to sleep. Siri snuggled beside him and he sighed and turned towards her as they both slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

The lazy morning light drifted through the windows. It pierced her eyelids, making Padmé turn away from it. She'd been in this groggy half-asleep state for a while as she'd been thinking about recent events. She was _ecstatic_ that Obi-Wan and Siri were back, but at the same time she was worried. She'd wanted their support for most of the vacation, but the past few days had actually begun to satisfy that yearning; once she and Vader had finally started to open up to each other, everything had improved. For the most part, at least; of course there were bumps, but the days had been relatively smooth. Now, though… would Vader be open around Obi-Wan and Siri? It wasn't likely.

Maybe she could find a way to convince them to leave ahead of her? She felt horrible even thinking it let alone suggesting it; the two of them had been worried sick. Siri had immediately wrapped her in an enormous hug, which was her indicator that she'd missed her greatly, and Obi-Wan didn't even complain about being hugged constantly so many times and for so long. They were just as happy to see her as she was to see them. She didn't want to push them away. But she didn't want to push _Vader_ away, either, and that's exactly how it would feel if she suddenly spent all her time with her family.

Blast it, what was she supposed to do? It wasn't fair to either party to choose one over the other. How could she help Vader and still be with her family?

Why couldn't they both just be one in the same?

Padmé sat up abruptly. Did she really just say that in her head? She… wait, wait, wait, Vader was—she wanted to _help_ him, and she certainly didn't mind being around him—in fact it was starting to be quite enjoyable and amusing, even if it was also tiring, but… _but_… she couldn't even finish her thought_. _She was startled enough that the idea popped in her mind, but she was even more startled by how content she felt at thinking é shook her head violently and moaned. Not now. She couldn't think about this now.

Sighing, Padmé rose, cleaned herself up, and dressed. She strolled through the halls of the villa and glanced into her brother's room. Obi-Wan and Siri were both still asleep, cuddled relatively close together. They looked exhausted. What did they go through? Why did it take them so long to get back? Padmé felt her chest grow heavy; she adored the two of them, but seeing them reminded her of her duty to the Alliance, and she just _didn't want_ to deal with that right now. All of her energy was focused on helping Vader, on just _being_ with him, and she didn't want anything to invade their refuge. But reality was steadily returning; the vacation was ending.

Wandering by different bedrooms, she wondered if Vader was still asleep. She had no clue where he'd been resting the past two nights, but after she passed every single bedroom in the villa she concluded that he wasn't in bed anyway. Maybe he was on his morning walk? Going to the balcony she looked around for any sign of the Sith Lord but saw nothing. She supposed she'd have to wait.

As she fixed herself some breakfast, Padmé glanced at the container of chocolate ice cream in the freezer and her chest grew even heavier. She wanted this vacation to last forever. At the same time, she wasn't sure she could handle that, either; she had no qualms spending time with Vader, but trying to _convince_ him of things was sometimes very exhausting. If only Obi-Wan and Siri could help her… she needed _some_ sort of support. She'd had none her entire time here, and she was feeling pretty weary. It was ironic that she'd been desperately wishing they'd come back all the way up until she decided to help Vader – now she had to juggle taking care of Vader and keeping Obi-Wan and Siri from jumping to conclusions or panicking.

Eventually Obi-Wan and Siri were up and wandered into the dining room. They both greeted her warmly, and they seemed infinitely more cheerful than yesterday.

"I see the sleep did you two some good," Padmé remarked with a genuine smile.

"Yes, it did," Obi-Wan replied, sitting at the table after making some food for himself and Siri.

"It also helps that Varykino is Vader-free for a while," Siri chuckled as she sat beside him.

Padmé crossed her arms. "Well, he's not in the villa from what I could tell, but that doesn't mean he's not here at all. He normally goes for morning walks."

"He's not on the island," Obi-Wan shook his head.

"How do you know?"

"We looked," Siri shrugged. "One of the boats is missing. Also, we swept the place for bugs and there are none, so we can _finally_ speak freely."

Padmé didn't let them say anything else; she immediately rushed down to the dock to confirm Siri's claim. There were indeed only two boats. Where had he gone? Why would he leave? He was coming back, right?

"Padmé?"

She slowly turned to Obi-Wan, who'd followed her. He was watching her curiously, but his blue-grey eyes were sharp with concern and something else… suspicion? She wasn't sure.

"I… didn't expect him to just leave like that," she shrugged with the best smile she could muster.

Siri joined him a few seconds later. "What's wrong?"

Padmé looked away, gazing off at the expansive lake. Where was he right now? "It's nothing."

"Why are you lying?"

Why _was_ she lying? Did she have anything to hide from her own family? Well, she hid a lot of the dangers of being a Rebel spy from Sola and her parents, but Obi-Wan and Siri understood her life better than anyone. Why would she keep this a secret from them?

Maybe the better question was why _shouldn't_ she tell them?

Siri would never accept that Vader was anything but a murderer. The woman was more opinionated than even Padmé, and while she tried to be understanding of the circumstances, she was unlikely to see Vader as anything but a monster. Firstly, Sabé and Siri were closer than Sabé and Padmé, and while she hadn't seen Siri coping with the loss, she knew it affected her far worse. Secondly, Siri had an unshakable sense of justice, and no amount of explanation about Vader's upbringing or opinion of himself would change that.

What about Obi-Wan? He was far more willing to look at a situation from all angles, even more so than Padmé herself. Surely he could understand this, and he could help Siri see reason too, right?

"I'm sorry," she finally said, shaking her head and facing them fully. "I… this vacation has been… insane. Remember when I said Darth Vader and I had interesting conversations? They were… eye opening, to say the least. I…" She sighed heavily, playing with her dress and trying to figure out how to phrase this. Instead, she decided to wait. "Let's talk about your vacation first, okay? Vader knows what happened here, but he… he can't know about your excursions, so let's get that out of the way while he's gone."

"Salkende won't help," Siri immediately said, looking frustrated. "They're in a civil war that's almost over but they're convinced they can't help us."

"There's a bit more to it than that," Obi-Wan amended, silently chastising Siri with a look. "Their decision may be regrettable, but they do have some legitimate reasons. Padmé, did you hear about what happened to Senator Mothma?"

Padmé felt her heart sink. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear this. "I've been out of the loop. What happened?"

"She's been captured."

Padmé closed her eyes and felt every fiber of her being tighten and tremble. So not only was the Rebel Alliance low on supplies and down both of its bases, but two out of three of its political leaders were now known traitors to the Empire. First Iblis became a fugitive after his family was executed and now Mothma was imprisoned?

"There's not been any official statement on the matter, but if she's declared a traitor…"

"She'll be executed," Padmé finished for him.

"We spoke to Senator Organa," Obi-Wan continued. "He says the Alliance doesn't have a rescue operation put together yet because they're too busy trying to establish a new base; they're still running from the search parties."

"But the Jedi are keeping the Imperials at bay," Siri added with a smirk. "Can you believe _that_?"

"The… the _Jedi_?" Padmé stared at them in shock. "I thought they were extinct!"

"We did too," Obi-Wan replied. "Apparently there are quite a few of them." He and Siri then exchanged glances and he shook his head slightly before returning his attention to Padmé. "We'll be getting one as a protector."

"A Jedi protector?" Padmé repeated. "Won't that be a little obvious?"

"We were wondering that too, but the man has managed to avoid Imperial attention for the past twenty-two years," Obi-Wan shrugged. "I suppose we can assume he knows what he's doing."

Padmé nodded, staring at the dock and taking it all in. Salkende wouldn't help, the Alliance had no base of operations, Mothma was imprisoned with no immediate rescue, but the Jedi were protecting them somehow. Where did the Jedi even come from? They appeared out of _nowhere_.

"How are we getting a Jedi protector? Why?" Padmé looked at Obi-Wan once more. She had wondered for many days whether they would return to Imperial Center or not, and she'd wanted to do so to be with Vader, but she hadn't expected Obi-Wan and Siri to agree to it. Obi-Wan's query last night about returning to Imperial Center had simply been a formality in case Vader had been listening. On top of all that, if Vader knew of her status as a spy, didn't the Empire know too? Wouldn't that compromise her position? Should she tell Obi-Wan and Siri that? She had to talk to Vader about this – things were getting out of control, confusing, and worrying.

She moaned and rubbed her face with her hand. What a mess. She needed to change topics; she needed to _not_ think about this insanity for a little while more. "Did you two really stop by home?"

"Yeah, for about five minutes," Siri answered with a sheepish laugh. "Everything we said about that was true. Relax, Padmé; we didn't say where you were or who you were with."

Padmé breathed a sigh of relief; her parents and sister would explode with panic if they found out what she'd been up to. She could imagine it hadn't been fun covering for her, though. "Thank you."

"So," Obi-Wan said slowly, crossing his arms and watching her shrewdly. She knew that look. That was his _I'm your older brother and demand a straight answer from you because I know you're up to something_ look. At least that's what Siri had called it when she'd first seen it. "What eye opening experiences have you been enduring here?"

That familiar knot returned to her stomach. Sighing, she tried to dance around the issue. "We… Vader's been a little… different than he was on Imperial Center."

"Different how?"

"Less… intense," Padmé tried to explain. "At first it was awkward but okay, but after a while… he's… I just… he's more than what we thought he was. He's not just a monster."

Well, she was in for it now. Siri's eyes widened and her brow furrowed, and Obi-Wan's mouth became a thin line.

"Padmé," Siri said slowly, as if to a youngling. "This is the same man who has led armies to slaughter innocent people and Rebels alike. This is the guy who probably is responsible for Kuna and Sabé's deaths, and he's the guy who's going to kill _you_ if the Empire finds out what you really are. There's nothing more to him than _that_."

Padmé immediately wanted to argue; she wanted to say that Vader did know what she really was and he hadn't killed her for it… but considering how they were reacting already, she figured they'd lose it if she told them. She looked at Obi-Wan to see what he had to say on the matter. While Siri looked shocked and affronted at the notion that Vader was anything but a demon, Obi-Wan looked… suspicious. He could tell there was more to it than just a mere suggestion of humanity. Padmé squirmed under his gaze.

"What made you come to this conclusion?" he asked quietly.

"I… we've talked. A lot." She answered carefully. Blast, she shouldn't have to play politics with her own _brother_. Why was everything so screwed up? "He showed a different side to me."

"It's called _playing_ you," Siri shook her head. "I thought _you_ were supposed to be doing that to _him_, not vice versa."

Annoyance began to flow through her, and she shot Siri a glare. "You haven't been here! You guys have been running around taking your sweet time to get here! How much time does it take to get to Salkende? How long were those negotiations? What took you two so kriffing long? I was here by myself dealing with Vader, dealing with his everyday rituals and mannerisms and _everything_ and actually _learning_ about him and—and—who got the _real_ work done during this vacation?!"

Before Obi-Wan and Siri could say anything, Padmé stormed back to the villa.

* * *

Tarkin paced his living room restlessly. Data pads containing reports of multiple attacks by that blasted Jedi fleet were scattered all over the place. They had been in a neat stack until he'd read the most recent one, marking the fleet's seventh attack. A giant holographic galactic map was lazily rotating in the center of the room, and Tarkin had been marking the location of each attack by the Jedi. They were steadily heading closer to Imperial Center. They'd started in the Outer Rim and were now lingering in the Mid Rim. How long before they suddenly appeared in orbit? Why couldn't any of the blasted Imperial fleets find them and destroy them? The two armadas he'd initially lost hadn't been the last ones – Tarkin had since sent another fleet that had managed to locate them and then he'd lost contact. The navy was still trying to get a report, but it was obvious; they'd been destroyed.

It was the eighth day of the final recess. If Amidala wished to get back to Imperial Center within any sort of reasonable amount of time, she'd be leaving today or tomorrow. That meant Vader's mission would also end. The likelihood that the man had obtained any useful information was low; earlier, that would have frustrated Tarkin beyond belief, but now it was exactly what he wanted. He needed to be careful, obviously; Vader would take the fall for this failure, and Palpatine would not be pleased in the slightest. Tarkin had to ensure the emperor didn't kill his apprentice for his ineptitude, though that didn't seem too likely; Palpatine always had a soft spot for the Sith Lord… if one could imagine that keeping the boy alive indicated he had a soft spot. It was at least useful, though. Tarkin shuddered slightly, but he shook the feeling off. He and Vader would both be better off after Palpatine was dead.

Slowly going to his comlink, Tarkin checked his chronometer. It was 0410 locally (he had been spending the night and early morning correlating the different attack locations of the Jedi fleet), so in the Lake Country it should be half past ten in the morning. Vader had probably been awake for a few hours, and Tarkin was eager to hear _some_ sort of good news, so he patched in the boy's frequency. At this point, Vader would have either managed a miracle by getting solid leads on the Alliance or, more likely, he'd failed and was in desperate need of Tarkin's guidance. Even if the miracle did occur, it was still good news for Tarkin in either case.

Vader didn't answer. Tarkin frowned. Even when he was distressed, the young Sith would always answer his comlink; barely anyone knew his frequency, so if they called it was always for something important. Surely he wasn't still asleep; even if he were, he'd hear the comlink. Growing slightly concerned, he called again.

The holoprojector on his desk hummed as Vader answered and a medium sized hologram of him appeared. He looked even worse than the last time Tarkin saw him; although the hologram wasn't particularly detailed, Tarkin could clearly see rings under the young man's eyes. He couldn't sit still, either; he paced as he waited for Tarkin to say something. His hair was messy as if he hadn't taken his usual two minutes to ensure he looked presentable. Tarkin took a small steadying breath; the damage had been done. Vader had failed his mission. Now Tarkin could just help him… a little bit.

"Report," he quipped.

Vader finally stopped pacing, but he said nothing.

Tarkin repeated himself. "Report, Lord Vader. That's an order."

Giving the young Sith orders always made him snap out of whatever daze he was in, and it was no different this time. He faced Tarkin fully and opened his mouth to speak, but he paused and closed it again, looking away. He clasped his hands behind his back, and his entire posture was rigid.

"What did you learn?" Tarkin prompted once more.

"I need more time," Vader finally said, still looking elsewhere. Tarkin waited for him to elaborate, but he was silent.

"You don't have more time," Tarkin eventually replied with just enough force in his tone to make the point clear.

"I'll _make_ more time," Vader suddenly said, and his voice deepened considerably. Tarkin translated the reaction as best as his memory allowed; it had been a very long time since he'd seen Vader act differently from his usual façade. He was frustrated, he was frantic… he knew he'd failed and he was flailing in the dark. But he wouldn't give up; Darth Vader never gave up. However, this also put him in a precarious and somewhat dangerous frame of mind – at this point he would start analyzing his mission objectives and strip away any unnecessary quips, including any semblance of subtlety. Vader could potentially start a diplomatic incident on Naboo, one that may require more cleaning up than Tarkin really cared to do. Not that he cared about Amidala's safety—quite the contrary, actually—but if Palpatine wanted Amidala alive, it would make the situation even more tedious… and dangerous. Tarkin needed to stop this thought process before Vader brought it to fruition.

"You can't kill her, milord," Tarkin advised carefully.

Vader shook his head. "I won't kill her. But there are those who are close to her. She can be persuaded to speak. She has to _learn_."

What did _that_ mean? Tarkin leaned back on his heels and crossed his arms, examining the Sith Lord. There was more going on here than just Vader's desperate attempt to salvage the mission. "What, exactly, does the senator have to learn, milord?"

"Obedience." Vader answered gruffly, but he shuddered as if he didn't even like what he himself was saying.

Tarkin smirked. "Yes, the senator is quite out of line. Nevertheless, it is not your decision to make; if the emperor wishes someone else to be taken care of, he will inform you. Since he has not, your main priority is to extract information in other ways."

"I—" Vader immediately tried to argue, but he stopped himself.

Tarkin tensed a little; seeing the young man in this much turmoil was slightly disturbing, even for his calm disposition. It would be over soon enough, though, and when he was emperor, he would recall this moment with pride – his first real victory over Palpatine. In the meantime, he had to ensure Vader didn't screw it up.

"I am to obtain information about the Alliance from the senator without hurting her or anyone she knows and while convincing her to _like_ me," Vader muttered and shook his head, growing even more frustrated. "It's—it won't—I—she's too—she _doesn't understand_, she needs to be taught a lesson, she—Master can't possibly—how—governor, what do I do?"

Vader looked at Tarkin for a moment and then he closed his eyes, tipping his head downward. His hands balled into fists at his sides, and he stood rigid as a soldier in formation. He was trying to center himself. It didn't work. He opened his eyes shortly after and started to pace again. This was starting to get a little out of hand.

"Where's the senator now?" Tarkin asked.

"Varykino, her lake retreat."

Tarkin furrowed his brow. "So you're not there right now?"

Vader didn't respond. Tarkin presumed he shook his head, but with as much as he was moving around it was difficult to tell.

"Where are you?" he queried. Vader again didn't reply; he was too lost in whatever frantic thoughts were flurrying through his mind. Tarkin cleared his throat. "Lord Vader."

Vader threw him a glance and continued to pace.

"Lord Vader, where are you?" Tarkin again asked.

"Oxon," he muttered, not really paying Tarkin any mind.

"Why?"

Vader stopped once more. "I needed to sort this out. I needed to be alone. I can't—I _can't_ fail. I _won't_. I'll get the information."

"Milord, what are you planning?" Tarkin narrowed his eyes, suspicious of the man's desperate ideas.

"My primary objective is to gather Intel. My secondary objective is to be amicable, to gain her trust. There are no other stipulations." Vader was muttering so softly Tarkin wasn't sure if the man was speaking to himself or to Tarkin. In either case, he left out many key details, and it made Tarkin nervous. Killing Naboo citizens without provocation would only cause more unrest on the planet, and after they'd _just_ gotten rid of the Rebels, no less; the last thing they needed was more rebellion on the planet right after they destroyed the first group.

"Use the Force on her," Tarkin suggested. "If she doesn't remember the incident, it won't be so difficult. Perhaps you can damage her mind a little bit – make it look like she fell ill."

"I _can't_," he shook his head fiercely now; somehow that suggestion upset him even more.

"Why not?" Tarkin asked, a little exasperated and a little curious. It was vital that Vader obtain _something_ of use or Tarkin wasn't sure even he could convince Palpatine to leave the boy alive. Considering any information on the Alliance was only available through this one source, Vader's mission was rather paramount, and Palpatine would not be happy if it had borne no fruit whatsoever.

"Because I—because Master said so, dammit!" Vader suddenly snapped, whirling on Tarkin. Then he panted for air and abruptly sat down, running his hands through his hair.

This had to stop. Now.

"All right," Tarkin said acquiescently, taking a small step towards the hologram of the young Sith. He quieted his voice to a somewhat soothing tone, both for the act and because he was genuinely starting to worry quite a bit for the young Sith's sanity. He'd never seen Vader this worked up. Ever. "Look at me. Go back to Varykino, but quietly – don't let Amidala know you're there. Just observe and listen; if she believes she is alone she's more likely to reveal something. Stay the entire day. When evening comes, bring what you learned. Come home. Never mind the secondary objective – let me take care of that. The emperor is only concerned with your primary objective. Be subtle, be a shadow, and then come home."

Vader watched him. The hologram couldn't provide too much detail as to his expression, but Tarkin was fairly certain the Sith Lord was holding on to every word as if it were a lifeline. However, he didn't acknowledge the command. Instead, he looked away once more, lost in thought.

"That's an _order_, Lord Vader."

Vader eventually took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "As you wish."

The hologram vanished.

* * *

Siri was often called a short fuse. Obi-Wan used to call her a firework; she'd go off in enormous explosions, but he still found her beautiful. She'd been so touched when he'd told her that, and he'd done so shortly after she'd verbally torn him to pieces, no less. He always had such infinite patience for her, for everyone, for everything. He worried a lot, and sometimes situations did push even him too far, but he'd always be one of the first to recover and make the situation right. Obi-Wan was always called the peacemaker of the Naberrie family. Siri was often the opposite.

This situation definitely exemplified that.

"What the hell was she thinking saying that? Did she think we were just _lounging_ around? Does she know how much we worried, how _hard_ we tried to get back here?" Siri ranted, pacing the dock angrily. She was hurt by Padmé's remarks; the entire time they'd been dealing with Salkende—all through their time in hyperspace, their time on Nar Shaddaa, on Salkende, on Alderaan—she'd been worrying about Padmé while also trying to help the Alliance while also bearing the loss of Sabé while also looking after _Obi-Wan_ once they'd found out about his Force sensitivity. Did Padmé think nobody else felt anything but her? Padmé had _no clue_ what Siri had been going through—what _Obi-Wan_ had been going through! Just because she suddenly decided to play the _stupid_ "There's good in him!" crap did _not_ mean that Vader actually _was_ worth saving! Honestly, Siri thought they were all in _agreement_ on that, at least!

Did she not realize that he could _kill_ her?! And why did _everything_ have to be about _her_, anyway?! Siri and Obi-Wan had been the ones to bring the Alliance to her, and now she was suddenly the most important one, the one who needed the protection, the care, the concern, the _everything_ as if Siri and Obi-Wan's efforts didn't matter! They'd just risked their necks going to Salkende and Alderaan, and they were the ones making arrangements while Padmé sat on the sidelines, which was almost always what she did anyway, and—

"Siri."

Obi-Wan's voice cut through her thought process like a knife, but she was still angry. Turning to him, she said nothing, too annoyed to bother acknowledging him verbally. He walked over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. Her fiery hot temper cooled a little at the touch.

"It's obvious Padmé's gone through… a lot… since we separated," Obi-Wan remarked. "She just hasn't realized we have too. It's fine."

It's _fine_?!

Siri pushed his hand off her. "No, it's _not_ fine! All our time on Imperial Center is spent helping _her_, looking out for _her_, and—"

"This plan was _her_ idea. She hasn't been passive about our predicament, Siri."

Why was he so kriffing _calm_?! Siri glared at him in the eye and her temper immediately vanished. He looked tired, hurt, and worried; he was just as affected as Siri, and here she was throwing all of her anger at him. Sighing heavily, she reached and held the hand she'd just shoved away. "I'm sorry. It's just… I'm sorry."

She felt drained. She didn't want to talk about this anymore. Obi-Wan squeezed her hand, and she felt some energy surge through her. She sighed and leaned towards him, putting her forehead on his shoulder. "I expected a happy reunion, not an argument."

"We're all stressed," Obi-Wan reasoned, his voice soft in her ear. "It's expected."

"Don't give me that crap," Siri said, pulling away and looking him in the eye. "You're worried. She said something you didn't like."

"It's more of what she _didn't_ say." He sighed, looking away.

"About Vader?" Siri asked, and she grew even more exhausted just saying it. She was _so sick_ of talking about Vader, of talking about the Empire, the Force, all of it. She wished she could just wring the emperor's neck with her bare hands and be done with it. She wished she could do _something_ more active than this kriffing subterfuge. She felt so small, so insignificant, so _helpless_, like a cog in a machine that would never see the big picture and was eternally stuck in that one place doing the same pointless work that could easily be done by someone else. She _hated_ it.

For once Obi-Wan didn't seem to notice her plight. He merely stepped away and gazed at the lake, lost in thought. "The way she spoke about him… she's…"

"Lost her mind?" Siri finished for him, crossing her arms. Then she took a deep breath to calm herself so she could try to reassure her husband. "She's just been stuck here with him too long. We'll be leaving soon, and—"

Oh right. She said she was going to leave with _him_.

"Well we can always convince her to come with us," she tried again, rapidly attempting to put a plan together in her mind.

"Let's just find her," Obi-Wan said, heading back towards the villa. Siri followed him reluctantly; she'd rather wait a few hours, both so she herself could calm down and so she could come up with a compelling argument to convince Padmé to leave with them.

The two didn't have to search long to find Padmé; she was sitting in the dining room eating a small bowl of chocolate ice cream. She looked at them a little reluctantly, remorse clear on her face, but Siri still wasn't quite sure how to proceed – mainly because a part of her was demanding that Padmé apologize first. Blasted pride. Sighing, she figured just for that thought alone she should apologize first, but she felt her chest tighten as she opened her mouth. She couldn't bring herself to do it.

"Padmé, we're sorry we upset you," Obi-Wan said softly. Of _course_ he would apologize first. Kriffing martyr. Siri glared at him; it wasn't _his_ fault Padmé went berserk on them. Blast it all, why was she getting mad at him for trying to _help_ with the situation? She needed to calm down. "We're just worried about you."

Padmé sighed. "I know."

_Fine_, blast it. "I shouldn't have jumped down your throat."

Padmé smiled tiredly. "Same."

The hair on the back of Siri's neck stood up, and she felt a little queasy. Was the food not sitting well with her? Now really _wasn't_ the time for her to feel ill; she was just making amends with Padmé. She wanted to _talk_ to her.

"It's just…" Padmé shook her head. "I didn't expect so much bad news all at once, and… I'm just tired. To think Senator Organa is all we have left… what happens if they find out about him? If the Empire takes him, the Alliance will have no one."

"It won't happen," Siri answered with conviction. She was probably tempting fate just by saying that, but blast it she would somehow will the universe to make sure she was right; _nothing_ would happen to Organa. He would finish his term and quietly retire. This, of course, left them as the sole source of information on Imperial Center… delightful.

She suddenly felt even sicker. Obi-Wan physically sagged and leaned against the wall. This wasn't just some weird queasiness; something was wrong.

"Are you okay?" Padmé asked, rising.

"Let's go out," Obi-Wan suddenly said. "Let's celebrate the New Year together."

"We should probably wait for Vader," Padmé said, glancing towards the dock.

"I don't think he'll go into a panic if you're not here." Siri argued in her husband's defense. "Come on; we can go to Thecine."

Padmé smiled. "Well, actually, I just came back from there yesterday."

"You're kidding," Siri raised her eyebrows. "You actually went somewhere public with him? And he didn't kill anyone?"

"Not a single person," Padmé laughed a little sadly. Why was she sad? "I suppose we can go again; you two haven't been since… how long has it been?"

"I can't even remember," Obi-Wan shook his head, and Siri actually felt a bit of excitement at the notion of just spending time relaxing with her family.

"Sounds like reason enough to go," Siri shrugged with a smile.

Padmé reflected the smile. "Yeah, I guess it does. Let's go."

With that said, Obi-Wan and Siri led the way to the dock and the three clambered into a boat. As Siri took her place in the driver's seat, she noticed that an unusual amount of the dock was wet; did the wind blow a little wave onto the dock? The detail was minute and somewhat innocuous, but it bothered her somehow. Nevertheless, she pushed it aside as Obi-Wan settled beside her and Padmé behind her. Smiling to them, she activated the engine and the repulsorlift, and she guided the boat out of the dock and off towards Thecine.

The rest of the day was spent like how their entire kriffing vacation should have been spent. Siri and Padmé went shopping while Obi-Wan relaxed in one of the plazas, and then they all ate a delicious lunch together. Afterwards they walked out of Thecine, exploring the island and hiking through the hills. At one point they found a private alcove where a waterfall poured off into the lake. Here they rested, dipping their feet into the warm water.

Siri leaned her head against Obi-Wan's shoulder as Padmé trekked delicately through the water. "Why couldn't we have had more of this?"

Obi-Wan squeezed her hand in reply. She wasn't really expecting much of an explanation anyway. The only real answer was simply that life wasn't perfect, and they'd chosen this life, anyway. They'd all chosen to defend the innocent, to fight tyranny, to free the oppressed… they'd all chosen to destroy the Empire. In return they'd received no medal, no congratulatory parades or rewards of any kind, little to no acknowledgement, and nothing but trouble. But when she was at peace with her husband and her best friend, Siri knew that it didn't matter.

Padmé eventually sat on Obi-Wan's other side and leaned against him as well. Obi-Wan sighed in slight exasperation. "Do I look like everyone's pillow?"

"Yes." Siri and Padmé immediately replied at the same time.

Obi-Wan grumbled under his breath, garnering laughter from both women.

They were quiet for a while, but Siri eventually glanced at Padmé. "Padmé, why don't you just return to Imperial Center with us? It'll be more fun."

Padmé gazed out at the water, lost in thought. "I… I'm not sure. I have to sort out things with Vader first. But… I suppose I can."

"What do you need to sort out?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Just… matters. It's not important."

Siri and Obi-Wan exchanged knowing glances, but for once, Siri didn't push it. She didn't want to break the peaceful moment, and she gave Obi-Wan a look that advised him to do the same. He sighed again and remained silent.

The trio stayed there until dusk. Honestly, Siri wouldn't have minded staying longer, but Obi-Wan was the voice of reason (as usual) and said they should probably head back to Thecine. They all rose and returned to the city, and then they took a gondola ride to the less touristy sections of the city; they knew the city rather well, having visited many times, and so they knew a nice little alcove where they could get some dinner without waiting several hours. As they sat on the gondola, Siri closed her eyes and leaned against Obi-Wan once more. It was so nice to finally be with her family. Something in the back of her mind whispered of danger and darkness to come, but at least now she had everything she wanted, despite all the terrible things happening.

Nothing would ever tear them apart.

* * *

**Sadly all vacations must come to an end. Hope you enjoyed the chapter. :)**


	23. Emotion

**Fun fact: While writing this chapter I found out that Naboo's days last for 26 hours instead of 24. However, I was _far_ too lazy to bother calculating how the 26-hr Naboo days would mesh with Coruscant's 24-hr days and then adjusting each of the chapters to fit that so... you'll just have to stretch your imaginations a bit, lol. Speaking of which, I've been going by the Star Wars standard calendar and just assumed everybody knew it, so in case you don't know, the standard calendar is as follows: 24 hours in a day, 5 days in a week, 7 weeks in a month, 10 months in a year.**

* * *

The _Liberator_ was relatively quiet as it drifted near an uninhabited gas giant. In one of its side hangars, which had been converted into a training room, Rahm leaned against a support and watched his Padawan spar with some droids. The boy was quick on his feet, though he wasn't particularly graceful. He utilized the sixth lightsaber form, Niman, and as such his fighting style was more of a mixed bag than Kota's. Rahm was a Juyo user, plain and simple. Juyo was aggressive, almost too aggressive for a Jedi, but Rahm had favored it both during the Clone War and especially now. He knew he had to release his emotions to the Force, so he often reserved the release for battle.

Rahm frowned as he watched Galen. Niman was a good fighting form, but he didn't particularly like it. It mixed too much together: defense with attack, acrobatics with stillness, precision with randomness. Niman was primarily utilized by those who either preferred not to fight or those who wielded more than one weapon; the other forms were too demanding for such people. Galen had primarily used Shii Cho, the basic form taught to all Jedi younglings, until recently. Rahm wasn't quite sure why he'd made the change, and he wasn't sure it was a wise decision.

Entering the sparring area, Rahm removed his saber from its place on his belt. Galen paused, sensing his approach. Upon closer inspection the boy looked tired, as if he'd been training all day.

"Preparing?" Kota surmised.

Galen nodded, taking a deep breath as he faced his master. "I want to be ready for Vader when he comes."

"You should strengthen your Form I combat, then," Rahm noted, activating his lightsaber. "You've had more time to perfect it than Form VI."

Galen smiled. "I wanted to surprise you, though."

Kota barked a laugh. "Surprise me? With what? You've been working on Niman for two years now, Padawan, and you've done well with it, but you've spent _fifteen_ years perfecting Shii Cho."

Galen's smile increased, and his eyes narrowed. In the blink of an eye, another lightsaber appeared in his left hand and he activated it. Kota raised his eyebrows.

"How long have you had two?" he asked slowly, both unnerved that he hadn't noticed his Padawan had constructed a second weapon and that the boy actually wanted to fight Vader with two sabers when he was still mastering fighting with _one_.

"Almost two years," Galen replied, flourishing the blades. "Remember when you sent me to visit Master Ti and check on the status of the other Padawans?"

Rahm stood stiffer, affronted. "You're telling me that Shaak Ti knew about it and didn't say anything to me?"

Galen shrugged. "Maybe she figured I'd tell you."

"Yet you didn't."

"Like I said, I wanted to surprise you."

Rahm gripped his hilt more firmly and assumed an aggressive fighting stance. "Then by all means, Padawan, surprise me."

The fight began quickly as Rahm immediately rushed forward. He wanted to test the boy's defenses. Galen blocked and it was a solid stance, but he had to use both blades to do so. It wasn't surprising; most two bladed users used both weapons in tandem; it was nearly impossible to think separately for each weapon. Kota backed off briefly and aimed a horizontal blow that Galen once more blocked. As Kota tried for different areas of attack he observed how his Padawan retaliated. The boy was quite proficient with two blades, but he wasn't a master of them yet. Many attacks were coordinated between the two weapons, but sometimes the non-dominant one would hang by his side as he used his right lightsaber more. Eventually Kota called the fight off. Shaking his head, he deactivated his blade. "You're not ready to fight Vader. Not with both weapons."

Galen tipped his head in acknowledgement, but he didn't seem perturbed. "I didn't expect to be. I'm saving this second blade for the emperor."

"Palpatine is reserved for the Masters, my _young_ Padawan," Kota replied, carefully adding emphasis to make his point clear.

"I'll be ready by then." Galen answered confidently.

Kota smirked. He admired the boy's determination, and he often did little to detract it; Rahm himself was often called a little too brash for a Jedi, but he was a general first. He had been for a long time. Overconfidence was a weakness, but bravado sometimes was a good thing… and it was definitely an inspiration to the soldiers. But had he gone too far this time? He knew Galen was strong in the Force; stronger than most Jedi, to be honest. Nevertheless, Rahm wasn't sure Galen's power was enough to face Palpatine; the Sith was a master of combat, the Force, and, most importantly, manipulation. Rahm could easily see Palpatine tricking Galen somehow. After all, Galen was a powerful warrior, but… he wasn't a particularly bright strategist. Or anything, frankly. Galen was no idiot, but his primary focus and specialty was lightsaber combat. He often went crashing headfirst into situations, and Rahm knew he himself was to blame for that; he'd often encouraged a more straightforward and blunt approach. He preferred to fight that way. But even Kota knew that it wasn't always the right way… he just wasn't sure _Galen_ knew that yet.

"In the meantime," Galen continued. "I'm still going to use Niman on Vader."

Rahm crossed his arms. "Why?"

"As you taught me, Master," Galen began with a small smile and a tip of his head in acknowledgement. "Niman is a form that mixes together the first five forms of lightsaber combat. It is a balance. The reason is so that those who wish to balance a single lightsaber fighting style with something else may do so. Some choose to use a second weapon as the other half of the equation. I do intend to do so, but in the meantime, I've found another alternative."

Rahm was about to ask what that was when he suddenly sensed an attack coming. Activating his blade, he leapt back as Galen charged forward with his own lightsaber. He was about to chastise his Padawan for such a lazy attack when something suddenly slammed him into the wall. Grunting, he looked over to see a crate that had been tossed at him.

He had to laugh. Even he hadn't been expecting that. "Impressive, Padawan. You think you can focus enough to use both Force techniques and lightsaber combat at once in a _real_ battle?"

"I've done it so far," Galen answered smugly. "It's what happened on that destroyer's bridge."

"Huh. Knew something seemed different than normal about that," Kota muttered as he stood and brushed himself off.

"I can handle Vader." Galen suddenly said, eager to make his point clear. "I know how much is riding on this."

Rahm watched the boy carefully. Ever since he was a youngling Galen had heard stories about the Sith and how they poisoned the galaxy and almost destroyed the Jedi. He knew that Jedi weren't allowed to take revenge, but Rahm and Galen both wanted to see justice served. Rahm wanted to finally see the Jedi Temple in its full glory again. Originally Palpatine had been the main enemy, but in the past few years the appearance of Vader had caused quite a stir among the Jedi, and Kota had been the one to decide to take the wannabe Sith on. He figured it would be a good smack in the face to Palpatine… particularly since he had a sinking suspicion Windu wouldn't let him have the honors of killing the Sith Master himself. Kota, after all, was a Jedi Knight, not a Master. In either case, Vader was Rahm's primary target, and the man's death was key to ensuring Coruscant would be weak enough to attack. Galen knew this as well, and he was eager to take part in such an important mission. Rahm just wanted to be sure he wasn't _so_ eager he started being careless.

"Confidence is a good thing," Rahm explained carefully. "But so is caution. We don't know anything about Vader's fighting style or ability, Padawan, so don't make assumptions."

"He's a Sith apprentice," Galen deactivated his blade. "He's on the same training level as me. I can beat him. We _will_ beat him."

The boy did have a point; Vader was only an apprentice. Still, the man's track record was quite impressive. Kota didn't want to go into this blindly. Unfortunately, he didn't have much information to go on apart from official Imperial records. Kota's men were soldiers, not covert agents, and so they had no way of hacking secure Intelligence files and learning more about their foe. They'd just have to wait and see when the man showed up. Besides, as he'd thought before, Vader seemed more like a lapdog of the emperor than an actual Sith, so this shouldn't be _too_ difficult… hopefully.

Blast it, he needed a drink.

* * *

It was late by the time the family returned to Varykino. Much to Padmé's concern, she immediately noticed that one of the boats was still missing. The others saw it as well.

"I wonder if he left Naboo altogether," Siri muttered. "Not that I'm complaining, but some notice would be nice so we don't have to constantly worry if he's coming back or not."

"I know where his shuttle is," Padmé offered halfheartedly. It was probably a little too late to travel to Oxon and back, but she wanted to see if Vader really had left. Did Obi-Wan and Siri's presence bother him that much? He hadn't really fled from them before; she vividly recalled their first dinner together when he'd shown no discomfort around them at all. Was it because he'd opened up to her? He didn't want to be around if she told Obi-Wan and Siri? Did he think she would tell them? Honestly, Padmé wanted to; she needed the advice and the help, but… after Siri's reaction earlier today, she didn't think it was a good idea. She just couldn't see either Siri or Obi-Wan accepting it. Siri would outright think Padmé was crazy and even probably try to keep her from seeing Vader, and that was the _last_ thing she wanted. Obi-Wan… she wasn't sure what Obi-Wan would do. She could imagine he wouldn't trust Vader, though. At all.

Padmé sighed heavily. What would this mean for her and Vader? If he really left, was he waiting for her on Imperial Center? How would they get in contact with each other? She didn't want to leave without him if he was still on Naboo for some reason, though why he would have disappeared the entire day and remain on the planet was beyond her. She just needed some confirmation on _something_.

"Can we go to Oxon and check?" she asked her brother.

"It's an hour to midnight," Siri noted a little exasperatedly.

"It's better to know for certain," Obi-Wan sighed. "You can stay here if you like, Siri."

"Oh no," Siri shook her head. "I don't think it would be healthy for either me or Vader if he _did_ show up while I was here alone. I'm coming along."

Padmé had to laugh; Siri was definitely right about that. She couldn't imagine her sister-in-law and Vader being stuck on the same island together with no one else to serve as a buffer.

Siri guided the speeder boat into open water once more and it wasn't long before they'd reached the rental docks. Padmé asked the person manning the docks whether they'd seen someone matching Vader's description and the person said no. Padmé did notice that the third boat was sitting innocently in the dock, though. The trio then took a taxi to Oxon, mostly traveling in silence since they were all exhausted. Once they reached the city Padmé led the way into the spaceport and towards a large holographic information center; since she didn't have the pass card given to Vader to ensure he was the owner of the shuttle, she herself couldn't enter the hangar. She could, however, check to see if the hangar was occupied.

It wasn't.

"He left," she blurted, shocked.

"Thank heaven," Siri muttered under her breath.

Had Obi-Wan and Siri bothered him that much, or was something else going on? Maybe he was trying to make sure there wasn't a mess when she got back. After all, if he knew she was a Rebel spy, who else knew? She'd asked last night what would happen after Naboo, and Vader hadn't been too specific, but he'd at least implied that they'd still be working together. She just didn't know how she'd get in contact with him; if she asked Tarkin he might suspect something… but she… she was so lost. She didn't know what to do.

"Padmé, are you alright?" Obi-Wan asked, watching her carefully.

"I'm fine," she hastily answered, looking at the ground. She'd at least tell her brother when they got back. She'd tell him when they were alone in her apartment, when Siri wouldn't be around, when she sorted out what in the blazes would happen next.

"Come on, let's head back to Varykino," Siri advised. "We can rest up without a care in the universe for one night, so I'm going to enjoy it, blast it. Tomorrow we head back to Imperial Center."

"Our ride is in Theed," Obi-Wan explained with a smile. "So we can stop by home before we go."

_Home_. There was nothing more that she wanted than to go home and see her family. But she couldn't. Not with everything going on. She didn't think she could stand to look into her parents' eyes and lie to them about her safety. "I… can we go home another time? There will be other vacations."

Obi-Wan and Siri exchanged glances. They probably understood her sentiment, but she knew Obi-Wan would push anyway. "They want to see you, Padmé. It would greatly reassure them."

"I just can't," she shook her head. "Let's at least wait until we can sort out the… _issues_ we have."

Siri snorted. "If you wait for that I think we'll never see them again." Before Padmé could argue further, though, Siri held up her hands in acquiescence. "But it's fine. Let's just go back to Varykino and get some sleep, okay?"

Padmé nodded, thanking Siri with a smile. Then the three Naberries departed together, and they all agreed to not think about anything related to the Empire or the Rebel Alliance until tomorrow morning.

None of them held to that agreement.

* * *

Imperial Center was in its most depressing part of the wet season; it would rain for days on end, causing a massive stir in the city. Imperial Center's weather tended to get a little volatile during this time; all the chemical and technological control always battled with nature for supremacy, but during this part of the year it always seemed to lose. It was a pity it occurred during the New Year's festivities, but everyone was used to it. Besides, meteorologists and meteotechnologists always did their best to ensure the opening night of the fete week was perfect, so the rest of the week was often thought of as the period that brought in the worst of the season. Every few years a thunderstorm would even occur. This happened to be one of those years.

Tarkin took a hesitant step back as a loud clap of thunder rattled some of the supports in the hangar. He wasn't exposed to the elements, and there were plenty of lightning spires to absorb any strike, but he still didn't like the storms here. On his native world thunderstorms were often a nice occasion for a relaxing evening with a good book, but here a thunderstorm was the personification of nature screaming and tearing against the technological cage in which she was placed. They were quite violent, and he wasn't particularly fond of them.

He recalled the first time he'd witnessed one of these famous storms; it had been back during the Republic. He'd been in a military compound discussing the Clone War. The next time there was a storm was many years later; it had been Vader's first storm. The boy had been with Tarkin when it had begun, and when the lightning flashed so close to the building it lit up the entire room, the boy had flinched and had asked if the emperor had somehow gone berserk outside. Tarkin had laughed for a solid minute. Then he'd stopped and realized that a six-year-old youngling knew of one of Palpatine's most painful torture methods yet had never seen the emperor use it on anyone… which implied that the boy himself had been the recipient. Tarkin hadn't known what to feel; he'd supposed it wasn't really a surprise considering the boy was Palpatine's pet project, but it left him feeling… odd. Nevertheless, Tarkin never truly did a double take over the boy's behavior until he was almost nine. Tarkin marveled that it took him _that_ long to question the emperor's methods, but again, the training served its purpose.

Amidst the pouring rain, Tarkin caught sight of a diplomatic shuttle flying smoothly. The storm's fierce winds didn't seem to bother the pilot at all; that had be to Vader.

Tarkin took a few expectant steps towards the hangar entrance and watched the ship enter. It landed smoothly, steam rolling off near the engines, and the landing ramp eventually opened. He clasped his hands behind his back and waited.

Vader appeared in the entranceway, and Tarkin jumped slightly, automatically taking a small cautionary step towards the young Sith. Vader was white as a sheet, he still had those dark bags under his eyes, his face was gaunt, and he was filled with nervous energy.

"Milord?" Tarkin asked softly; the man looked like he was ready to fall to pieces.

Vader took a deep breath and stilled his hands, but he suddenly swayed in place as if dizzy. Tarkin took three hasty steps up the ramp and reached a hand out to steady him, but the Sith shook his head.

"Did you get any information?" Tarkin asked. He was giddy with anticipation, both for the boy's sake and for his own goals.

Vader nodded, but he didn't seem pleased with it.

"Anything is better than failing entirely," Tarkin assured the man. "The emperor will want to hear of it."

Again, Vader nodded. He took a shaky step down the ramp, and Tarkin hovered just beside him.

"Did you sleep at all?" he asked. It was likely Vader hadn't slept the night before due to his concern, but he could have caught up on it on the shuttle ride back.

Vader shook his head.

Terrific. He was possibly running on fifty-two hours without any rest. No wonder he looked awful.

"Did you at least walk?" he questioned. It was almost a rhetorical question; Vader _always_ walked in the morning. Still, considering how perturbed the Sith was, it was possible that he let his routine slip.

Vader shook his head.

Tarkin put a hand on the man's shoulder, suddenly nervous. "Make your report to the emperor, and then come see me. I'll be right outside the throne room."

Vader nodded. He didn't look at Tarkin during the entire conversation. He shakily made his way towards the throne room, which was a long walk at his unsteady pace. Tarkin stayed two steps behind him, watching him carefully in case he collapsed, but the man held himself together. As they drew closer to the throne room he took longer strides, as if all the nervous energy in his hands had transferred to his legs. They eventually reached the throne room, and Tarkin stopped. He watched as the guards opened the large doors to Vader, and he felt his limbs turn to lead as the boy entered the darkness and vanished.

He certainly hoped the boy came back out alive.

* * *

Padmé stared forlornly at the villa. It seemed so empty now, so devoid of life. It had felt safe and warm just a few nights ago, but now… she sighed and shook her head. There was no point in looking back, she supposed, but she felt an overwhelming emptiness within her. It just wasn't the same.

She missed Vader.

"We're ready when you are."

Padmé turned to face the dock. Siri and Obi-Wan were down there waiting expectantly for her. She needed to head out.

"Are you sure you don't want to stop by home?" Obi-Wan asked again, watching her carefully as she approached. He'd been doing that ever since she and Siri had quarreled yesterday. What was he up to?

Padmé nodded, giving a soft, sad smile. Entering the boat, she sat behind Obi-Wan and Siri and gave Varykino one last longing glance. The round towers stood proudly in the warm summer morning, glittering against the sun's light. The ivy growing on the balcony's edge swayed gently in the breeze, and she vividly remembered when she and Vader had waltzed on that balcony. She remembered the talks, the training, the games, the amusement, the confusion, the anger, the frustration, the understanding… everything. She wanted this vacation to last forever. She wanted to sort out everything. Life was moving too fast all of a sudden, as if the gods had somehow sped up the clock of the universe and she was scrambling to keep up.

Obi-Wan and Siri began a conversation between each other, talking about the handling of the speeder boat. The two then reminisced about their vacations in their youth. Their _youth_; they spoke as if they'd already seen five decades of time pass them by. Maybe they too felt like life was moving too fast. Despite this idea, Padmé somehow felt jealous of them; they talked so calmly, so carelessly, as if they could simply bask in nostalgia and then move on with their lives without a qualm. They had each other. They understood each other. They knew each other's secrets, shared each other's strengths and weaknesses.

Then she shook her head with a small moan that was drowned out by the boat's engine. She was the one putting herself in this position; she was forcing herself to be on her own. It wouldn't last for long; she'd tell Obi-Wan once they were alone. He'd advise her, and they'd sort this entire mess out. But how would she explain it?

Leaning back against the seat, Padmé closed her eyes against the sunlight. She wished she could go home. She wished she could tell Obi-Wan and Siri everything right now. She wished neither the Empire nor the Alliance existed. She wished there was already peace, that it didn't have to be fought for with every last breath of her being. She wished Vader wasn't the enemy.

She wished life wasn't so blasted complicated.

The boat slowly lowered into the water and floated to the rental dock. Padmé opened her eyes and grabbed her luggage. Obi-Wan helped her out of the boat as Siri called for a taxi. Though he watched her keenly, he said nothing. Whatever was on his mind, he wouldn't voice it now. Padmé wondered if he would ever voice it; Obi-Wan was always good at cutting to the heart of a matter in most situations, but he was unbelievably passive when it came to handling family. If he was called upon to mitigate a situation he would gladly do so, but if he saw something he wasn't sure about in what seemed to be a normal situation, he would always wait for the person in question to bring it up. At the most he would hint at something, but if the person didn't take the bait he wouldn't push the matter. Padmé often appreciated it, but right now she really wished he would be the one to start the conversation. She didn't know what to say, but she knew she wanted to talk to him about it.

She remained silent during the entire taxi ride to Oxon, but eventually Siri included her in the conversation as they chartered a shuttle to Theed.

"Padmé was there for that, wasn't she?" Siri asked, getting her attention.

Obi-Wan sighed. "I believe so."

Siri then faced Padmé as they waited to board the shuttle. "Okay, you have to tell me about it."

Padmé looked at her confusedly. "Tell you about what?"

"Obi's first piloting lesson."

Padmé blinked a few times, processing the statement and then laughed as she recalled the incident. Obi-Wan looked a little annoyed at her amusement; apparently he'd been keeping the matter to himself, which naturally made Siri all the more curious. "He was really nervous, so Sola and I were there to cheer him on. He was in the student pilot's seat, the instructor was beside him, and Sola and I were behind them. He went through preflight checks and everything just fine, but as soon as we were in the air he got really uncomfortable and refused to take the ship anywhere. We hovered there for a good ten minutes before he was convinced to fly the thing. Then we spent the next half hour slowly moving forward. I think we moved the length of the plaza in an hour. When it was all said and done he couldn't even remember how to land the thing so Sola and I offered to parachute out, but the instructor guided him through it."

Siri chuckled and glanced at Obi-Wan. "Honestly, and you made it sound like it was a travesty. What have you got against flying, anyway?"

"Perhaps the fact that only a thin sheet of durasteel is between you and oblivion," Obi-Wan crossed his arms, looking at her irritably. "Or the idea of anything going wrong; you can't exactly _pull over_ and hop out and check the situation. On top of that, when you're in atmo you have to worry about atmospheric conditions, whether the vehicle will stall… and that doesn't even bring up entering and exiting a planet's atmosphere."

Siri shrugged. "That's why you're supposed to make sure everything's working fine _before_ you leave."

"Yes, well, I still remember that _incident_ over Kostaaburo." Obi-Wan remarked.

All Padmé knew of whatever he was talking about was that Kostaaburo was a planet in the neighboring sector. Siri, however, seemed to be in on the joke. She grimaced. "Yeah, well, that was the pirates' fault, not the pilot."

As the trio boarded the shuttle, Padmé asked, "What happened?"

Obi-Wan found seats for them and then sighed as he sat down. "We were going to Kostaaburo to bring food; there was a famine. Apparently that sector is known for its pirates; they found it quite entertaining to fire upon our ships."

"We had to land in escape pods," Siri continued. "It wasn't pleasant."

Padmé gaped at them. "Why didn't you ever tell me? Or anyone?"

Obi-Wan shrugged. "It was an isolated incident; we didn't want to worry anybody."

"Honestly, most of our jobs were pretty mundane in comparison," Siri laughed.

As the three continued to talk about their experiences in both the service corps and the RRM, Padmé found herself relaxing. It was nice to have her mind occupied by something aside from her current situation. Once they arrived in Theed, however, her concerns returned, especially as they approached the spaceport. She grew silent until they reached the correct hangar. Padmé vaguely recognized the ship; Siri had dealt with Almusian Brek the most, and Padmé had only seen him two or three times, so she wasn't particularly familiar with him or his ship. She recalled the last time she'd seen him; it had been when he'd burst into their apartment to tell them about the spy and the Naboo operatives. Padmé wondered what had happened to Athia; it had been almost two weeks. With a wave of nausea she surmised the poor woman was probably dead by now.

"Al!" Siri called as the Zabrak exited his ship with a smile.

"Hey, I see everything turned out well," he said cheerfully. "Glad to see you're alright, Padmé."

"I'm sorry if I worried you," she said politely with a nod of her head. Sincerely, she added, "Thank you for taking care of Obi-Wan and Siri."

"It's what I'm here for!" Al replied cheerfully, putting his hands on his hips. "Now hop aboard the _Invariant Beauty_, the express way to travel for all those with sensible heads on their shoulders."

Padmé laughed and followed Obi-Wan and Siri up the landing ramp. The pleasant atmosphere remained until Al had guided the ship into hyperspace. By then everyone unstrapped from their seats and gathered around the table in the lounge.

"I presume Al's taking us to the spaceport rather than any personal hangar," Siri surmised.

Padmé shrugged. "Our ride looks more like a private charter, so he could land in the apartment hangar."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Al shook his head as he reached the table. "I kind of picked up a tail before we left Imperial Center."

Obi-Wan and Siri whirled on him. "What?"

Al laughed sheepishly. "Yeah, I handled it, which is why I didn't bring it up, but… it might not be a good idea to associate myself with you guys publicly. I can land near a refugee sector; you guys can pick up a taxi from there."

"Sneaking around Imperial Center," Siri sighed and shook her head. "Business as usual, then."

"Besides, I've got someone to find," Al continued, garnering Padmé's attention.

"Who?" she asked.

"Some Imperial Intelligence agent," Al explained. "Obi-Wan saw him making a clandestine deal on Nar Shaddaa and one of my people tracked him to Imperial Center. If I can find him and tell him I saw the transaction, we might be able to get an agent in our pocket. Also, I'm looking to get into the market for Kelathik serum, anyway."

"Kelathik serum?" Padmé looked at them in confusion. "What is that? And what were you guys doing on Nar Shaddaa?"

"Al's ship needed repairs," Obi-Wan explained calmly. "We ran into an Imperial fleet, most likely the one that hit Yavin 4."

Siri started. "Sithspit, we didn't tell you about Yavin 4."

"No, but I…" Padmé was about to explain that she found out on her own, but the next question would be how, and… that would bring up interesting conversations about Vader. She wasn't getting into that now, especially with Al around. "I… figure it's not as bad as it sounds if you guys forgot to mention it first."

"Well the base is destroyed, but our people got out before the Imps arrived." Siri explained. "So yeah… we've got no base, _and_ Mothma's in prison."

Padmé sighed heavily. "Is there anything we have going _for_ us? What about that Jedi protector?"

"We don't know when he'll be arriving," Obi-Wan shrugged. "Senator Organa said he would have to get him out of hiding first. It could be a few days."

"I've got the means to contact the Alliance directly now," Al offered. "At the very least I can try to coordinate with them on a rescue for Senator Mothma."

"I thought you were going to be busy looking for our spy friend," Siri glanced at him.

Al shrugged. "I can do both."

"I wouldn't hold your breath," Obi-Wan shook his head. "It's highly unlikely the Alliance will able to do anything to help Senator Mothma until they can establish a base of operations once more."

"She may not have that long!" Padmé protested.

"No, but I assume Palpatine will want to make her execution public," Obi-Wan leaned back in his seat, his eyes bright with thoughts. "The news of her capture will have to be on HoloNet first. We've heard nothing about it publicly, only through Senator Tlenden. We have some time."

"Yeah, and speaking of him, are there any other planets anyone knows of that we can turn to for aid and supplies?" Siri asked the group in general.

"I guess that's another question for the Alliance," Al offered halfheartedly.

"Considering how important it was that we establish an agreement with Tlenden, I doubt it." Obi-Wan sighed. "The Alliance put a lot of stake in that deal, which implies they don't have many other options."

"Maybe I can convince him," Padmé suggested, though she wasn't sure how she'd manage to do so if Obi-Wan hadn't.

"I don't see that happening," Siri replied. "Tlenden is too stubborn; the only sympathy we got was from the warlord, and even _she_ was more concerned with her clan than anything else. It's a moot point."

"We can't give up that easily," Padmé shook her head. "You said yourself their civil war was almost over."

"Unless it ends within the next day or two I don't see anything improving."

"The best thing everybody can do is lie low for a while," Obi-Wan finally said. "With Senator Mothma imprisoned there will be extra scrutiny on us; we should just mind our own business for the next few days."

Padmé wanted to argue, but honestly she had enough on her plate. If she and Vader were to continue their training on Imperial Center she didn't need to be juggling that with secret Rebel missions. Still, she felt helpless; the Alliance was drowning and it seemed like there was nothing she could do to save it.

Siri took a deep breath, her cheeks flushed. She didn't seem very happy with the decision either, but she didn't argue. "Fine. We'll lie low. But only for a _short_ time – with all the worry about Bail we're basically the Alliance's best chance of getting help."

The Alliance's last hope. Vader's only hope. No pressure.

Padmé sighed heavily.

* * *

He would always remember this moment. It was such a beautiful sublime feeling. The dark ocean in which he existed was suddenly tossed about. Waves crashed against each other. The room was filled with energy. The Force rippled; to the untrained acolyte it was a subtle whisper, a soft change, a hair-raising uneasiness, but to him it was a glorious storm.

Vader was finally tapping into his emotions.

That microscopic pressurized box in his mind was bursting at the seams. He had failed his mission. He was reeling from the realization that he wasn't able to serve his master. Palpatine nearly giggled with excitement; _finally_ he was getting the results he wanted.

There were so many different emotions to choose from. The most apparent was anger, which delighted him to no end. Vader was so angry it made his insides _burn_ – it was his own fault and the senator's fault that he'd failed. Palpatine expected to feel fear as well, and while it was there, it was a different kind of fear than the one he'd been anticipating – it wasn't the cold dread of the punishment to come, but the sheer panic of not knowing what to do or how to control himself. He felt the cold trickle of a secret, and he grew curious. What was Vader hiding from him? Did it have to do with the senator? Had the woman managed to pierce the boy's defenses? It seemed so; Palpatine had expected she would be able to outwit the boy, but he wasn't sure if she'd be able to manipulate his emotions. It seemed he'd chosen the right target.

Vader had been on one knee awaiting acknowledgement for almost a solid minute. He was still as a statue, but through the Force his raging internal war was as loud as a TIE fighter's engines.

Palpatine leaned back in his throne, basking in the fury within his apprentice. The boy was finally growing into the young man he'd wanted. He'd always tolerated the boy's coldness before, but it was time he started to grow into a true Sith. It was time he lived up to his destiny. It was time Palpatine finally had a true reason to be proud of him.

"Rise." He commanded in a neutral tone. He let his presence in the Force fill the room with an icy chill. Vader didn't shudder; he was so used to Palpatine the emperor wasn't sure the boy even knew how to tell himself apart from the man.

He had to admit he was impressed; even with everything going on, Vader still held himself with dignity. He wouldn't beg for forgiveness or try to plead his case. He stood there, internally falling to pieces but externally showing no sign of issue. The only physical indication of his war was the exhaustion on his face and the occasional twitch of his hands. Palpatine could sense the boy steeling himself for his end. It was strange, though; amidst all the turmoil of emotions, Palpatine could sense one particular emotion that burned more than any other, and he couldn't identify it. Regret? Something else? Carefully, he pried into the boy's mind, but there was too much chaos for even Palpatine to make sense of it. He caught images of Amidala, of their time on Naboo, but it didn't seem to be the entire reason for the strange feeling. No matter; Palpatine sensed enough to be satisfied with the results.

"Report." He said softly. He had to give the impression that he was upset with Vader; if he showed his pleasure, the boy would immediately calm, and that was the last thing Palpatine wanted. He needed to keep these emotions out longer, long enough to fester and consume the boy so he couldn't hide them anymore. _Then_ he'd learn how to use them.

Vader lowered his gaze in submission. "I have a written report of what little information I gathered, my Master, but I did not get anything substantial. I failed."

Pulling out a data pad, Vader made it float to Palpatine, not daring to take a step towards him. Vader knew how much contempt Palpatine held for failure; he probably figured Palpatine would be so disgusted with him he wouldn't even want to speak to him about the matter. Much to Palpatine's surprise, the boy seemed quite resigned to his fate; he _still_ didn't have the fire of a Sith, the burning desire to survive at all costs.

No, resignation wasn't even the right word… _willingness_? Vader was almost _eager_ to eliminate himself as if he were a diseased growth on Palpatine's finely tuned Empire.

The boy pulled out his lightsaber, but he didn't activate it. He was awaiting Palpatine's kill order. He actually thought Palpatine would want him dead. It was a reasonable assumption; after all, Vader was told that he was the Empire's primary method of finding out any information about the Rebels. He apparently did gather something, but he didn't think it was enough to satisfy Palpatine. What did he think would satisfy Palpatine?

The emperor stood and waved his hand aside, dismissing Vader's weapon. The boy looked slightly surprised, but he latched the hilt back to his belt.

"Tell me what you learned, my apprentice," Palpatine said, forcing some anger into his voice. The surprise on Vader's face turned to something else that the emperor couldn't quite recognize. It was so odd; he could read anyone's emotions so easily except for the one person whose emotions he needed to understand the most. He would almost call it frustrating, but at the same time it was intriguing – Vader himself didn't know how to express emotions, so was that making itself evident through the Force? Was Palpatine's inability to detect certain feelings due to Vader's inability to identify them? That didn't seem right, though; the Force was blatantly honest – it didn't give false information unless someone purposely put it there, and even then that false information was fed into someone's _mind_, not into the Force itself. An interesting mystery, then. Palpatine loved mysteries, but he also watched them warily; any situation could be turned against him, and while he enjoyed the challenge (after he finally obtained the entire galaxy as his plaything he _needed_ a challenge on occasion), he wouldn't be foolish enough to let it fester without his interference.

"Senator Bail Organa is one of the political leaders of the Rebel Alliance," Vader reported, forcing the emperor to return his attention to the present matter. Palpatine felt mildly amused; he'd suspected Organa of being a traitor, though he hadn't been aware that the man had been at the top of the Alliance. "That's the most pertinent information I could gather."

Palpatine was quite impressed – the Naboo senator had been alone with Vader for almost two weeks and this small tidbit of information was all he could show for it? The woman was quite formidable; a pity she was on the wrong side of this conflict. He doubted he'd be able to stomach her much, anyway; her relentless optimism was sickening. Nevertheless, she might still prove useful; no sense in killing her off just yet. But Vader definitely needed some time away from her; despite his brilliant façade, Palpatine knew he was about ready to shatter. The Sith Master wanted the boy on his knees, overwhelmed with the inability to shove his emotions away, but he didn't want him to be a useless wreck. Besides, that nagging emotion still bothered Palpatine – what was it? What was he sensing? And why did it feel like he was reciprocating it?

Sighing, he walked towards Vader. "Come with me, my apprentice. You can make up for your miserable failure in another matter; though you couldn't obtain much from Amidala, I'm sure you can impress me with your investigative abilities on Mothma."

Vader latched onto the words immediately; he was filled with desperation and… hope? Palpatine watched the young man shrewdly; he felt as if he knew Vader inside and out except for one matter: his motivation.

Palpatine had thought for a while that he'd known Vader's motivation for obeying him so readily. It had seemed like it was just ingrained in him, like submission was ingrained in a slave. Occasionally, though, such as now, his behavior didn't quite match it; he wasn't cowering pathetically, he wasn't fearing for his life – he was so devoted he was willing to kill himself when he failed his master. It wasn't his concern over himself that motivated him, and that just didn't make any sense. Something to investigate later, he supposed; it was time to enjoy the show that Vader would provide in the prison.

He couldn't wait to see the boy unleash his fury on Mothma.

* * *

Tarkin paced the vestibule restlessly. The thunderstorm was forgotten to him. Whenever he heard it roar he always assumed it was Palpatine, and he'd jump and whirl to the door, wondering if Vader just met his end. He'd need a good stiff drink after this.

The Red Guard stepped aside as the throne room's doors opened. Tarkin immediately took several large steps towards the doors, but he didn't stand directly in the entrance. Instead, he waited with bated breath and was relieved beyond measure to see Vader emerge. He felt his knees tremble a little, and even Tarkin himself was surprised how happy he was to see the boy alive. He was about to go to him and guide him to bed (the boy hadn't slept in ages, after all) when he suddenly noticed that Palpatine was beside him. Tarkin paused.

"Is there something you require, Governor Tarkin?" the emperor asked him mildly, somehow amused at Tarkin's presence.

"I… wished to speak with Lord Vader, Majesty, but if this is a bad time…" Tarkin offered halfheartedly. He hadn't been prepared to explain himself to the emperor, which was a foolish blunder on his own part.

"By all means, accompany us," Palpatine offered with a condescending smile that made Tarkin's ire rise. "I'm sure you'll want to see the interrogation."

Interrogation? They were heading to the prison already? What about Vader? The boy looked haggard, yet his eyes were lit up with a strange fire. His expression worried Tarkin more than his behavior from earlier; he looked almost _unhinged_.

"Of course, Your Majesty," Tarkin bowed slightly in acknowledgement, but he didn't take his eyes off the young Sith. Would the boy even make it through the journey to the prison?

Palpatine continued walking, and Vader followed him obediently. Tarkin pushed protocol aside and walked right beside the man instead of behind him; if Palpatine was going to run the boy ragged he at least needed _someone_ with sense to be his advocate… though Tarkin wasn't sure how he'd talk reason into either person. Vader had none by nature and nurture alike, poor lost fool that he was, and Palpatine… well, Tarkin was fairly certain psychopaths had an entirely different definition of the word _sense_ anyway. Tarkin was no psychopath; simply an opportunist amidst lunatics… and apparently at this moment the only person who seemed to notice that Darth Vader was in no condition to interrogate anybody.

The three stood silently in the turbolift as it sped to a private hangar. Eventually, the emperor spoke, facing Tarkin.

"You will be returning to your duties as grand moff," he explained. "However, I'm sure you'll want to see this mission through, so I'm giving you one last order on the matter: contact Intelligence and have Senator Bail Organa detained immediately."

Organa? The senator from Alderaan? Tarkin shouldn't be surprised that the man was a traitor, but seeing as he'd been so fixated on Mothma and Amidala lately, it still was a jolt to the system. Nevertheless, he bowed his head. "Of course, sire."

The lift arrived at its destination and the three took a private shuttle to the prison. Tarkin's mind whirled with the different possibilities and how he could seize this opportunity. He and Palpatine would be alone to observe Vader as he interrogated Mothma, and so he would be able to speak privately with the emperor while the subject of Amidala and Vader's mission was still fresh. This was his moment; Vader had survived his encounter with Palpatine, so now it was Tarkin's turn. When they reached the prison, Vader was guided to Mothma's cell while Palpatine and Tarkin went to an observation room, which was emptied for their privacy and security.

"Majesty," Tarkin began carefully as they watched Mothma get dragged into an interrogation chamber. She looked on the brink of starvation, and her face was white as a sheet and worn thin. "I was curious as to how Lord Vader's assignment went."

"Were you?" Palpatine glanced at him. Tarkin held the man's gaze. "He failed to get much of anything substantial. Perhaps your advice to him was not good enough."

Typical; of course Palpatine would use Tarkin's own scheming ways against him. He'd told the emperor that he'd helped Vader so he could find a way to distract Palpatine from the issue of the Rebel base – now it was a possible weapon _against_ him. He needed to fix that. "Begging your pardon, Your Majesty, but the boy is… untried in matters of politics. Perhaps Your Majesty could allow me to teach him more rigorously? I would ensure he does not fail again."

"Really?" Palpatine raised his eyebrows and smiled in cold amusement.

"If my advice before was not clear enough, I wish to remedy that." Tarkin explained.

Palpatine examined him silently for a moment. Tarkin held to his resolve; Palpatine was a formidable foe, but when Tarkin had circumstances within his own control he had nothing to fear from the man. There was a reason he'd risen in the ranks, after all. He was no fool. He knew how to survive amongst the insanity.

"Very well," the emperor eventually answered, his gaze slowly tracing back to the interrogation room as Vader entered. "But after Lord Vader returns from his assignment."

Assignment? He was being sent somewhere? He'd just gotten _back_; Tarkin wasn't even sure he'd make it through this interrogation. Between Vader and Mothma, Tarkin was willing to bet _Vader_ would collapse first.

Ah. The Jedi. "You're sending him to eradicate the Jedi fleet."

"Since the navy seems incapable of doing so, yes." Palpatine remarked, and coldness was so evident in his irritated tone that Tarkin shook off a shiver. "But enough of that; let's enjoy the show."

Tarkin finally let go of the subject and fully faced the screen. As soon as Vader entered the room, Tarkin suddenly realized he didn't have to worry about the Sith collapsing anytime soon. His movement was rapid, though jarring, and he immediately began the interrogation. He held his hand out in front of Mothma and demanded to know where the Rebels would be hiding. The woman looked tired, hollow even, but she said nothing. Then she started to scrunch her face. Tarkin crossed his arms in slight distaste; interrogations were not a form of entertainment but a necessity. He didn't feel any remorse for it, but he also didn't take much pleasure from it either. He supposed he should take some satisfaction in this, though, considering how much trouble this woman had brought him.

Mothma's face quickly morphed into agony and she opened her mouth gaping wide as if to scream, but nothing came out. She fell onto her hands and knees. Vader repeated himself, yelling at her. _Yelling_. That man _never_ yelled. Tarkin took a small step towards the screen, wondering just how much Palpatine had broken Vader… how much _he'd_ broken Vader.

"I… I don't know anything… please… I…" Mothma gasped.

"You are part of the Rebel Alliance and a traitor," Vader snarled, and every muscle in his body tightened. "Your bases are gone. _Where is your fleet?!_"

His open outstretched hand suddenly clenched, and Mothma screamed. The sound was so loud Tarkin was fairly certain the walls were vibrating. He took a step back, unfolding his arms and doing his best to avoid being visibly shaken by what he was witnessing. This wasn't the first time he'd seen Vader break someone, but it was the first time he'd seen the man be so _ferocious_. He supposed what disturbed him more than Vader's fury, however, was the absolutely delighted smile on Palpatine's face. Tarkin felt his insides harden and grow icy cold, and he turned away from the sight, directing his attention to his comlink. He could bear to watch Mothma fall to pieces – she'd caused him enough pain and trouble, after all. He could even tolerate to watch Vader act so out of character, even if it was slightly disconcerting. However, he could not stand to look at Palpatine in such a gleeful state; Tarkin didn't particularly hate the man—he had no need for such a strong emotion against anyone, really—but somehow the sight of the emperor taking pleasure in watching his apprentice (who was _so much more_ than just an apprentice) fall into insanity made Tarkin sick.

"I don't know!" Mothma wailed as Tarkin glanced at the screen once more. She was holding out her hand in a pitiful gesture for mercy. "I don't know where they are! I was arrested before I could contact them!"

"They would have allies who could hide them. Where would they fall back to?"

"We don't have allies! You destroyed all of them!"

"Then what about the Jedi?" Vader snapped, and he twisted his hand as if it were squeezing and breaking her. Mothma screamed again.

"We—thought—they—" Mothma tried to say but she screamed again. Vader took a sharp step towards her, kicked her, and pressed his hand firmly against her forehead. The show was over; he would rip her mind to shreds searching for the information. Tarkin returned his attention to his comlink. He was just telling Intelligence to arrest Organa when he heard Vader's lightsaber activate. He flinched; what was the man doing? Had Palpatine given the kill order and he'd missed it? It didn't seem likely. Despite this, Vader immediately cut the woman down. Everything in the room was crushed under some sort of invisible pressure, and Vader stormed out of the room, deactivating his blade.

"Sire?" Tarkin asked slowly, looking at Palpatine.

"She served her purpose," Palpatine remarked calmly. "The Alliance has no doubt figured out she's been captured; they'll have changed everything she'd have known, and everything else she stated was truth."

So he _did_ give the kill order? Or had Vader just _lost it_ and killed her out of anger? Tarkin had long suspected the boy had all the emotions associated with a Sith, however well hidden they were, but he'd never expected them to come out in such an uncontrollable way; he'd figured Vader's command over himself was on purpose and was calculated as such – he wouldn't just go berserk on someone like this.

What the blazes did Amidala do to him?

Shaking his head, he looked back at the emperor. "Intelligence has been informed, Majesty. Senator Organa will be in custody shortly."

Palpatine nodded and waved a dismissive hand in Tarkin's direction. Apparently he was done humoring him. It was for the best anyway; Tarkin had a great deal of planning to do. Although he was resuming his old job, everything had changed.

This was just the beginning.

* * *

Siri glanced out at the grey surroundings. Imperial Center was beautiful from the skies, but once one's feet hit the ground it turned into a duracrete mess crammed full of stressed and unhappy citizens. That was the _better_ part of the city; the richer districts were full of backstabbers and corruption. Siri would rather take the poverty, crime, and misery, however saddening it was. Anything was better than those kriffing politicians.

Turning to Al, she hugged him gently. "Thanks for everything, Al. The vacation was about as fun as we could make it given the circumstances."

Al returned the hug wholeheartedly. "Stay safe, Siri, and keep an eye on Obi-Wan and Padmé; you've got the best aim out of the three of you, so be sure to blow those Imps to the stars and back if they try anything."

"Way ahead of you," she smiled, releasing him. "Good luck finding your agent."

Almusian nodded and watched the three depart before returning to his ship. The engines roared to life and the _Invariant Beauty_ tore into the sky. Siri watched it go and suddenly felt trapped. She really didn't like being back on Imperial Center. The heart of the Empire had the foulest sensation in the galaxy; Siri could never quite put her finger on it, but just setting foot on the planet gave her headache, and it always had the coldest chill that tore to the bone no matter what season it was. Besides, she'd been feeling uneasy for the past few days; ever since the start of the New Year she'd had the strange sensation that someone was near her or following her or _something_ – she didn't even know how to describe it, but something was different. She didn't know what it was, and she didn't like not knowing. Were they being followed? Were they in some sort of danger that they _weren't_ expecting?

As the three walked Siri continued to glance around nervously, wondering what it was that she was feeling. She'd always had a kind of sixth sense that would tell her when something was wrong, but this time it was odd; it wasn't that something was wrong, just _different_.

"You alright?" Padmé asked softly, noticing her behavior. Obi-Wan had noticed too, but he didn't even have to ask; his curious expression spoke more than any words ever could.

Siri nodded. She didn't want to tell them anything until she had a concrete reason to explain whatever she was feeling. Since it wasn't her usual alarm for danger, she didn't tell Obi-Wan, but… she'd certainly investigate. She had to be sure they were safe. "I'm fine. You two go ahead. I'll make sure we don't have any uninvited guests."

"Al said we weren't followed," Padmé pointed out.

"I know," Siri sighed. "Just… please go ahead."

Obi-Wan caught her meaning and guided Padmé ahead, but he still glanced at Siri curiously. Apparently whatever was bothering her didn't seem to be affecting him at all, which was odd; typically they both caught on to trouble, not just one of them.

Despite her worry, their trip back to the apartment was devoid of any problems. They walked a few blocks and took a taxi the rest of the way, and Siri didn't detect anything wrong. As they settled back into the apartment once more, Siri sifted through messages and noted one from Representative Rekk Svoule. Why would the representative call during the final recess? She activated it and read the note.

_Senator Amidala,_

_I wanted to thank you again for saving me on CC4. Words cannot express my gratitude, and I confess I was a little too shaken to try and show my thanks for you back on the colony. I'll continue to serve the colonies I represent to the best of my ability and will hopefully be as helpful to you as possible. In line with that, I took the liberty of hiring a new handmaiden for you; I know how much the loss of Sabé affected you and I didn't want you to worry about the process of finding another to do her job. Please accept this action as a small token of my appreciation. Her information is enclosed with this note._

_With sincerest regards,_

_Rep. Svoule_

"You saved Rep. Svoule's life on CC4?" Siri blurted out, turning to face Padmé. Both Padmé and Obi-Wan paused.

"Yes," she replied. "He was being held hostage by the slaves."

"You didn't say it was _that_ serious," Obi-Wan remarked.

"The issue is settled now," Padmé shook her head dismissively. "It doesn't matter anymore. Did Rekk leave a note?"

Siri nodded. "He said he got a new handmaiden for you."

Padmé raised her eyebrows, surprised. "That was awfully nice of him."

"Sabé was your personal handmaiden," Obi-Wan noted. "Cordé serves the representatives. Rekk was a little out of line doing that."

"He was just trying to be nice," Padmé argued mildly. "Besides, _I_ hired Cordé, so I could always make her my personal handmaiden and this new woman can serve the representatives."

"Fair enough," Obi-Wan conceded.

"In either case, I'll be the one meeting and training her," Siri glanced at the note once more. It was strange talking about something as mundane as training a new employee after everything they'd been through. And it was even stranger to imagine that this woman would be replacing Siri's friend. She felt a twinge of pain, but she fought it off. Vacation was over; she couldn't afford to be consumed by grief anymore.

"Siri," Padmé said slowly, as if she were considering something as she got her attention. "I know we've only just arrived, but…"

Siri immediately read her mind. "You want me to find out if Tlenden is in town yet."

Padmé nodded.

Sighing, Siri grabbed her cloak. "Sure, I'll check it out."

Well, it was time to get back to work.

* * *

"That's not exactly _lying low_, you know," Obi-Wan noted, crossing his arms irritably as his wife left the apartment.

Padmé gazed at the door where Siri had just exited, her eyes unfocused. She was pondering something, obviously, though Obi-Wan wasn't sure what it was. Padmé had been acting oddly since their reunion, and he didn't like it too much. He'd figured it was exhaustion, relief, and being cooped up for so long with one of the Empire's worst enforcers. But when she started talking about Vader yesterday… Siri had been appalled and upset, but Obi-Wan had been _worried_, far more worried than he'd been when they were doing their separate missions.

Obi-Wan was known for being kind and caring to others and for always trying to help, but even he knew he had his limits. He couldn't save every _individual _in the galaxy, even if he could try to save the galaxy as a whole by eliminating the Empire. Padmé, on the other hand… though she, like Obi-Wan, intellectually knew she couldn't save every individual, she still managed to find her charity cases that she would throw all her energy into. When she'd been eight years old she had befriended a woman at one of Theed's refugee centers; the woman had been hopeless and defiantly refused any assistance from anyone. Even Obi-Wan had tired of her stubborn self pity. But Padmé had been adamant and continued to help the woman, making excuse after excuse for her and trying to help her in every way possible. To everyone's surprise, the woman did finally get her head on straight and started trying to make a life for herself instead of wallowing in misery. Padmé had considered it a victory, and ever since then she'd always get these random urges to help some poor soul or another… or perhaps the urges themselves weren't random, but the people she chose. He wasn't sure. Obi-Wan often admired her for her kindness, but he also knew it was a dangerous game; people couldn't be _fixed_ – _they_ had to fix _themselves_, and he was afraid that was something Padmé never seemed to understand.

"Obi-Wan," she said softly, still staring at the door. "I need to talk to you about… about the vacation."

Obi-Wan remained silent, but he faced her fully. He'd been waiting for this conversation since yesterday. He figured she'd open up to him eventually; he rarely pushed matters when he noticed something.

"It's… about Darth Vader."

Obi-Wan sighed heavily. He knew it. He blasted _knew_ it. Walking to the couch, he sat and motioned for her to accompany him.

"We… I learned a lot about him while you were gone," Padmé paced around the sofa, filled with nervous energy, but she eventually noticed Obi-Wan waiting expectantly. She reluctantly sat beside him.

She didn't seem to know how to continue, so Obi-Wan prompted her. "Such as?"

Padmé took a deep breath, searching for the right words. "He likes piloting."

Obi-Wan crossed his arms. She was avoiding the main point. "And?"

"He's… not as evil as we might have previously thought," she finally admitted.

"Because he likes to pilot?" Obi-Wan asked with mild sarcasm, watching her intently.

Padmé shook her head, frustrated with his behavior. They both knew he was leading her on, but he wasn't sure why she wasn't just getting to the heart of the matter if _she_ knew what he was doing.

"We talked. A lot." She tried to explain. "He… told me things that… that_ convinced_ me that he's not as bad as he seems. He's just very lost."

"I should think so," Obi-Wan remarked dryly. The more Padmé tried to talk about Vader, the more Obi-Wan started to notice she was far more emotionally invested in him than she normally would be with her charity cases. His stomach knotted, and he instinctively grew colder in his manner. Typically a situation like this would elicit some sort of brief flash of panic and he would blurt out a protest, but the sinking icy dread in his heart was far deeper than a burst of emotion. Padmé was becoming _infatuated_ with _Darth Vader_. Standing, he decided he needed to stop this right here and now. "After all, he is responsible for countless atrocities. Need I remind you of what he did to Sabé or the Naboo operatives? That's only his most recent actions. He's not very loyal to anyone from what I can tell; he kills Rebels and Imperials alike, or have you forgotten how he killed an Intelligence agent?"

Padmé's face flushed. "He couldn't help it, Obi-Wan. You don't know what he's really like."

The cold dread in his heart turned to an electric shock to every nerve in his body. "Padmé… this man is a _murderer_. He has killed thousands of people, _innocent_ people—and Rebels! He _murdered _your _friend_, and his only purpose in his interaction with you is to _kill_ you!"

"He wants my help!" Padmé argued, standing as well.

Obi-Wan blanched. "What?"

"He asked me to help him," Padmé explained, her eyes hard with conviction and stubbornness. "And I _will_ help him."

"Why does he want your help?" Obi-Wan asked suspiciously, his heart rate increasing.

"Because he…" Padmé suddenly trailed off and shook her head.

"Because what?"

"I don't… he's… I don't know if I can tell you," Padmé sighed. "It's very private."

Obi-Wan gave her a flat look. "Naturally you should keep a lunatic's secret from your own brother, then."

"He's not a lunatic!" Padmé snapped.

"Padmé, _listen to yourself_," Obi-Wan urged, and his panic finally started bubbling to the surface. "It doesn't matter if he asked for your help or not – his mission is to _kill_ you as soon as he gets what he needs."

"He won't kill me," Padmé argued.

Obi-Wan almost gaped at her. Did she _really_ believe that? "He's an Imperial and a trained operative. Every move he makes is calculated. Do you think he's going to suddenly fall in love with you in a span of two weeks?"

Fall in love. Oh _shavit_. "Padmé… you… you fell for your _own trap_."

Padmé looked as if she wanted to argue, but she suddenly grew quiet and her eyes grew distant. His words cut into her and made her realize something, and she shook her head and started to walk towards her bedroom. He was tempted to call out to her, to continue the argument, but it seemed his point had been made.

At least he _prayed_ it had been made.

* * *

**Let me know what you thought of the characterizations - for some reason my addled brain can't put this chapter together coherently so I want to make sure everybody's consistent and believable.**


	24. Dangerous Plans

**This chapter didn't go through too much editing, so you'll have to forgive me if you see typos. Enjoy!**

* * *

Tarkin slowly paced on his balcony. He'd just gotten back from the prison and he hadn't seen Vader at all, so the Sith was probably getting something done or speaking to the emperor. Tarkin sighed heavily. He'd find out where Vader was soon enough; if the boy collapsed from exhaustion he'd probably be called to look after him, assuming Palpatine didn't punish him for his foolishness. He'd simply wait for the call; he had other matters to concern himself with.

A million thoughts were whirling through his mind. Over the years he'd gone from nobility to military to politics, but it was time he finally combined all three. He was almost at the top. He had fleets and admirals on his side from his days in the military, he had made contacts over the past few weeks to ensure he'd have a strong political backing… now all he needed were the finishing blows. He needed the Rebels to inadvertently aid him in his cause, either by falling victim to his accomplishments or destroying his enemies. At the present moment the Alliance was barely holding itself together, so it posed little threat to anyone; Tarkin would then need to finish it off to gain more reputation and power.

It had to be just the right balance, though. He couldn't completely eliminate all of Palpatine's threats lest Palpatine finally start to notice that Tarkin was essentially amassing an army against him. He had someone in place to keep a close eye on Amidala, so that wasn't a huge concern; he supposed the bigger threat to worry about was the Jedi. Vader would soon handle them. Honestly, all of his problems were taking care of themselves… yet he still felt uneasy. Vader was unstable at the moment, so Tarkin wasn't sure if the Sith would hold up against two Jedi who had destroyed a good number of outposts and fleets.

And why _was_ he so unhinged? Tarkin knew that failure was fairly destabilizing to the Sith Lord, but he'd never reacted _this_ badly to it. The last time the boy had seriously erred in judgment was around ten years ago… or something close to that effect. Honestly, he'd lost track of the time over the past few decades. In either case, Vader had been on one of his earlier missions destroying an uprising on some backwater planet of little consequence apart from a special ore the Empire needed. Vader had been tasked with eliminating the Rebel cell group and ensuring the ore factory remained in Imperial hands. He had indeed killed the Rebels, but the soldiers took the factory with them; it had been destroyed and the entire mining site was ruined. It hadn't been a good day. Tarkin had been in the palace when Vader had returned; the boy was covered in bruises and burnt badly. He could barely hold himself together, barely speak… Tarkin had been sure the boy had been terrified of Palpatine's reaction, but as the years had ticked by Tarkin noticed more and more that Vader really didn't care about the punishment, simply the offence itself. Failure was not an option in his mind, and when the unthinkable happened, he started to fall to pieces… at least until the emperor had somehow forgiven him of yet another folly and given him a new mission to make up for it. It was an odd habit by now; Vader hadn't failed in a very long time, but in the earlier years Palpatine had lessened his punishments on the boy and simply given him more assignments. Tarkin recalled some Imperials saying it was a bad idea to give a failure more missions, but Vader was always perfection itself shortly after he messed something up. Nevertheless, he never _lost it_ like he was doing now.

This had to do with Amidala. He recalled how she'd invited Vader to Naboo and how he'd reacted. Somehow that woman did something to him. Tarkin felt his insides burn; that wretch had no right to lay a finger on Vader let alone send him spiraling into near insanity. Whether Palpatine wanted Padmé Amidala dead or not, Tarkin would ensure that was the eventual end result.

Taking a calming breath, he walked to Vader's quarters to see if the young Sith was there. When he arrived he found Vader sitting on the floor, his lightsaber in a million pieces around him.

Tarkin raised an eyebrow and held back slight exasperation; the boy should be _asleep_. "Fine tuning?"

"I had to clean it." He explained, unperturbed by Tarkin's interruption. His voice was quiet as if he were deep in concentration, but he looked like a drug addict going through the pains of remission; he was still pale, he continuously shifted as if to be more comfortable, he was blinking constantly as if his eyes were burning, and his hands were shaking.

Tarkin painfully lowered himself to the floor to sit beside Vader. He winced as his knees popped; blast it he was getting old.

"Typically you don't tear the entire hilt apart to do that," he noted.

Vader paused. "I… she touched it. I need to clean it."

Tarkin raised his eyebrows, stiffening. "Amidala held your weapon? How did she get it?"

Vader shuddered. "I gave it to her."

Tarkin blanched. "What?!"

Vader winced, and he dropped all the pieces he'd been holding, but he said nothing.

"Why did you give it to her?" Tarkin demanded.

"Is my mission with her complete?" Vader asked quietly. "Or does Master want me to spy on her some more?"

Tarkin held back an irritated sigh, but he scowled nonetheless. He didn't like how Vader was avoiding his question. "I don't know. I'm under the impression that he will send you to eradicate the Jedi."

Before Tarkin could continue, Vader's eyes snapped to his. _"Jedi?"_

Palpatine hadn't told him? Or had Vader left the prison in such a hurry that the emperor hadn't been able to get to him? The latter was possible but unlikely; even if Vader had left quickly, Palpatine would still hunt him down to assign the mission. The emperor had withheld the information on purpose, then… but why? "Yes, Jedi. Two Jedi, possibly more, have been attacking Imperial holdings in the Outer and Mid Rim."

Vader stared at him in shock before hastily starting to rebuild his lightsaber. Tarkin read the hunger in his eyes – he wanted this mission. He wanted to prove to the emperor that he could still be of use. Why _was_ that so important to him, anyway? Tarkin often pondered the boy's motivation; he'd assumed over the years that as Vader took more abuse and grew more acquiescent, he'd been biding his time. Tarkin knew how the Sith worked; he'd read up about them in what was left of the Jedi archives. He recalled the brief mentioning of their ilk by Jedi officers in the Clone War. Sith were power hungry, betrayers… the Jedi had made them sound like demons, but honestly they'd just sounded like politicians who were actually able to back up their threats and do their own dirty work. After Tarkin discovered that Palpatine was a Sith he realized they were so much more… yet still the same. They certainly had more scope of vision than most politicians, he would grant them that. Tarkin did have to respect Palpatine for his abilities. Still, he could easily tell that the Jedi were right in that Sith were betrayers – so what opportunity was Vader waiting for? Tarkin would definitely give the man the chance he wanted, but what worried him was that he was fairly certain Vader _wasn't_ looking for one. It was why he had to do the most roundabout methods to get the boy on his side. His best explanation was that since Vader had repressed his emotions, he'd also repressed his thirst for revenge against his master. Once Tarkin helped him find it once more, it would come out in full glory.

But would Vader be satisfied with only revenge? Or would he want the throne for himself? Questions for later, Tarkin supposed; in the meantime the boy didn't even seem to realize what kind of web of deceit and power plays he was caught in.

Darth Vader stood after reassembling his weapon, catching Tarkin's attention. "You never said why you gave Senator Amidala your lightsaber."

The Sith apprentice paused. "I was… testing her."

Tarkin raised an eyebrow. "How? For what?"

"Usefulness."

Usefulness? "What exactly transpired on Naboo?"

Vader stiffened, but then he grabbed Tarkin by the arms and abruptly helped him stand, making the man jump a bit. He immediately released him afterwards, filled with energy once more. "I have to talk to Master first. I have to make sure my mission with Senator Amidala is over."

"I'm fairly certain it is." Tarkin replied, rubbing his arms. He'd lie about it if he had to; he had to figure out what happened, why Vader was acting the way he was.

"Yes or no, governor."

Tarkin took a gamble. It was reasonable to assume Vader was finished with Amidala, certainly for the foreseeable future, since Palpatine was sending him to handle the Jedi. If he was wrong, though, he would lose Vader's respect and trust, and that… wasn't the best scenario. It was still worth the risk, however, if it meant he could figure out what in the blazes happened. "Yes."

Vader's face grew stormy, then bright, then worried all at once. Was that even possible? Tarkin grew even more confused and worried by the moment.

"Senator Amidala said she wanted… she wanted to…" Vader shifted, suddenly uneasy. He wouldn't look Tarkin in the eye.

"Wanted to what?" Tarkin pressed slowly.

"She wanted to help me." Vader finally said, and the amount of effort he used just to say that equated to forcing blood out of an open wound. "She said she wanted to be my partner. She agreed. We could… we _would_ become… she'd serve Master."

Tarkin gaped. Then he closed his mouth abruptly. Then he opened it again to speak and his throat rumbled in a pitiful attempt to say something. _What?_ She… _what_?

"She's not ready yet – nowhere near ready. She wouldn't tell me everything about the Rebels. She's still hiding. Still holding on to… something. Them, I presume, or her loyalty to them. I can't trust her… but she… she wants to help."

He couldn't believe he was hearing this. "You _are_ listening to yourself, right? She's still loyal to the Rebels but she wants to help you? It's obvious she's using you, milord. She's a spy; of _course_ she wants to get close to the person who knows almost every secret of the Empire."

"It's not like that," Vader shook his head. He really was convinced she was on his side? Tarkin was surprised by the boy's naïveté, but he supposed he really shouldn't be; Vader wasn't experienced in politics in the slightest. Almost all of his missions were related to the military – the only politics the boy may have learned was why he was being sent to assassinate someone or the like. And now that _woman_ had her claws in Vader's mind and heart. His _heart_ – Tarkin was surprised anyone could reach that far into the Sith.

Wait. Had he told Palpatine? "Does the emperor know of this?"

Vader grew paler and shook his head.

Tarkin felt his heartrate increase and exhilaration poured through him; he might have finally found the key he needed to get Vader on his side. If Palpatine didn't know about this, Tarkin could absolutely use this to his advantage. But was it worth the risk? Was it worth Vader's heart being torn apart by the woman's inevitable betrayal? And how would Tarkin fit her into his plans? She was a wild card; her loyalty was no doubt to the Rebel Alliance – she was one of those sorts who wailed about peace and freedom and equality for all in a world where power and supremacy were the only ways to bring order to the chaos. She was an idiot, and a stubborn one who was stuck in her own ways. He couldn't see her actually turning to his side. But if Palpatine didn't know about her and Vader's secret partnership Tarkin could still use it somehow.

This was _perfect_.

"Best keep him out of it altogether, then," Tarkin eventually said, choosing his words carefully. "You said she wasn't ready, after all; it would be a better gift to the emperor if she were presented when she was close to your ability… at least as close as a non Force user can be."

"A gift?" Vader whispered, his eyes clouding over as he thought about the word. "Yes… a gift. She… I could give him a gift."

He seemed a little too excited about that notion. Tarkin was beginning to wonder if the man had any ill will towards the emperor altogether. Or maybe he was thinking the same thing as Tarkin; what a wonderful _gift_ Amidala would be when she led to the emperor's destruction and Tarkin's rise to power. Perhaps he'd keep her after that; she'd make a good pet for the boy. Well, probably not; she might lead Vader astray from what Tarkin wanted. But how did this all happen? "What made her partner up with you?"

"She… wanted to help."

Tarkin held back his irritation. "Yes, but why?"

Vader's gaze suddenly became misty and he looked off in the distance in wonder and confusion. "She thinks I'm worth it."

The words were strange and he wasn't sure he could make sense of it. She thought Vader was _worth it_? So was she being condescending or was there something else to it? Tarkin could definitely see infatuation in the boy's eyes, and it made him worry slightly. Nevertheless, emotions were fleeting, just as Vader's near explosion in the prison had been. Obviously the senator was a beautiful woman, and that had no doubt caught Vader's eye; he was a young man, after all. That was probably the initial hook; then all the nexu had to do was whisper a few lovely words into the boy's ear and he'd think she was trustworthy. Palpatine really made a mistake in allowing this to happen, but Tarkin would most certainly reap the benefits of it… but he had to watch this _very_ closely. He was not going to let some senator from an insignificant planet ruin years of planning.

"Well," he finally remarked. "I suppose that's explanation enough for now. I know you're going to get information about the Jedi, but after that I have an assignment for you."

Vader immediately sobered, gazing at Tarkin intently.

"Go to bed."

* * *

Siri rubbed her temples. Her mind felt foggy and she had a headache. Her body ached. She'd been out most of the night tracking down Senator Tlenden's apartment, the identity of his aides, and then figuring out whether any of them were on Imperial Center yet. By the time she'd returned Padmé had been in bed and Obi-Wan had been on the balcony worriedly awaiting her. He'd seemed concerned about more than just that, but he wouldn't talk about it, much to Siri's annoyance. So now it was morning and she was irritated, sleep deprived, and heading to a café to meet the new handmaiden. She had so many things on her mind, none of which were related to typical handmaiden work, so this meeting was _really_ frustrating. She didn't want to do this, but they had to keep up appearances.

Glossing over the information provided by Rep. Svoule, Siri sighed heavily and approached the café. When she'd left a message for the new handmaiden she'd given a specific location, and she could see that the table she had reserved was already occupied. So her new employee was punctual. At least that was something.

Entering the café, Siri got the woman's attention and observed her as she stood in acknowledgement. She was rather small in stature, barely reaching Siri's height. She looked light as a feather, but her muscles were toned. Her small, thin dark brown eyes held enough sharpness to cut through anyone they saw, but they seemed to soften when she looked at Siri. Her long straight black hair was gathered into a bun. She bowed.

Siri held back a sigh. Might as well get this over with. Bowing in return, she said, "Nice to meet you, Miss Ieru."

"It's an honor," Lek Ieru replied with a gentle smile.

Siri got to business and skipped most of the pleasantries without seeming too curt. She wanted to get this over with quickly so she could go back to bed. It was far too early for this nonsense, particularly _unimportant_ nonsense as this most certainly was. As they spoke, she examined Ieru. The woman was slightly younger than Siri, having graduated from college with a political science degree. She spoke about wanting an opportunity to get into the political field and stated that she'd had a large number of internships that helped prepare her for this job. Yes, yes, all very eye gaugingly boring… but there was something different about this girl. First of all, she wasn't a _girl_ at all – most people who just got out of college still acted like younglings, either out of entitlement or simply lack of experience. Ieru, however, was a woman – she held herself with poise and dignity, she had a sense of maturity and duty to her. She seemed perfect for the job; it was no wonder Rep. Svoule had hired her. She seemed a little _too_ perfect; Siri had an odd feeling about her, though she wasn't sure that was just because she'd been feeling different since New Year's or because there was actually something wrong. She hated this uncertainty; she had to figure out what was bothering her.

Siri eventually brought the conversation to a close. They both rose, bowed, and went their separate ways. She'd start training her on the job tomorrow when the new session began.

Finally heading back to the apartment, Siri was eager to get home and just sleep the rest of the morning. She smiled in relief as the apartment complex came into view. She had her hood up and was holding it to fight the small wind blowing rain everywhere, so she didn't notice that someone was running towards her until the person nearly tackled her.

"Ouch!" she yelled, suddenly angry. "What the blazes was that for?"

"Lady Naberrie," a male voice acknowledged to make her recognize him. The voice was full of frantic energy and terror. Siri turned to face the man. He was one of Organa's aides.

She had a bad feeling about this.

"What is it?" she asked nervously.

"Senator Organa—he's been arrested! Imperials got him as soon as we landed on Imperial Center!" the aide hissed, barely audible over the rain.

Siri's insides went cold. "Just now?"

The aide nodded. "I—I don't know what to do—who to contact—I was heading to Senator Amidala's apartment when I saw you—what should—what do I—"

"Shut up for starters," Siri interrupted him. She probably should have just said _calm down_ but she herself was far from calm at this point, and her sleep deprivation wasn't helping. "We'll sort this out, okay? Go back home and act normal; the last thing we need is to get more attention. I'll tell Amidala."

The aide nodded, looking around and disappearing into the crowd. Siri glanced around as well; she certainly hoped the aide didn't have a tail. There was nothing she could do about that if it were the case; the aide had come to her, so if he was being watched, the agent would know she was somehow involved as well. Her stomach churned. She didn't like this at all.

She couldn't lead them to the apartment. She was marked, but Padmé and Obi-Wan weren't. Ducking into a side alley, Siri activated her comlink and called Almusian. Her adrenaline started to surge and she continuously looked around to see if anyone was watching as she waited for him to answer.

Eventually she heard Al's voice. "What's up?"

"Organa's been arrested," Siri immediately explained breathlessly.

There was stunned silence for a moment, and then Al replied. "W-wha—where? When? How?"

"Imps nabbed him at his ship when he landed, which apparently was just now," she answered.

"What charges?"

Siri pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut. "What do you think?"

"I don't know—maybe they could be doing it as a ploy or something—they may not call him a traitor—"

"You're grasping at black holes, Al," Siri shook her head harshly. "They know."

"But _how_?"

"I don't know that," she snapped, frustrated and scared. "But you've got to contact the Alliance. Now they have _two_ to rescue, and they'd better do it karking _fast_."

"On it." Al immediately replied, cutting the connection.

Siri stood in the alley for a while, panting for air in the chilly rain. She felt isolated all of a sudden, as if an invisible barrier were between her and the safety of her apartment. If she had picked up a tail from the aide, she needed to make sure she lost it before returning home. Exiting the alley from another area, she wandered back towards the senate plaza and started taking random routes to see if anyone was following her. After two hours of this, she finally was relieved to discover that she was actually on her own. She hastily returned to the apartment.

"Where've you been?" Obi-Wan immediately asked as soon as she entered. "I figured the meeting wouldn't take that long."

"The Imperials have Organa," Siri said, shivering from the cold rain and from the circumstances.

Padmé, who had been lingering near the kitchen, immediately hurried over as well. "What?"

After explaining the situation once more, Padmé crossed her arms and looked worriedly outside. Obi-Wan asked, "Did you contact Al?"

Siri nodded. "He said he'd talk to the Alliance. Obi… that's everyone. The Alliance has lost _everyone_ – Iblis, Mothma, and Organa were our _leaders_…"

"I know," he put his hand on her shoulder and she felt a little calmer for it.

"When did you tell Al?" Padmé questioned.

"A couple of hours ago." Obi-Wan and Padmé both gazed at her confusedly, so she explained. "I wanted to make sure I wasn't being followed before I got home; the aide who told me came straight from the arrest, so I figured the Imps might put a tail on him."

Obi-Wan's brow furrowed and he looked away. His blue-grey eyes grew stormy. He was angry at the aide's carelessness for potentially leading the Imperials right to Siri.

"It's fine; no one was following me," she hastily assured him. "I think the aide went through the efforts of ensuring no one noticed him."

"Good," Obi-Wan muttered.

"Have you heard from Al since then?" Padmé pressed on.

Siri shook her head. "Want me to find him?"

"No," Obi-Wan immediately replied before Padmé could. "We need to be staying out of this entirely. We don't know how they found out about Organa, but we're now the last spies on Imperial Center; Al is here on a separate mission, so he won't be able to get the information we can."

"We can't do nothing," Padmé argued.

"Siri contacted Al. We've done our part." Obi-Wan said firmly. "Unless you want to get arrested as well, you'd best leave it at that. We _all_ should leave it at that for now."

"How long does _for now_ last?" Siri asked.

Obi-Wan sighed, walking towards the window and looking outside. "I don't know."

"I'm going out," Padmé muttered, heading towards her room to grab a cloak.

"Padmé, don't do anything foolish," Obi-Wan hastily faced her, his eyes hard.

"I'm not going to get anywhere near Organa or Al," Padmé swiftly detracted him. "I just… need to go out."

After she departed, Obi-Wan ran a hand through his hair. He looked more stressed than Siri felt. There was more to this than just Organa. "What is it?"

"Padmé is… getting emotionally involved." Obi-Wan explained softly, his eyes filled with worry. "I'm scared for her."

"Aren't we all pretty emotionally involved in this?" Siri remarked. "You may try to be the most level headed of us, but that doesn't mean you don't care about the cause."

"It's not just the Rebels," Obi-Wan moaned, sitting on the sofa.

Siri stiffened. "What do you mean?"

"For now it's just… for now it's a concern but not a…" Obi-Wan scrambled for the right words. Typically he always knew what to say, but in emotional situations he often fell short of stating the right thing. This wasn't like someone was sobbing in front of him, though, so what was wrong?

"Obi, what is it?" Siri asked, sitting beside him.

"Siri, just trust me," he eventually replied. "If I tell you it will only make matters worse. I'm… I'm trying to trust Padmé. Just… keep an eye on her."

Siri furrowed her brow. "You want me to follow her?"

"No. You've done enough today." He leaned back against the sofa, closing his eyes. "You've done enough."

Siri shifted closer to him and laid her head on his shoulder, both to comfort him and herself. "Padmé is sometimes a little rash, but she's not nearly as bad as me. If I'm being sensible then she will be too, Obi. Don't worry."

She felt her husband shudder under her, but he said nothing. He didn't have to. That said enough. Whatever it was, Siri hoped she was right in her statement. She hoped Padmé didn't do anything foolish.

* * *

Padmé stood in front of the Imperial palace. She was shivering slightly from the cold, but her mind was abuzz with so many concerns that she barely felt it. Everything was falling apart. When she'd first started this espionage mission she'd always been afraid that she'd get caught, but now it was the _opposite_ – everyone else was being captured. And that was a million times _worse_.

She didn't know what to do. Her first instinct had been to come here, but now that she was here, she wasn't sure how to proceed. She didn't have permission to go inside, and even if she did, would Vader be there? If he was there, what would she say? She'd told him she was finished with the Alliance; she couldn't exactly say that Bail Organa was a Rebel spy and leader, had been arrested, and required rescuing. What was she thinking?

What was she going to do? Who could she turn to for help?

She wanted to go to Vader _so badly_, but she just _couldn't_. For all of Obi-Wan's claims that she'd lost her sense when it came to the Sith Lord, she still had enough reason to realize that Vader wouldn't help the Rebel cause. Not yet, at least. She herself hadn't been arrested upon their arrival, so Vader hadn't said anything about her status as a spy, but that was most likely because he was protecting _her_, not her interests. She wouldn't betray the Alliance for him. That was one line she _refused_ to cross. Why couldn't _he_ just cross over it and come to her side? Blast it, she wished she'd had more time on Naboo!

Turning away from the palace, she wandered aimlessly for a time. She kept gazing in the palace's direction; although she couldn't tell Vader about what happened, she still wanted to just be with him. Maybe being around him would help her focus. At the same time, it was exhausting to think about; he wasn't that terrific at comforting anyone, so she shouldn't rely on him for that. He couldn't help her, but _she_ would help _him_. Not now, though; now she had to worry about Bail. She'd find a way to get to Vader tomorrow when the senate session started; she'd no doubt be able to locate him through Tarkin.

This brought her back to her present dilemma, however, and she moaned, sitting on a bench and getting soaked by the rain.

Tlenden.

Standing, she hastened towards the man's apartment. Siri had left a note to say that Tlenden had returned, so Padmé knew where to find him, or at the very least where to find someone who knew where he was. He was the only other person on the entire planet apart from her family and Al who knew of her status and might be willing to help. She recalled that Obi-Wan and Siri noted that Tlenden didn't offer assistance because of his planet's civil war, but this was an emergency, she was desperate, and she had nowhere else to turn to. Surely she could at least convince him to help in _some_ manner.

When she arrived at his apartment she was led in by a protocol droid. Tlenden arrived in the vestibule a short while later alongside a Togruta male Padmé didn't recognize. The man was slightly shorter than Tlenden but had a sinewy build. Togruta males had two different phenotypes in terms of their montrals and head-tails: one was similar to the females, though typically their head-tails were longer. The other was strikingly different with tall montrals that stood straight up and shoulder length head-tails. This man, however, had the angled montrals of the first phenotype with stubby head-tails that barely touched his shoulders. His dark orange-brown complexion contrasted with white facial markings under his eyes. He stood proudly and with a slightly threatening presence, but it was greatly decreased by the fact that his left arm was in a sling.

"Senator Amidala," Tlenden acknowledged, one eyebrow raised. "You look… unsettled. Is everything all right? I wasn't informed that you would be visiting."

Padmé glanced once more at the Togruta. Who was he? She couldn't talk about the Alliance in front of him. Tlenden seemed to notice her scrutiny and smiled, waving a dismissive hand. "Éothen poses no threat and he is privy to anything I know. If this is a matter about the Rebels, speak freely, though I must insist that Salkende's position on the matter is strictly neutral."

"Senator Organa has been arrested. I'm not asking you to bring Salkende's army to the Alliance; I'm just asking for some help." Padmé hastily explained, slightly annoyed by Tlenden's insistence upon neutrality.

"In what manner? If he's been arrested there's not much I can do." The senator replied calmly.

"Is Organa a spy too?" Éothen asked, stepping forward slightly.

"He's one of the leaders of the Alliance, alongside Senators Mothma and Iblis." Padmé replied quickly before returning her attention to Tlenden. "There has to be _something_ you can do – if you could offer a temporary haven for the Rebels they can at least organize a rescue operation. You don't have to get your people any more involved than that."

Tlenden sighed. "We can't do that, senator. I'm sorry."

Padmé was about to protest when Éothen spoke first, walking up to his senator. "Káern, it's not like _we_ can't help. Salkende may still be at war, but here there's no such issue."

"I'm a senator," Tlenden shook his head. "I can't go up to the Imperials and ask for Mothma's release."

Éothen's face grew stormy and his jaw tightened. "We are _warriors_, not helpless prisoners. We shouldn't stand by when someone innocent is going to be hurt or killed."

"This is a very different kind of battlefield, Éothen," Tlenden replied. "If we were to speak out against Mothma's arrest, we ourselves would be imprisoned for sympathizing with a traitor. If we were to break her out, Salkende would be punished and our civil war would suddenly be the _least_ of our problems. Besides, _you_ of all people can't be getting involved."

Éothen sighed heavily and backed off, making Padmé a little sad; she was rooting for the guy to talk some sense into the senator. Instead, she tried a different offer; she was fairly certain Obi-Wan and Siri had tried this as well, but she felt blasted _helpless_. "Is there anything I can do to expedite your issues on Salkende?"

Tlenden shook his head. "I'm afraid not, senator. I'm sorry."

Éothen stepped forward once more, looking determined. "The war is almost over, milady. Once we're finished we can lend aid. I promise."

There was nothing more to be said, then. She felt like an idiot for expecting something good to come out of this meeting, but she couldn't help herself. She was scared. She had to at least go through all her options, even if they were limited. Vader wasn't even an option in this scenario, not until he joined the Alliance, and at this rate that would be an _eternity_ from now.

Honestly, she was surprised she was certain it would happen at all.

Bowing, she thanked the senator and smiled gratefully at the Togruta for at least trying to help her. He smiled and nodded in return. Then she departed, lost in her worries and thoughts.

When she returned to her apartment Obi-Wan and Siri were awaiting her. They both looked relieved, Obi-Wan more than Siri. Padmé felt a twitch of annoyance; did her brother have that little faith in her? A small voice in her mind whispered that she shouldn't be angry at him; he wasn't there when Vader had shown he was a decent man. She couldn't listen to the voice, though; she had too much stress to sensibly deal with the situation between her and Obi-Wan. Instead she didn't acknowledge either of them and just went to her room, exhausted.

The door to her bedroom opened and she heard someone entering. "Padmé?"

Padmé sighed, somewhat annoyed and somewhat relieved. She didn't want to be bothered, but at least it was Siri. "Yeah?"

She felt Siri sit on the bed. "If there's anything you want to talk about, you know you can, right?"

Bless her, she was trying to help… but if Padmé told _Siri_ about Vader all hell would break loose. It was bad enough dealing with Obi-Wan. "It's fine. I'm okay."

"Yeah right," Siri snorted. "Look, if you don't want to talk to me, fine. But at least sort out whatever's wrong between you and Obi, okay? I don't think I can stand to deal with all the crap going on _and_ have both of you moping about the place."

Padmé had to chuckle at that. "Thanks, Siri. I really appreciate the support."

"Hey, you're the one who doesn't want to confide in me." Siri replied, sounding slightly irritated. "Just get over whatever it is; we have more important stuff to worry about than your feud with Obi."

Oh, if only she knew. "All right."

Siri pat Padmé on the shoulder and then left. Padmé moaned and buried her head into her pillow. _Fine_, she'd try to talk to Obi-Wan again, but she'd do so tomorrow. She couldn't do anything else today. She fell asleep right then and there, not even bothering to change into something more comfortable.

The next morning Padmé prepared herself for the day and trudged out into the living room. She felt like she'd been dragged through the streets and beaten. Her body was stiff and sore, and despite the large amount of time she'd spent sleeping she still was tired. Groaning, she rubbed her eyes and noticed Obi-Wan was sitting on the sofa.

She stiffened, but she didn't leave. Instead, she did sincerely ask, "You haven't been up all night, have you?"

Obi-Wan glanced at her, not surprised to see her. He always knew when she was around. It reminded her strikingly of Vader, actually; the Sith always knew when she was nearby as well. "No, I got up a few hours ago. Are you alright?"

His concerned tone softened her considerably, and she walked over to him, sitting beside him. "Yeah, I guess. There's just… a lot going on. I'm sorry I upset you yesterday."

Obi-Wan offered a small smile. "I'll manage, I assure you. And you?"

"What about me?"

"Will you manage?"

Padmé leaned against him. "I don't know. I feel like there's nothing we can do. Back on Naboo I… I felt free. Here it's like being in prison."

"Imperial Center is good at making its citizens feel like prisoners," Obi-Wan said slowly, meticulously thinking through what he should say. "You felt free on Naboo? With Vader?"

"We went over this, Obi," Padmé sighed.

"Yes. I was hoping you'd give it some more consideration."

"I'm not giving up on him." Padmé said firmly, sitting up once more to look him in the eye. "There's still good in him."

Obi-Wan bit his lip. "Padmé… you don't even _know_ him."

"I know him more than you do," Padmé argued. "I know _a lot_ about him."

Before Obi-Wan could continue, Siri shuffled in. "Morning."

Obi-Wan and Padmé immediately tensed and then looked away from each other. Siri noticed and rolled her eyes. "Are you two still arguing with each other?"

"No," Padmé immediately responded, standing. "We were just making up, actually."

Obi-Wan looked like he begged to differ, but he didn't push the matter. The three ate breakfast and headed to the senate tower together. Padmé said she had some business to attend to on her own before the session started and promised to meet them in the arena. Siri, already thinking about her own job and her trainee, agreed absentmindedly, but Obi-Wan watched her suspiciously.

After getting away from his scrutiny, Padmé headed towards Tarkin's office. How was she going to ask the grand moff where Darth Vader was? Last time she had a more valid excuse, but this time… how much did Tarkin know? Vader and Tarkin were obviously close, considering all that she'd learned about them, so it was possible Tarkin knew about their trip to Varykino. That made her skin crawl a little, especially when she really started to think about who else might have known of their vacation.

As Padmé walked through one of the grandiose hallways of the senate building, she saw a silhouette behind one of the pillars. Slowing her pace a little, she eyed it nervously and tried to pretend she hadn't noticed. However, the more she looked, the more the silhouette seemed familiar until she finally realized who it was.

It was Vader.

Glancing around briefly to ensure they were alone, she dashed over to him, unbelievably happy to see him. He stepped towards her slightly as she approached, and as soon as she was within arm's reach she noticed his face was radiant. He grabbed her in a huge hug and twirled her around once. She felt weightless in that moment, and for an instant her worries were forgotten, though she was more surprised than anything by his behavior. What in the blazes had gotten into him?

"I have amazing news," he whispered quickly as soon as he released her.

"Is that what that was all about?" she asked with a small laugh, giddy from the action.

Vader shrugged. "You like hugs. But that doesn't matter—_you're no longer a target_!"

Padmé's elation dissipated. "I… what?"

"You were a target the whole time we were on Naboo," Vader explained hastily, his eyes almost manic. "I couldn't tell you certain things, couldn't—we—you were still the enemy, but—but it's okay now—you're not a target—we can train—you can get ready—"

"Hey, slow down," Padmé hastily said, placing a hand on his chest to calm him.

"Ma—the emperor said my mission with you was over, but—he doesn't know about _us_—he _doesn't know_—it'll be _great_—you can learn to—we—you have to train while I'm gone—"

"Wait, while you're gone?" she interrupted, trying to register everything he was saying.

"I'm going on a mission today, but I'll be back—I'll make things right with—with the emperor, and everything will be normal again, but _you_—you can train while I'm gone, and I—look! I even got you this!"

He thrust something into her hands and she jumped. Looking down she saw a small case and a data pad. Opening the case she found it full of metal parts and a beautiful red crystal. "What is this?"

"The materials for your shoto," Vader explained, and he seemed to regain some composure. "For it to be your own weapon, _you_ have to be the one to build it. I have instructions on the data pad."

His words from earlier were finally making sense in her mind, and she hastily looked at him once more. "You're leaving on a mission? We just—you left so suddenly on Naboo, and—why did you leave like that? What's going on, Vader?"

Vader suddenly paused. His expression, which had started to become calm once more, grew stormy. "You didn't give me enough information. I had to do damage control."

Padmé felt her gut clench slightly. "I…"

"Make the shoto," he cut her off. "Make it. Follow the instructions. Once you have a weapon you'll be better. When I get back we'll resume training. We'll destroy all of the emperor's enemies. Everything will be fine."

"And the Rebels?" she offered weakly, thinking briefly about Bail.

"If the emperor wants them to fall, they will fall."

"What… if the emperor wants them to live?" she asked curiously.

Vader shrugged, calm once more. "Then they'll live."

His world really did just revolve around Palpatine. Padmé still marveled at how little he cared about _anything_ outside of that. Maybe she could somehow use that to her advantage, both to help Vader and the Alliance? She didn't see how she could convince Palpatine to think the Rebels were a _good_ thing, though.

Wait. "What's your mission? Where are you going?"

Vader tipped his head towards her. "I can't tell you."

"I thought you said I wasn't a target anymore," Padmé noted, shuddering a little at the title he'd given her.

"You still hide secrets from me," Vader answered matter-of-factly. "So I hide them from you as well."

_Son of a kriffing murglak!_ She was _so sick_ of this! Taking a deep breath, Padmé placed her hands on his shoulders. "Milord, when you get back, we can both be fully honest with each other. I promise."

And she meant every word of it… though she wasn't sure how that would work. She'd _make_ it work, though; keeping secrets wasn't going to help anyone. If she really wanted to aid Vader, she had to tell him the truth.

Which also meant she had to find a way to bust Bail out _long_ before Vader got back.

"How long will you be gone?" she asked.

Vader, whose face had brightened considerably at her previous statement, shrugged quickly, full of energy. "A few days at most. I won't be long, I promise. We can—we can get straight to work."

Padmé tightened her grip on his shoulders; he was shaking. "Are you okay?"

"I'm perfectly normal—Mas—the emperor will see, and so will you—everything will be fine, no problems—we'll be honest with each other and get everything sorted." Vader nodded hastily, removing her hands from him and walking away.

"Wait!" Padmé hastily ran after him and pulled him back into the shadows with her. Giving him a smile, she hugged him. "Good luck on your mission."

She _prayed_ that the mission didn't have anything to do with the Rebels.

Vader allowed the touch but was too energized to stay still for long. He pulled away, nodded, and rushed off. Padmé watched him go, a little dizzy from the fast turn of events. This was insane. All of it. How in the blazes was she going to pull all this off? What was wrong with Vader? Could she even worry about that right now? What was she going to do about Bail? How could she be honest with Vader when he got back? Where was he _going_? What about Palpatine? Had she compromised her brother and sister-in-law by her association with Vader? What if Palpatine _did_ know? Why in the blazes didn't she think to ask Vader about that?!

Sighing she looked down at the box and data pad once more. Vader had taken the time to assemble all the necessary items to build her shoto. It was so sweet of him… and saddening; the only way he could show her affection was to give her the means to build a weapon. Oh well; she'd take what she could get, and seeing as he didn't mention anything about Palpatine, she would assume for the time being that the emperor didn't know. Besides, Vader had said back on Naboo that she wasn't ready yet, so the emperor wouldn't know yet. But what he'd said… she had been a _target_. It made sense, honestly; that was the entire reason for their relationship initially. But she'd thought… she'd thought things had _changed_. Obviously they _had_, but she didn't realize he'd still held onto that little thread of the mission, and _that_ was why he hadn't been able to tell her certain things.

_Perhaps after Naboo_… _that_ was why he hadn't told her. Did that mean that when he returned she'd finally learn_ why_ he thought of himself the way he did? She was almost giddy with excitement and anticipation until she remembered she had another rather important issue to solve.

Sighing, Padmé turned to leave when she almost ran into someone. Gasping, she looked at the person's face and recognized the Togruta who had been with Senator Tlenden last night. What was his name again? Éothen?

"Senator," he tipped his head in greeting with a small smile.

"G-good morning," she replied, regaining her composure. "It's good to see you again."

"And you," he nodded politely.

"Thank you, by the way," Padmé hastily added, recalling his actions last night. "Thanks for trying to help me."

"I haven't given up yet." He responded, growing serious. "It's idiotic that we're sitting around doing nothing. Everyone on Salkende hates the Empire."

Padmé looked around hastily to ensure they were alone, and even then she gave him a pleading look to lower his voice.

Éothen sighed. "Forgive me. I'm not a politician; cloak and dagger is not my field of expertise."

"It's okay," she said. "I was wondering what you were doing here, though. I haven't seen you with Senator Tlenden before. Are you a new assistant?"

Éothen laughed heartily. "No, nothing of the sort. I'm the son of Adelig, the future warlord once our conflict is over. I'm here on a forced vacation due to my injury."

Padmé glanced briefly at his arm sitting snugly in a sling. "I see. The circumstances are unfortunate, but I am glad to meet you."

"Unfortunate," he repeated with equal parts amusement and annoyance. "Yes, it is unfortunate being here. My mother is convinced the war is finally in our favor and I can afford to rest, but I'm not of the same mind. If I'm going to be stuck here, I should be doing something productive."

"There are plenty of activities to do on Imperial Center," Padmé suggested halfheartedly, wondering if he was suggesting what she thought he was.

"Yes," he said slowly, considering his words. "I was entertaining the notion of going on an excursion with you this evening. Quick little snatch and grab exercise. You could learn a few things about warfare, milady."

Was he…?

"I might be interested," she answered.

Éothen smiled. "Great. I'll prepare for it, then. We can meet in the lounge of Senator Tlenden's apartment building at 1730."

Padmé smiled, feeling anticipation bubble in her chest. "Do you think you can teach me about a snatch and grab for two targets?"

His eyes glimmered as he caught her meaning. If Tlenden knew about Mothma's imprisonment, then Éothen had to know as well. He nodded. "Of course."

Padmé tensed every muscle in her body to prevent herself from leaning against a pillar and sagging to the floor in relief. By the stars, this man was a miracle. "Looking forward to it."

Éothen bowed. "I'll see you then."

After Padmé acknowledged him in return he departed. She closed her eyes and took a calming breath. She could practically hear Obi-Wan saying they should take their time, especially since Éothen was a new player in the insanity, but there was too much at stake. They had to act now.

They would get Bail and Mon out tonight.

* * *

Siri held back a sigh as she handed a data pad to the new handmaiden, Lek Ieru. The training was going fine, but she felt so angry just sitting here and teaching a new employee the ropes while Bail Organa and Mon Mothma were rotting in their cells. Ieru took the pad and nodded with a friendly smile and departed, leaving Siri alone temporarily; Padmé was in a meeting with Rep. Boitumelo, and Rep. Svoule was in the representatives' office. Obi-Wan had gone to speak with someone over some mundane matter and was going to meet up with her for lunch, which would be in a few minutes.

As if on cue, Obi-Wan entered the room, which was Padmé's office. Siri was leaning against Padmé's desk, growing steadily more restless as that same odd feeling that she'd been experiencing for days bothered her.

"Ready?" she asked. They had a lot to talk about, and most of the conversation couldn't be held within these walls.

Obi-Wan nodded, and the two made a subtly hasty departure. Once they were far from the senate building, Siri blew out a breath of relief.

"It's like the air in that building is poisonous," she muttered.

"Some days it might as well be," Obi-Wan admitted.

"So what's going on between you and Padmé?" Siri asked.

"I already said it's best you don't know."

"Yeah, and I agreed until I realized how much of a rift it was causing. Spit it out. You said Padmé was getting emotionally invested."

"I'm afraid she's going to do something rash." He sighed.

Siri furrowed her brow, slightly confused about his concern. "Obi, if she were going to do that, she would have done it last night when the initial panic set in."

Obi-Wan relaxed his facial expression a little. "Yes, I suppose you're right."

The two reached their favorite lunch venue and sat at an outdoor table; the day was cloudy, but it was actually dry, so they'd enjoy what little exposure to the light they could get.

Siri leaned on the table to talk quietly to her husband. "I've been wondering… do you think Organa got the message to our protector before he was arrested?"

Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't know. That's probably the least of our concerns right now."

"I don't think so," Siri almost snapped. "That guy is supposed to be protecting Padmé. I'd say that's pretty kriffing important."

"He's supposed to be protecting her from outside threats… but right now the biggest threat is herself."

"Obi, relax about her," Siri rolled her eyes. "I already told you I'm the worst out of us. I'm behaving. She will too."

Before Obi-Wan could reply, the sound of a chair scraping caught their attention. Siri turned her head, and she caught a glimpse of Al just as she suspected that it might be him. The Zabrak turned the chair backwards and sat on it, folding his arms over the back and resting his chin on them. "Afternoon, lovebirds."

"We weren't expecting you," Obi-Wan said softly, wordlessly asking if something was wrong.

"Nice greeting," Al laughed. "I feel loved right now."

"You're interrupting our schmaltzy romance time," Siri jested, but she too was wondering why he was there without any prior notice.

"I figured you'd want an update. My life is pretty exciting, you know."

The two immediately put on false smiles and the usual façade of meeting with an old friend. "Your life is definitely interesting. Tell us all about it."

"Well," Al began animatedly. "First off, I got lost on this kriffing planet. This city's way too big. Secondly, my buddies in that club I joined a few years back said they could help find a new place for our political friends to stay, but it'll probably take a week; you know how tough times have been for them, after all. Thirdly, I'm going to make another call to them tonight, so I was wondering if you wanted to have lunch again tomorrow, same time and place."

"Not much of an update," Siri scoffed. It would take over a week to rescue Organa and Mothma? Did they even have that long?

Al pouted. "I thought it was a big deal."

Siri had to laugh at his expression, and Obi-Wan said with a gentle smile, "It is helpful, thank you. We'll happily have lunch with you tomorrow. Try not to get lost again, okay?"

Al sighed heavily. "I'll do my best, but that guy is kriffing hard to find."

"Good luck, then," Siri nodded.

Al stayed for a while longer simply for the company, but then he eventually departed (after ordering food and making Obi-Wan and Siri foot the bill, much to her annoyance). The two returned to the senate building and met up with Padmé to relay the news. Something in her expression made Siri understand why Obi-Wan was worried; she looked convinced about something and didn't seem as dejected as Siri had felt at hearing how long it would take to rescue the Rebel leaders. She acknowledged the information and then no one was able to discuss the matter further due to the afternoon session. Siri spent the rest of her day brooding over the situation, training the handmaiden, and that funny feeling she'd had since New Year's began. As the hours ticked by and she had less to do, different possibilities started running through her head, and since she _finally_ had the chance to just stop and _think_ about it, she was beginning to grow worried… and suspicious. She was starting to get an inkling as to what this feeling was, and the realization was startling enough to merit immediate attention. As soon as the session ended, she gave Cordé instructions and let her look after the handmaiden, and Siri immediately left the building alone.


	25. Attack

**Ha! Finished this way faster than I thought I would! Thanks so much for all the reviews! :)**

* * *

Padmé walked as calmly as she could. Obi-Wan was just beside her, and she couldn't show any kind of nervousness with him around. She wanted to tell him about the escape plan, but considering how things had been going lately, he was more likely to get upset than to help. She wasn't sure where Siri was, but that was probably for the best.

The senate session had just ended and the two were heading out. Pausing, Padmé blew out a fake sigh of exasperation. "I left something in my office. Go ahead and take the next taxi. I'll meet you back home."

Obi-Wan stopped as well and raised an eyebrow in her direction. She knew she shouldn't be lying to him outright; he was very good at picking up on it. Nevertheless, apart from making him even more suspicious by stating she had private business to attend to, this was the best she could do. If he was in a good mood, he'd just confront her about it at home.

He gave her a hard look. He knew she was lying. "Padmé."

"Just go, Obi-Wan," she said softly, with a healthy amount of pleading in her tone. "I'll explain later."

Obi-Wan faced her fully. "What are you planning?"

"Nothing that has to do with Vader, I promise." She answered honestly. Hopefully that would detract him enough. "All you'll do is get in the way." Before he could reply, she quickly added, "And where's Siri?"

Obi-Wan was silent.

"So you can keep secrets but I can't?" Padmé noted.

Obi-Wan shook his head. "I don't know where she is, Padmé."

"You might want to find her, then," Padmé replied as she brushed passed him. He didn't follow; her statement was enough. Good. She didn't like excluding him and Siri from this (heavens, Siri would be all over this plan… if only Padmé knew where she was… she hadn't been answering her comlink), but it made things work a lot smoother and faster if she just went to the meeting spot as promised without arguing with her brother and sister-in-law the entire way.

She quickly reached the apartment complex and stood in the lounge, checking her chronometer. It was exactly 1730. Footsteps caught her attention, and she glanced up to see Éothen approaching her. He was dressed simply, but the outfit certainly wouldn't pass for any sort of combat gear.

"Senator," he nodded in acknowledgment. "Ready for a drink?"

Drink? Padmé eyed him for a few seconds before nodding slowly, waiting to see what would happen next. Éothen approached her and motioned for her to follow him. The two exited the building and took a taxi far deep into the city, lower than the sunlight could even reach. Once they arrived, Padmé glanced around and examined the surroundings. This was the underbelly of the city; it was so dark the street lights were on, and the towering buildings above served as walls and ceilings in certain areas. People packed the streets, and the smell made her insides churn a little. Puddles of water and heaven knew what else were everywhere, and in some areas it was flooded from all the rain.

"Where are we?" she asked Éothen softly.

"K'shadd District, Level 294," he replied. "We're here to meet a friend of mine. I hear you have a useful friend as well, senator. Do you know Almusian Brek?"

Padmé glanced at him, surprised. "How do you know about Al?"

"My mother met him," he answered with a simple shrug. "He's a smuggler, right? Is he on Imperial Center with you? It would make things go a lot more quickly."

Padmé felt her throat tighten a little, but there was little point in turning back now. She nodded.

"Tell him to meet us at the Drunken Dewback Cantina," Éothen instructed. "Preferably now."

"You said you were going to prepare for this," Padmé reminded him. "Aren't we going to do this tonight?"

"Of course we are," he nodded with conviction. "I've got stuff laid out. I just need the manpower; I'd have gotten someone else, but it's far easier and safer to get someone you know."

Padmé sighed and pulled out her comlink. She would be safer too if Al were around, honestly; she didn't see much reason to mistrust Éothen, but they _had_ just met.

Blast, that just occurred to her.

Shaking her head, she activated the comlink. "Al?"

"Padmé, is that you? What's up?"

"Do you know where the Drunken Dewback Cantina is?"

Al laughed. "The better question is who in my profession doesn't?"

Padmé glanced at Éothen, starting to grow curious as to why he'd chosen that place. "Well meet me there as soon as possible."

"Is everything okay?" Al's tone immediately grew concerned.

"Everything's… stuff's about to happen, and I need your help. Hurry."

"On my way." He immediately said.

Padmé cut the connection and smiled at Éothen. He took a deep breath and nodded. "Let's go."

The two walked for a short amount of time before entering a large establishment. It was fairly clean, much to Padmé's surprise and relief. She was glad she was wearing a cloak over her outfit, though; she didn't think it would go well for someone of her stature to be caught down here. Éothen guided her through the crowd back to a private room. Once they passed the bouncers she saw a room with a sabacc table, several sofas, and a small stage for entertainers. The room was empty save for a Human female sitting on the sofa, her arms crossed. She had light brown skin, thick dark brown hair that was tied from her face, narrow sharp blue eyes, a small nose, and an intricate blue tattoo around her right eye. She was of average height. Her toned muscles were apparent in the neon light.

"Amidala?" she asked as she stood.

Padmé glanced at Éothen questioningly before returning her gaze to the woman. "Yes."

"Senator, this is the second-in-command of my unit, Erwyna," Éothen introduced her. "She came to Imperial Center with me. She'll be helping us out tonight."

Padmé was suddenly grateful Al was going to be there. These people didn't seem to be untrustworthy, but she was quickly being outnumbered by strangers on a top secret mission and it was starting to make her a little nervous. She shook her head to rid her mind of the thoughts; there was little point in worrying about it at this point, anyway. "Nice to meet you."

Erwyna offered a curt nod and then looked at Éothen. "Did you get the resources we need?"

"Her smuggler friend is coming."

"Her smuggler friend is here."

Everyone whirled around to see Al standing in the doorway, his hand resting on his blaster. He was eying Éothen carefully. His usual jovial and easygoing expression was stony.

"Who the blazes are you?" he asked Éothen.

"It's okay, Al," Padmé hastily stepped forward. "This is Éothen, and that's Erwyna. They're from Salkende. They're going to help us bust Mon and Bail out of prison."

Al's eyes narrowed, and his blaster hand stiffened. He fingered the handle of his weapon and started to slowly pull it out of its holster. "Salkende refused to help us."

"My _mother_ refused to help," Éothen corrected him, remaining calm. "As did Senator Tlenden. I am not them. I'm a soldier."

"Special Forces, to be exact," Erwyna added, sitting on the sofa once more to ease the tension in the room.

Al finally started to relax, releasing his blaster. He instead leaned against the door frame and folded his arms, raising an eyebrow. "Some help you'll be with your arm in a sling."

"My arm won't be a problem," Éothen replied. "Will you help us?"

Al glanced at Padmé briefly and the two locked eyes. She nodded. Sighing, he stood straight and entered the room, finally at ease. "What's the job?"

"We need a slicer," Erwyna explained.

Al frowned. "You know, just because I'm a criminal doesn't mean I can do every crime in existence. I'm a _smuggler_, not a _slicer_."

"But you _are_ a criminal," Erwyna noted. "And an intelligent one, I should think."

Al stiffened, getting annoyed. "Yes."

"Then you should have made plenty of contacts on Imperial Center, right?"

Al sighed. "I'll see if I can get someone."

Erwyna nodded. "Great. While he's doing that, let's go over the information."

Éothen walked towards her and sat on a sofa beside hers. Padmé sat across from both of them. Erwyna slid a holoprojector onto the table between all of them and inserted a data chip, activating it. A holographic image of the Imperial Judiciary Detention Facility appeared, slowly rotating so they could all examine it.

"Senators Mothma and Organa are about five hundred levels above us," Erwyna explained. "The facility sits atop this building structure. It's got thirty different levels. Entering the perimeter requires passcodes and walking through scanners and security. Once you enter the perimeter, the area outside the facility is guarded by droids. Once we enter the main building itself, there's a security station, and then the entrance to authorized personnel only.

"By the time we put this plan in motion it'll be lockdown for the night. The prisoners will all be back in their cells. The cells are located in a main room in the center of the facility; a guard post is in the middle, and you need a skiff to get to any of the cells.

"I've got uniforms to get us in, but we'll need a slicer to put our credentials in there so the droids don't fry us before we even get inside. I've got the necessary passcodes. Once we get inside I can loop the security feed and we can take out the post guard—quietly. Then we can enter the facility unchecked. Once we reach the guard post we can do the same thing, and then we release all the prisoners."

"Release _all_ of them?" Padmé repeated.

"We don't want them to know who we're there for," Éothen told her. "If we send the skiffs to random cells and then released everyone, the whole place would break into chaos. We could get the senators and escape."

"We can easily access the prisoner records from the guard post; we'll know exactly where they are," Erwyna continued. "Then we get the blazes out of there during the insanity; the best place to go is the VIP visitor area – they've got an emergency escape pad there. Most of the guards will be rushing to the main prison area and there aren't any scheduled VIP visits, so it won't be heavily guarded. Brek can fly in and pick us up there."

Al finished speaking to his contact at that moment and he said, "Great; so _my_ ship gets to be identified."

"Unless you can find another one in that time," Erwyna shrugged.

"I can hijack somebody's speeder," Al said. "My contact's on her way; she'll be here in about ten minutes."

"Good," Erwyna nodded and then stood, grabbing a bag. She pulled black clothing out and tossed it to the three other people in the room. Padmé caught it quickly, glancing at it. "Put those on; they're a mesh designed to help keep you alive in case you get shot."

"That's always important," Al noted as he examined the clothes. "Any suggestions on where I get dressed? I don't fancy stripping in front of you."

Éothen and Padmé laughed. Erwyna rolled her eyes and motioned to a side room. Al was about to enter when he looked at Padmé and smiled. "You first."

Padmé shrugged. "Fine by me."

Entering the room she quickly closed the door and tossed her cloak onto some furniture. She felt her nerves start to tingle as she put the body suit on. She'd been in fights before, but never really an _operation_. She was both excited and nervous; she couldn't wait to get Mon and Bail out of there, but at the same time she knew how big of a risk this was. It wasn't like she had much of a choice, though; she _would not_ leave them there to rot… or worse. Besides, Éothen and Erwyna were the elite among the soldiers of Salkende, and the planet itself was known for having amazing warriors. They'd obviously done operations like this before considering how quickly they threw together a plan. She wished Siri could help, though; between the two, Padmé knew that Siri was far more likely and willing to pull a stunt like this than Obi-Wan.

Padmé grabbed her comlink and tried to call Siri once more but again got no answer. She began to grow worried; maybe it was a _good_ thing she sent Obi-Wan to find her. She hoped everything was all right.

A knock at the door caught her attention. "Hey, you decent?"

Padmé smiled. It was Al. "Yes, come on in."

The door opened and Al entered, but he quickly closed it behind him before Padmé had a chance to leave. Padmé raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"So, you and I haven't worked together as much as I have with Obi-Wan and Siri," Al said, giving Padmé a stern look. "But I just wanted to share something with you."

Padmé crossed her arms, cocking her head to the side. Al was right in that they hadn't worked together much. It was starting to show, too; his behavior was different than she'd seen, and she was quickly realizing it was because she'd not really been with him on any kind of mission. The most they'd interacted with each other was during business transactions when Kuna was alive, and the occasional friendly conversation… that and when he burst into her apartment to warn them about Athia. Padmé still felt a cold shiver go down her spine as she thought about that poor spy. Come to think of it, if they had the chance she was going to try and find her in the prison registry as well.

In either case, Al was still patiently waiting. His green eyes glittered and he was stroking his chin similarly to Obi-Wan, though somehow with less poise. Padmé eventually indicated for him to continue. "Go ahead."

Al cleared his throat and straightened his posture. Was this his _I'm getting serious_ pose, or was he joking with her? Padmé recalled many times that Siri would make fun of Al's false bravado, but she and Obi-Wan never doubted his intelligence or ability. They'd simply said he was quite the goofball. She was starting to see it, even in this serious situation.

"Siri once said my brain is like a computer because of how good I am at math." Al began. Padmé grew even more confused. What in the _blazes_ was he getting at? "So let me be the logical computer here and say that none of this makes any sense. My brain's coming up with a logarithm that is telling me this is an insane idea."

Padmé couldn't help but chuckle. "I didn't know math equations could say that."

"You don't seem to have the word _intervention_ in your vocabulary," Al continued, unperturbed. "So let me enlighten you: This. Is. Crazy."

Padmé sighed. "Al—"

"You don't even know these people!" Al interrupted. Or he just hadn't noticed she was talking. "How do you know they're actually what they say they are? Where are Obi-Wan and Siri? How do we know this plan is even going to work? Five people breaking into a maximum security prison? Are you kidding me right now?"

"I first met Éothen with Senator Tlenden. They know each other." Padmé explained to reassure him. He did seem to get upset rather easily when it came to the Empire. To be honest, though, he hadn't met these people before… then again, _Padmé _hadn't met Erwyna until just a few minutes ago. She shook her head. This was their only option. It had to work. "Why would he have any reason to harm me? He shouldn't even be helping me."

"_Exactly."_ Al pointed at her, his eyes narrowing. "Padmé, why is he helping you?"

Here she paused, reviewing her conversations with the man. He'd immediately come to her defense when she'd first met him. She knew honor was important to the people of Salkende, and Éothen was no exception. "I get the feeling it's his honor. Even Tlenden doesn't like the Empire, but Éothen is willing to do something about it."

"You get the _feeling_? So you don't even know why he's doing this?" Al questioned.

Padmé exhaled sharply from her nose and closed her eyes, growing a little annoyed. They couldn't be getting into this right now. "Al, what exactly do you propose as an alternative?"

Al lowered his hand and shrugged. "We could always wait for the Rebels—"

"And wait a week?" she immediately cut him off. "They'll be _dead_ by then! We don't have a choice, and I feel confident in working with Éothen."

Al watched her for a while longer before sighing heavily and relenting. "Well, I hope your confidence is well placed or we'll be joining Mothma and Organa in our own cells."

* * *

Obi-Wan once again tried contacting Siri and Al via their comlinks. Neither was answering. He felt his gut clench and he sighed, running a hand through his hair. Terrific. So now not only was Padmé doing heaven knew what, but Siri and Al were missing without a trace as well. This was just not his day.

He felt like he'd searched half of Imperial Center to no avail. Honestly the only thing he could do was return to the apartment and hope for the best, and he _hated_ that. Obi-Wan wasn't nearly as impatient or reckless as his wife and sister, but even he didn't fancy sitting around while they could potentially be getting themselves killed. He didn't dare use the Force to try and find his wife – he wouldn't even know how to, anyway, and just thinking about doing so made him feel exposed. He didn't know where Vader was, and he did_ not_ want to run into him or attract his attention.

Blasted Sith. What the blazes was Obi-Wan going to do about him and Padmé? Had anything even happened? From what he'd gathered it seemed more like Vader was playing her, which wasn't surprising in the least. The man was a trained killer – of _course_ he'd know how to fool people into trusting him. What blew Obi-Wan's mind was how Padmé had actually _fallen_ for it when her original plan had been to play _him_. What had happened at Varykino?

And where in the _blazes_ was Siri?!

Obi-Wan finally reached the apartment and sat on the sofa before rising once more and pacing restlessly. He had to trust them. He had to trust both of them. Whatever they were doing… he had to have faith that they'd know better than to get themselves hurt or into any kind of trouble. He was fairly certain he'd made his point quite clear that they had to maintain the status quo until their protector arrived.

Their protector. A Jedi. Shaking his head, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Why was it that everything seemed to be getting _worse_ even when it was supposed to be getting _better_? Someone who was sent by the Rebels to protect Padmé was a _good_ thing, but… did he have to be a Jedi? Obi-Wan figured the man knew how to stay hidden even in plain sight if he'd survived this long, but if Vader sensed anything… it would be the end for all of them.

Blast it Siri was right about him; he _did_ worry too much. But considering the fact that the others were all missing and he was the only one in the apartment where they _all_ should be, could anyone really blame him for worrying?

He needed a drink.

* * *

Al's friend showed up sooner than he'd predicted. A dark green skinned Twi'lek entered the room and immediately fixed her brown eyes on Al. "Is this where we're setting up shop?"

Al nodded. "Yeah, you'll be here. All you got to do is access the personnel records." He glanced at Erwyna. "Right?"

"No, she's coming," Erwyna corrected him and handed the Twi'lek a bodysuit.

The Twi'lek raised a painted eyebrow to Al. "You didn't tell me I'd be going into the field."

Al smiled and shrugged, his sabacc face on. "Hey, life happens. Plans change."

"Mm-hmm," she grunted. "And prices double."

Al sighed heavily.

"What's your name?" Padmé asked to end the argument.

"Okima'yak," she answered. "And what'll I call you? Pretty face?"

"I'm Sønn," Éothen said, making Padmé briefly give him a confused look. Motioning to Erwyna, he said, "This is Turva, and the other one is Ven. You already know Almusian."

Ven? Padmé grew confused, but Al put a hand on her shoulder. "Yeah, Ven and I go way back. She used to help me with some smuggling jobs. We were all hired for this one, but I figured we could use your help, Okima."

The Twi'lek shrugged. "Pay's good enough. What precisely do you need from me?"

As Erwyna began to explain the plan once more, Al pulled Padmé to the side. Then he whispered, "The senate is your playground, Padmé, but crime is mine. Now listen up: I may not know this Éothen guy too well, but he's got some smarts, I'll give him that. Your nickname is so you aren't affiliated with this incident; you never give away personal information that can get you killed, even to partners in crime… heck, _especially_ to partners in crime. Okima is an _associate_, not a friend; she'll gladly sell you out to the Empire if they offer enough. Follow whatever code name he gave you. Got it?"

Padmé nodded. Before she could say anything else, Al continued.

"Now, when the firing starts, just duck for cover. Your best option is to—"

She interrupted softly with mild amusement, touched by his concern. "I've been in fights before. I had to fight to retake my capital city from a mercenary army when I was fourteen."

Al blinked. "Oh. Well. Okay."

Smiling, she pat him on the arm and returned to the conversation between the Salkendens and the slicer.

"So, we need a situation for this to work, you know," Okima'yak said, propping her foot up against the table and leaning on her knee. "You can't just stroll in for the heck of it, even if your record checks out."

"We were debating what would be best," Erwyna explained. "And what would work best for you."

"Inspection will attract too much attention," the slicer sighed, shaking her head as she popped something into her mouth. "What are our disguises?"

Éothen pointed at Erwyna. "She's an officer. The rest of us are stormtroopers."

"Good thinking," Okima'yak laughed. "We'd be dead before we started if they could tell we weren't Humans." Chewing on something loudly, she clapped her hands together. "Well, let's see… it'd be strange to have new guards coming in at night, but… when does the shift change?"

Erwyna checked her chronometer. "In about twenty minutes."

"Sounds like I've got my work cut out for me, then." The Twi'lek stood straight once more, crossing her arms. "Okay, here's the deal: we'll be coming in for the night shift. I can put our records into the system, and if you've got passcodes you can handle the rest. I can slice through any door your codes can't, but it'll take time. What's our limit?"

"When we take out the guards at the security post they'll miss their check-in," Erwyna said and then shrugged. "I'd say ten minutes at the most."

"Ten minutes?" Padmé repeated, a little startled.

"Funny thing about illegal operations: they tend to move really fast." The slicer remarked and then glanced at Al. "You said she's worked with you before?"

"Normally our jobs weren't quite so… suicidal." Al replied, glancing pointedly at Padmé.

"If you're going to get those records up, you'd better do it fast," Éothen interrupted the conversation. "Also, you'll need a spike to corrupt the data in the guard post so they don't know who we're searching for. And you'll have to cut off all the security feeds when we release the prisoners."

The Twi'lek nodded. "Got it. It'll take a little bit to get our profiles in there – about fifteen minutes."

Padmé blew out a sigh. She was getting nervous already. The slicer sat on a sofa and pulled out her equipment, checking it over. Then she went over to a HoloNet console in the corner and got to work. Padmé wrung her hands a little and then began to pace the room. Éothen handed her the stormtrooper armor. Just holding it made her feel all the queasier, both from anxiety and repulsion. She really didn't want to wear this, but she knew why he'd done so – the Twi'lek slicer may not have recognized her, but the Imperials would easily realize she was a senator and discover her true identity.

"I'm going to get a vehicle," Al muttered, and then he put his hand on Padmé's shoulder. "Good luck."

Padmé gulped and nodded.

* * *

Rahm Kota stretched alongside his Padawan. The two had just finished sparring and were getting ready for some dinner. It had been a few days since they'd started lingering in the Mid Rim, and Kota was beginning to wonder if the Empire was taking the hint. He pondered attacking another base, another system, but at this point it would start to become wasteful; he had to maintain supplies.

Galen smiled. "You think they actually made something decent tonight?"

Rahm laughed. "I doubt it. We're out of frozen food; just protein packs now."

"You'd figure the Empire could attack us sooner," Galen muttered. "That way we can go home and eat real food."

Rahm clapped his hand on his Padawan's shoulder and was about to reply when a sudden headache made him wince. His gut clenched, and all the hair on his body stood up; the Force was screaming a warning at him. Galen sensed it too.

"Do you—?"

Galen's statement was cut off when the ship lurched. Metal screamed in protest and several crates and pieces of machinery went flying. Rahm and Galen both tumbled to the ground and quickly dodged the debris. Alarms blared loudly. Using the Force to summon his lightsaber, Rahm leapt to his feet. Galen quickly followed suit.

"Padawan, you could have whined about them _after_ dinner," Rahm quipped. "At least we could have—"

"General!" one of his captains shouted through the comlink. "General, it's Death Squadron!"

Galen and Rahm stiffened and then exchanged looks. That was Darth Vader's fleet.

Rahm nodded to his Padawan, and he rushed out of the room. He quickly made his way to the bridge to assess the situation. Death Squadron had seven ships in its fleet, with an S-class Star Destroyer, the _Executor_, as the flagship. That was no doubt where the Sith apprentice was.

"Raise shields and direct all firepower to the flagship," Rahm instructed. He wanted to at least get the first shots in. He'd leave the rest to the admiral; he was getting on the nearest boarding ship and—

The ship shook once more, nearly knocking everyone to the ground. TIE fighters exited the destroyers like insects from a hive. Rahm rubbed the back of his head where he'd just slammed it into a console.

"Sir! We've got marines incoming!"

Rahm immediately looked at the console to see where they'd been boarded. Then he drew on the Force to ready him for the fight to come. He called out to his Padawan through the Force, and Galen responded. They'd hit the hangar where he was preparing to leave, so he was already busy. Rahm nodded and opened his eyes. He hastily left the room, tossing a command to the admiral as he departed. "Bridge is yours, admiral."

Time to get to work.

* * *

The gate leading into the prison area was just a handful of steps ahead. Padmé took a deep calming breath. She could do this. She _had_ to do this.

"I lead." Erwyna whispered to the group.

One of the other two nodded. "Better you than me," the filtered voice of a stormtrooper replied through the helmet. Padmé was fairly certain it was the slicer; she doubted Éothen would say that.

Straightening her uniform and putting her hat on, Erwyna marched purposefully towards the large gate. Padmé fell in step with the other two as they walked behind her. Two stormtroopers flanked the gate, and the wall surrounding it had manned turrets, though only the two nearest to the gate were facing outward; the rest were concerned with prisoners inside the perimeter.

Without saying a word, Erwyna flashed an ID card to the stormtroopers. One of them examined it and stepped aside so she could insert a code cylinder into a lock. After doing so there was a half a second pause where nothing happened and Padmé glanced at everyone nervously, but eventually the gate opened. The stormtroopers allowed them to pass.

_Thank heaven_, she thought to herself, doing her best to keep up with the others. She'd been in battles before, but she'd never done an undercover operation like this. She wasn't sure she preferred it. At least less people were getting shot in this scenario… but that was going to change when they released all the prisoners. She recalled her mission with Vader on CC4 – even that had been more in her control than this. She'd been able to use her words, her clout… here she was a faceless stormtrooper in the heart of enemy territory surrounded by trained killers.

Blast, thinking about CC4 made her think about Vader. She didn't even want to guess how he'd react to her doing this.

The large droids stomped around the area, sometimes pausing to look at them. Padmé wondered why they would do that if they were allowed access already. Whatever the reason, the droids resumed their patrol.

"What was that for?" she whispered softly.

"Droids scan faces and armor," one of the other two in stormtrooper armor replied quietly. "If the scan doesn't match personnel records they kill you on sight."

If it was possible, her throat, chest, and stomach tightened further. _Lovely_. _Looks like Okima'yak did her job well, then._

The walk through the outdoor part of the perimeter was brief, but it felt like an eternity to Padmé. As she glanced at the towering building in front of her, she briefly thought of her family. She hoped she'd get to see them again.

Erwyna used her code cylinder to enter the main facility. There were stormtroopers flanking the door, but inside there were only two guards behind a desk. One of her disguised partners, probably Éothen judging by the fact that he held one of his arms closer to his body, stepped ahead of Erwyna, but before entering the threshold of the security check-in he tossed something. Then Erwyna immediately pulled her blaster and fired two shots. The blaster barely made any sound, and Padmé noticed that she'd put a silencer on it. Éothen rushed ahead and leapt over the desk to catch the two guards so they wouldn't collapse loudly to the ground. He yanked off their gloves and started to examine their wrists.

Padmé glanced around a little frantically, ensuring that no one was coming. She looked up and saw a security camera and was about to point it out when she noticed it had some strange device on it.

"Camera kisser," Erwyna whispered. "Loops whatever the last image was so they don't see anything new. Shouldn't have audio, but we can't be sure, so keep your voice down."

A soft hiss emitted from behind the security desk and everyone turned their attention to Éothen.

"They've got vitals implants," he muttered. "Our ten minute window just got really reduced."

"Vitals implants?" Padmé questioned, slowly pulling her blaster from its holster.

"They put them in the wrist. The implants monitor their vitals; set off an alarm if they stop transmitting healthy data." Éothen explained. "We need to go. Now."

Erwyna and Okima'yak were already at the turbolift accessing it with the code cylinder. "Get in."

Padmé and Éothen hastily followed them inside and they rushed towards the proper level. Padmé noticed another camera, and it didn't have a device on it. She turned her head to face Erwyna in a silent question, but the woman was paying her no mind. She assumed they hadn't looped the feed of an empty turbolift so security wouldn't suspect something; there'd be no reason for a lift to be traveling of its own accord. Still, if Éothen was right about those vitals transmitters, the security would quickly find out something was wrong and probably put the place into lockdown. They'd shut down the lifts. Their cover would be blown before they ever reached the station.

This wasn't good.

* * *

Kota deflected yet another blaster bolt as he immersed himself fully into the Force. Closing his eyes, he let his instincts guide him, releasing his tension and exhaustion. They'd been fighting for at least ten minutes, and though that didn't sound like a long time it was taxing in constant combat. He called upon his reserve strength and let the Force bolster him. Opening his eyes once more, he tossed a crate towards some more marines and glanced briefly at his Padawan.

Galen was holding his own, and his youthful energy was helping him move quickly amidst the chaos. He utilized Niman just as he said he would, and Rahm was happy to see that he was managing just fine with it. He hastily cut down some more marines and was even happier to notice that they had a brief reprieve.

Or so he thought.

"Do you sense that?" Galen asked, and a millisecond later, it hit Kota. Everything turned to ice, and the Force grew strangely muted as if the chilling effect muffled it. An odd void filled the area, but amid the bizarre feeling was a power so strong it was like feeling the rumble of an earthquake.

"The cold…" he muttered, turning to face the entrance of the hangar.

A dark figure stood in the doorway, motionless. Shortly after he'd laid his eyes on it, a red lightsaber activated, illuminating the figure. It showed a young man who looked close to Galen's age. His gaze was as cold as the feeling in the Force. This… wasn't what Rahm had expected.

"Darth Vader," he acknowledged with a smirk. "I expected someone with your reputation to be a bit… older."

He waited to see how the apprentice reacted to the quip. Most Sith were known for their short tempers, especially apprentices, but this one barely flinched. Vader simply began to walk forward, unperturbed. His gaze never faltered, but Rahm suddenly realized with a lurch that Vader had never been looking at him in the first place.

He'd been looking at Galen.

Quickly raising his blade, Kota took a few hasty steps towards his Padawan to protect him when Vader suddenly charged forward. He reached Galen before Rahm could, but his Padawan held his own, blocking the charge. Both Jedi were tired from their constant fighting against the marines, but Galen barely showed it. More troops entered the hangar, and Rahm's soldiers quickly arrived as well, holding them off. That simply left the Sith.

As Galen and Vader held a lightsaber lock, Rahm aimed his blade for the apprentice's neck. Vader quickly leapt to the side, so quickly that Galen almost lost his footing from the sudden loss of counterbalance. Vader aimed his blade towards the boy's back, but Rahm used the Force to push him away so Galen wouldn't get hurt. The two stood alongside each other, prepared for Vader's next attack, which came far sooner than Rahm would have liked. This time Vader hit Rahm first, and the sheer amount of strength in the blow temporarily startled the seasoned Jedi. The apprentice was tougher than he thought.

Not tough enough, though.

Gathering the Force around him, Rahm augmented his strength and shoved Vader back, but instead of being caught off balance, Vader crouched and aimed a sweeping slash at Rahm's knees. He leapt to avoid the slash, and as he did so Galen aimed a chop at Vader's head. Vader glanced at Galen and the boy went flying across the hangar and right into a soldier.

Taking the temporary distraction as an opportunity, Rahm kicked, landing a solid blow on Vader's face. He grunted and fell, but as soon as he landed he arched his back and leapt to his feet once more, using the Force to shove Rahm away from him. Rahm slid back only a few centimeters due to the Sith's distraction, but it was enough for him to not land a killing blow as Vader regained his footing. The two went at it again and Galen quickly rejoined the fray.

The two Jedi pressed the attack, forcing Vader to defend himself for a time. His defense was impeccable, but Rham started to notice holes. When he aimed for one, though, the apprentice's reaction timing was too fast to land a blow. Rahm took a step back as Galen shoved ahead. He let his Padawan fight for a few seconds, both so he could catch his breath but more importantly so he could study the Sith's fighting style. The Sith Order stemmed from the Jedi Order in the distant past, so they used the same lightsaber styles, though they tended to add their own absurd flairs to them. Vader's style was strange, though – he seemed to switch depending on the circumstances… or he'd somehow made a hybrid of several disciplines. It wasn't quite like Niman, which was the style dedicated to joining all the others together. Instead, it seemed more like he'd go from a sturdy Djem So on the offensive to Soresu when Galen and Rahm both came at him together. He favored Djem So, however, and it made sense – it blended well with his physique. The style was designed to take the defensive capabilities of Soresu and add them to deflecting an opponent's energy back on him. It was more aggressive.

There was something strange about the Sith's fighting. Rahm couldn't pinpoint it amidst the chaos of battle, though, and by this point it had been almost five seconds since he'd reentered the fight. Considering how well Vader was faring, it wasn't a good idea to leave Galen alone to handle him for that long. Quickly rushing forward, Rahm raised his blade when Galen left him an opening and blocked Vader's retaliation. The apprentice quickly switched back to Soresu as Rahm and Galen attacked in unison. The more they did so, the more confused Rahm became – Soresu was an almost _passive_ form. Why would a Sith utilize it? This had to be a ploy somehow.

Vader held on to his defense for a solid minute. Galen simply kept attacking, but Rahm would always pick out the openings. Nevertheless, Vader's reaction timing was far faster than either of them, and he'd always have a parry at the ready. After a minute, though, even he seemed to tire, and he gathered a large amount of energy around him and sent it hurling at them. Rahm and Galen both flipped backwards to use the energy for their landing, but Galen didn't take into account the sheer amount of soldiers flooding the hangar; he almost landed on them and quickly had to change his strategy. As he did whatever he needed to in order to recover from almost crashing right into half a dozen soldiers, Rahm quickly rushed ahead once more and fought the apprentice one on one. Vader's Djem So came forward again, and Rahm for a brief moment felt his strength falter as Vader reflected it right back at him. In that moment the Sith finally landed a blow, smarting Rahm on his right upper arm.

Yelling out, Kota took a step back to recover from the injury. The Sith hadn't gotten him too deeply – the blade had barely touched muscle. It was enough for a slight deficiency in the arm and a heck of a lot of pain, but nothing disabling. In the brief moment it took Rahm to recover from the wound, Galen charged forward. Since Vader had the upper hand in that moment, he simply grabbed Galen with the Force, holding him in midair. Galen threw several crates at Vader, causing Rahm to dodge them as well (blast it he had to teach that boy to _not_ include his own men in his insane attacks). Vader released his grip on Galen temporarily but then used his energy to throw the crates at both Jedi, slamming Rahm right on his injured arm. Groaning, Kota remained on the ground for a few seconds longer than he should have while Galen was about to leap to his feet once more. Again Vader snatched Galen into the air, and Rahm could feel the weight of the Force descend upon his Padawan as if the roof in the hangar were collapsing. Galen was pressed against a wall and his activated blade slowly began to move towards his own neck. Galen grasped the Force ferociously, fighting Vader back. Rahm gripped his arm and winced a bit at the power struggle, but he knew his Padawan was far stronger in the Force than he – the boy would prevail.

As he regained his footing, though, he suddenly noticed something – _the lightsaber was still going to his Padawan's neck._

Vader's eyes narrowed and he pushed his hand forward, bidding the Force to obey him. Galen yelled out – he was putting so much energy and strength against the Sith's ploy that it was beginning to crush his arm.

Rahm lunged forward. Vader immediately released his Padawan and whirled around to deflect the blow, but Rahm's energy caught him off guard and he took several steps back, a little unbalanced. Rahm continued to attack, preventing Vader from regaining his footing, and that was everything in Djem So – if he could keep the apprentice tripping he'd win the fight. Then he could tend to his Padawan.

Vader eventually just let his legs give out under him and rolled backwards to finally stand and steady himself away from Kota. It was at that point that Rahm finally realize what had been bothering him since the start of this fight.

He sensed nothing from the apprentice.

It wasn't as if he couldn't sense the man's power – far from it. His cold presence froze the room so much Rahm was surprised frost wasn't coming from his mouth, and his strength made the air tremble. But Rahm didn't sense any rage from him. He didn't sense _any_ emotion from him. As the two reengaged and eventually held each other in a lightsaber block, Rahm said, "Interesting… I sense no anger in you. You are no Sith, _Darth Vader_. Your Master must not be very happy about that."

And in a heartbeat everything changed.

The coldness in the Force turned hot as magma and Vader's irises grew yellow. His face contorted in rage and he screamed out as he shoved forward with feral strength. Rahm stumbled a little, but he smiled too – if the apprentice was angry, he was bound to make mistakes. Kota had the upper hand now.

Vader's ferocity made him move all the faster and made his blows slam into Rahm all the more, but he also became sloppier. Though Rahm didn't have as many opportunities to retaliate, the ones he did have were foolish mistakes that he could easily take advantage of. One such occasion let him sink his lightsaber right into the apprentice's shin. Vader groaned and shoved Rahm away with a Force push, but Galen finally reentered the fray and prevented the Sith from recovering. Galen swung for his neck as he stumbled slightly, but he blocked it and kneed Galen in the groin. As Rahm charged ahead, Vader turned his reddish eyes to him and extended a hand, pinching his fingers together. Rahm felt the Force tighten around his throat, and he focused all his energy on releasing the tension there. Galen helped by distracting Vader as he nearly gutted the Sith.

Rahm's vision grew a little fuzzy but he finally freed himself from the choke hold. Vader and Galen were at it and Rahm noticed, to his displeasure, that his Padawan had reverted to Shii Cho – he was too injured to maintain Niman. It only lasted for a few moments though, especially after Rahm backed him up. The two had Vader backed into a corner and Galen used his prowess with the Force to send several large pieces of machinery towards the Sith, who couldn't leap above due to scaffolding. One of the pieces hit the Sith soundly on the head, knocking him to the ground, and another was about to bury him, but threw his hand out and sent everything and everyone within three meters flying across the hangar. Rahm and Galen easily landed on their feet and charged once more, but this time a nearby fighter suddenly began to float towards them. Rahm hastily turned his attention to the fighter, but Galen latched onto the Force and directed it towards Vader. Rahm quickly snapped his attention towards the corner where the Sith was and saw that there were three of his own soldiers there as well. Quickly focusing he flung the poor troops out of the way before the fighter could kill them.

"Watch out for your own, Padawan," he advised breathlessly, and Galen offered a feeble apology.

A yell sounded across the hangar and the screech of metal deafened everyone. All the firefights temporarily paused as everybody tried to figure out what the noise was and they all witnessed the fighter tear itself in half, and the two pieces flew to opposite ends of the hangar. Soldiers dove for cover and Rahm quickly sensed danger above him. Looking up he saw Vader in midair from a strong leap, his lightsaber held ready to slice them in half. He didn't have to warn Galen – the boy sensed it a millisecond later and they both dodged the attack.

Vader easily landed on his feet, but he was besieged by both Jedi. Rahm's arm ached a little, but he pushed passed the pain. Vader seemed to be doing the same for his leg, but if Rahm could land a blow in the same spot it would succeed in doing more damage than an entirely different lightsaber wound. The room still sizzled with the Sith's anger, and so Rahm centered himself and found his opportunity. Just as Galen and Vader were both trying to slice each other, Rahm slipped his leg between the two and slammed his heel against Vader's shin, hitting the wound. Groaning, the Sith's leg collapsed from under him and Galen landed a blow on his shoulder. Vader quickly rolled away from the two, but he was slow to rise. Rahm took the opportunity to finish the match so they could return their attention to the rest of the fleet, but he once again felt the Force wrap around his neck – and Galen did too. Both Jedi gasped for air and paused. Rahm's exhaustion was starting to get the best of him, and it took him longer to fend off the attack. Galen, on the other hand, simply sent another piece of debris towards Vader, making the Sith break concentration from the two of them.

The Sith apprentice dodged the debris, but it cost him some pain in his new shoulder wound. He winced but held his blade steady. He also seemed to be calming once more; the room was beginning to cool, and the volcanic eruption seemed to recede back into him. No, they couldn't have that – he had to make sure the wretch stayed angry.

"You're not a very impressive fighter either, are you?" Rahm accused, though it wasn't very threatening since he was rasping. The Sith flinched and seemed annoyed by the remark, but not nearly as much as before. Rahm began to wonder what it was that set him off earlier but he didn't have time to ponder upon it; the taunt still elicited an aggressive attack from the apprentice, and the three were locked together in combat once more.

* * *

Padmé had thought maybe they were in the clear when the turbolift reached its destination undeterred, but as soon as the doors opened the prison alarm started to blare loudly. She felt her breath get knocked out of her as if someone punched her in the gut, and her adrenaline immediately surged. Erwyna rushed ahead, the three following her closely.

They didn't run into any resistance until they reached a different hallway that led to some stairs. Erwyna hastily dispatched the two stormtroopers ahead of them and used her code cylinder once more since there was a hatch that blocked the stairway.

"You figure they have vitals transmitters as well?" the slicer asked.

"Doesn't matter – the cameras caught us anyway." Éothen answered, and Padmé turned to find the camera. Éothen shot one just as she found another and destroyed it.

"Blast it, the cylinder isn't working," Erwyna snapped with a curse. "They must have locked down the entire system."

"Move," the slicer said as she shoved passed her, pulling out some equipment and cutting open the panel. "Cover me."

As soon as she'd spoken more stormtroopers appeared at the end of the hallway. Padmé looked around for cover and saw a few chairs; those wouldn't work. Éothen quickly dispatched most of them, but she picked off the last few alongside Erwyna.

"Got it!" the slicer yelled. As the hatch door opened Erwyna quickly rushed ahead and fired as soon as guards came into view. Éothen also led the way and the two cleared the room above while Padmé covered the rear and the slicer rushed upstairs. Once Padmé climbed the stairs she was greatly relieved to see that they were in the control room. Looking out the windows she saw the ray shielded cells stretch above and below their level. Most of them were occupied. Prisoners were glancing around, wondering what had set off the prison alarm.

"All right, two senators, coming up!" the slicer said as she started searching through the records. Éothen and Erwyna flanked the hatch.

"Ven, keep an eye out for enemy skiffs," Éothen ordered. Padmé jumped, remembering her code name, and she acknowledged him, holding her blaster at the ready.

"Found Organa," the slicer said. "Cell CO22. Mothma…" she paused for a moment as she searched and then shook her head. "Mothma's dead. I'm releasing the prisoners."

"_What?"_ Padmé whirled around to look at her and then rushed to the console, looking at the information. It stated that Mothma had been executed after interrogation. Her killer had been…

_No…_

Blaster fire made her snap back to the situation as Éothen and Erwyna shot nonstop. "Open the kriffing cells!"

The slicer pressed a command button and all the ray shields dropped. Then she rushed outside and programmed some of the skiffs to head towards certain cell blocks. Prisoners all started screaming and clambering to get to the skiffs. Éothen and Erwyna continued to fire, and Erwyna tossed a grenade down the stairs and slammed the hatch closed. "Let's go!"

As the explosion from the grenade rocked the control room, the four rushed onto a skiff and the slicer steered it in the right direction. Prisoners began to reach for the skiff and were ready to shove them off when Erwyna shot them. Éothen and Padmé quickly helped Bail climb in and the slicer pulled away, returning to the control station.

"I hope the VIP lounge is close!" the slicer yelled over the din.

"Doesn't matter – they got a lot more to worry about now!" Éothen replied.

Skiffs all reached the control station at the same time and guards started to fight with the prisoners. Some prisoners were killed immediately, but others took down the guards and stole their weapons. Okima'yak shut down the security cameras in the entire prison. Éothen grabbed Bail by the arm and dragged him towards the stairs. Erwyna led the way, blasting anyone who was ahead of her, prisoner and guard alike. The din almost deafened Padmé, but she could still make out when someone was directing their attention at her or those with her. She killed a few Imperials as they ran to the VIP lounge. As Erwyna had stated in the plan, most of the guards were heading towards the prisoner area and the hallways were practically deserted – now that the Imperials were effectively blind they could only focus on where the most action was, so the four would hopefully make a quick getaway, assuming Al hadn't caught any attention.

The VIP lounge was sealed off by a ray shield, but the slicer quickly got to work on it. As Éothen and Erwyna covered her, Bail gawked at everyone.

"How did—what's—" he tried to ask when Padmé shook her head.

"Not here. Not now." She cut him off.

"Got the shields," Okima'yak told them and the four hastily entered the lounge.

As promised, here was a landing pad at the other end of the room, open to the rest of the city. The four rushed towards the pad, but they didn't see a speeder anywhere. For a terrifying second Padmé wondered if Al had been killed or captured, but then either Okima'yak or Éothen pointed and yelled over the deafening alarm.

A yellow closed landspeeder hastily flew towards them and abruptly stopped at the landing pad. Al opened a door and slammed the side of the speeder, urging them to hurry up. Everyone tumbled in and the speeder made a hasty getaway.

"Did we pick up any tails?" Éothen asked sharply as he took his helmet off.

Padmé glanced around but she saw nothing. "Looks like we're clear!"

"We aren't clear until we can get the hell out of this sector!" Al retorted, jerking the landspeeder between buildings and through tunnels. Erwyna shoved Bail under the seats and told everyone to shed their armor, strap in, and look casual. Padmé snorted; as if they could look casual after _that_ insanity. And Mon… she…

Padmé shook her head, feeling dizzy and sick all at once. The adrenaline was still surging through her blood, but now that she didn't have to react to immediate danger everything was starting to get hectic in her mind. Too many scenarios and thoughts were going on, and she was getting a migraine. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm herself as best she could, and she took off the armor, leaving only the bodysuit. Bail couldn't see her from where Erwyna had shoved him, which was probably for the best.

Eventually, Al's driving steadied to a reasonable speed and he followed the air traffic for a few tense minutes before diving to the lower sectors. Once he finally landed everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"Let's go back to the cantina. I need a drink after _that_." Okima'yak grumbled.

"You guys go drink," Al motioned for them to get out. "I have a senator to smuggle off-world."

Padmé bent down and helped Bail out from under the seat. As soon as he laid eyes on her he opened his mouth in astonishment but said nothing.

"We should get him a change of clothes," she noted after giving him a reassuring smile.

"Already got one; picked it up on the way to the prison," Al replied, tossing some clothes towards Bail. "He can dress while I drive. Okima'yak, I'll meet you at our usual alcove tomorrow morning for the payoff."

"I can cover the payoff," Padmé offered; Al had been forced into this – he shouldn't have to pay as well.

Al shook his head. "No. I hired her. See you then?"

Okima'yak nodded. "Yup."

Éothen, Erwyna, Okima'ya, and Padmé disembarked. Padmé watched in slight dejection as Al and Bail flew away. She wasn't sure if the Zabrak was angry at the situation, her, or even angry at all. She hadn't quite figured out how to read him yet. But one thing was for sure: the guy was a miracle worker and kriffing amazing at his job.

Come to think of it, they'd all done pretty kriffing well. Smiling and laughing in satisfaction as they returned to the private booth in the cantina, she nodded to the others. "A job well done, then."

They all laughed. "Guess so."

"Hopefully this'll blow over," Erwyna sighed, rubbing her eyes with one hand. "They'll be too busy cleaning up the mess to worry about us for a while, but—"

"Yeah, yeah, lay low." Okima'yak rolled her eyes. "Honestly, you guys act as if I've never done this before. Seriously, though, let's get some drinks."

Éothen laughed. "I could use one after that, but I should be heading out."

Erwyna agreed with Éothen, so the slicer turned to Padmé. She considered the offer briefly but shook her head. Obi-Wan would probably be a wreck by this point, and she was curious (and hopeful) as to whether he'd found Siri.

And she had a _lot_ to sort through in her own mind.

"You people are no fun," the slicer grumbled. "Nice working with you."

After the Twi'lek returned to her street clothes and left, Erwyna and Éothen let Padmé change next. The few moments alone gave her time to catch her breath and consider what had just happened, and she felt both enormously relieved and enormously anxious that it was done; Bail was out of prison, but she wasn't sure at what cost. And Mon… _Vader…_

Padmé grew dizzy and then shuddered, stumbling out of the room. She quickly regained her composure as she caught sight of Erwyna and Éothen. The Togruta allowed his second-in-command to change next, and after she'd left he gave Padmé a gentle smile. "You alright?"

Padmé sighed, steadying herself as best she could. "Yeah."

"You were amazing." He told her, his smile growing. "I looked up your record after we first met – when I saw you'd fought to reclaim your capital I realized you were far better than most politicians. You were actually willing to _do_ something. I'm glad we could work together on this."

Despite her own inner turmoil, receiving the compliment did brighten her mood. It was nice to get some acknowledgement and realize that she _had_ actually done some good. Not to mention his charming smile by itself was enough to make her feel a little better.

"Hey, if it isn't asking too much, maybe we could actually talk over something less hostile," Éothen laughed. "Like lunch?"

Padmé leaned against the wall and smiled, half dazed from exhaustion, leftover adrenaline, and happiness. "After all this, that sounds amazing. We can meet at my office at noon tomorrow."

Éothen nodded. "I'll see you then, milady."

She acknowledged him in return and shakily left the cantina. Her head was filled with words and noises that couldn't form any coherent pictures or sentences, and she blindly walked to a taxi and managed to get a ride home.

* * *

This was getting _insane_.

"Galen!" Rahm yelled as he ducked from another piece of what was left of a fighter flying across the room.

Rahm had been slammed into a wall, hitting his injured arm and his head. In the few moments of haziness that followed the Sith and his Padawan had taken it upon themselves to thoroughly demolish the hangar. Vader had no qualms with collateral casualties, but Galen had to be more cautious and he was starting to lose his composure. Both were ridiculously strong in the Force and the amount of damage they were causing was enough to tear the entire hangar to pieces.

Galen was about to take what was left of the fighter and fling it at Vader when the Sith made a precise shot with a small rod – the shot flew true, and just as Rahm yelled out in warning it pierced right through Galen's gut. Screaming out, Galen hung helplessly on the wall, pinned by the rod. Rahm quickly threw himself back into the fight to prevent Vader from finishing off his wounded Padawan. Vader was slowing from his injuries, but not nearly as much as Rahm was, and Galen's new wound on top of his nearly crushed arm would make him practically useless for the rest of the fight. However, Vader was still agitated, and that mixed with his exhaustion was enough for the seasoned Jedi to finally land a finishing blow. Vader gasped and squeezed his eyes shut as Kota's blade pierced his lower left abdomen, but he then glared intently at Rahm's hand and the Jedi felt his fingers stiffen and his thumb slowly reached for the deactivation button on his hilt. Gasping, Rahm pulled away from Vader, making the Sith cry out in pain once more as the blade exited the wound. Vader collapsed to the floor. Temporarily leaving the apprentice, Rahm glanced at his own Padawan, who was moaning in pain and trying to relieve the pressure on the penetration point. He sent some energy to his Padawan to try and help him, and he winced as he heard the boy cry out once again. Protective anger overcame him and he turned sharply back to the apprentice to finish the duel.

Just in time to see the blade make contact with his neck.

* * *

Galen shouted out in horror as he watched his Master get decapitated. The Sith filth did the move hastily with his uninjured arm, half crouching after the attack. He then turned his eyes, icy blue, on Galen. His face was contorted in pain, but it held the same strange calmness he had seen on it when the battle had first begun. It didn't matter – Rahm Kota was dead. He was—that _murglak_—

Focus. Focus. Galen squeezed his eyes shut, trying to purge his mind of the image of his dead teacher while also trying to ignore the unbearable pain in his gut. Activating his lightsaber he yelled out as he sliced the pole just beyond the entrance wound. Collapsing to the ground, he screamed once more as the pain nearly blinded him. He sensed danger in the Force and quickly averted being crushed by the fighter debris, but any movement made his injury hurt a hundredfold. He couldn't fight. There was no way he could use his lightsaber.

Stretching out into the Force, Galen grasped it with all his might. He tried to quiet his mind, but it was nearly impossible to do over all the images of himself bleeding out and his Master lying dead on the floor.

_There is no death; there is the Force._

Taking a deep breath, Galen opened his eyes and dared to look in the direction of his Master's corpse. Vader was slowly standing and about to throw some more objects at him. Galen couldn't move; he felt his strength giving out. He had to dedicate it all to the Force now. As the crates flew towards him he deflected them with the Force and redirected them at the Sith apprentice; the monster was as injured as he was, so he would have as difficult a time dealing with it as Galen.

_How had this all gone so wrong so quickly?_

Focus, dammit!

Galen jumped as he sensed danger once more. Not only had Vader caught the crates, but he added several of Galen's troops to the mix, flinging all of them back at the Jedi Padawan.

Wincing, Galen caught everything, but his focus was entirely on them and he couldn't spare a moment to see where the Sith was. The Force cried out in pain and sorrow, whether it was his own or others' he wasn't sure, but it was mixing too much and he couldn't make sense of it. Dropping the soldiers roughly he gasped, clutching his injury once more with his good arm. It was a miracle he'd lasted _this_ long, but he wasn't going to stop yet. He _had_ to defeat Vader. His Master was dead, and vengeance wouldn't bring him back, but if Vader remained alive all the men in the fleet would die. Galen couldn't let that happen. He _wouldn't_.

The Force warned him once more that danger was on its way. Vader's attacks were slowing considerably due to his own injuries, but he still had enough energy in him to throw half the contents of the hangar at Galen. Finally growing tired of the pointless tossing back and forth, Galen grabbed the items and used his power to crush them in midair and then toss them towards the Imperials and out of the hangar. He tried to stand but he moaned and collapsed once more. He reached out into the Force and tried to mimic the Sith's earlier maneuver, willing the Sith's neck to narrow so no air could pass. Vader coughed harshly, and Galen almost had him in his grasp, but the Sith stretched his own hand out towards Galen. Expecting the retaliation, Galen focused his energy around his neck to prevent the choke, but instead the Sith aimed elsewhere.

He used the Force to yank the pole out of Galen's gut.

Screaming, the Padawan immediately released all hold of the Force altogether and curled inward. Blood quickly poured out of his gut and all over the floor. Bathed in the warm liquid, his insides burning, Galen was blind to everything and desperately clawed at the Force to try and get his bearings once more.

It didn't matter; Vader wasn't able to fight anymore. It was a draw… or at least it would have been if the Sith hadn't removed the pole from Galen's abdomen. He felt his energy drain and his breath grew ragged as he watched most of his body's blood exit through his stomach. Trying to cover the wound he only felt the blood trickle over his fingers. The strange sensation of his own life fading between his fingertips captured his attention for a moment before he felt the Force surround him like a blanket. Closing his eyes, he tried his best to calm himself, to not think about what was going to happen next, and he let the Force take him home.

* * *

It began to rain as Obi-Wan gazed out the large window in the den. He was constantly tightening and relaxing his right fist as he propped one arm atop the other and closed his eyes. Doing his best to stay calm, he took another deep breath and listened to the rain. He'd tried contacting Padmé, Al, and Siri numerous times to no avail. By this point he was beginning to debate searching the city again, but he didn't even know where to start; he had no luck finding Siri, and heaven knew where Padmé or Al were.

As he felt his stomach churn with anxiety, he suddenly felt warmth envelope him and his eyes immediately popped open. Siri was coming. Turning to the door he nearly ran over as it opened to reveal his wife. She removed her hood and Obi-Wan immediately demanded, "Where in the blazes have you been?"

Siri looked unusually pale, and she didn't grow annoyed at Obi-Wan's scolding tone. Something was wrong.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I…" she said, looking uncertain as to how to continue… or too dazed to speak coherently. Shaking her head, she walked over to the sofa and removed her wet cloak, sitting down. Obi-Wan followed her and sat just beside her, placing his hand on her leg in an attempt to help ground her. She blew out a sigh and put her face in her hands. "It's… where's Padmé?"

Obi-Wan looked out the window once more. "I don't know. She had to go do something that she wouldn't tell me about. Al won't answer his comlink, either."

"I know," Siri replied. "I tried to call him."

"Why? Siri, what's the matter?" he asked, growing more concerned by the second.

Siri looked as if she was about to answer when she paused and glanced at the door. Obi-Wan was about to ask when he heard someone coming. The door opened and Padmé entered, looking just as wet and tired as Siri. Obi-Wan immediately stood, but Siri remained on the sofa. He glanced at her again, worried by her behavior, but he still had to get his main curiosity out of the way. "Padmé, where did you go?"

Padmé took a deep breath, hanging up her cloak. "I see you found Siri."

"Answer the question." He ordered, starting to get annoyed; why was no one being straightforward?

"I went on an excursion with the son of the future warlord of Salkende," Padmé answered. "You remember how you told me Adelig had a son who'd been injured while you were there? I met him."

Such a statement would merit immense relief normally, but Obi-Wan could tell she was avoiding something. He crossed his arms. "What did you two do?"

"Why are you always so suspicious?" Padmé rebutted, growing irritated.

"I'm not always suspicious," Obi-Wan shook his head, wondering why she was still avoiding the matter. "I can tell you're hiding something from me."

Padmé looked away for a moment before making some sort of decision with herself. "We got Bail out of prison."

Siri shot to her feet. Obi-Wan gaped at Padmé. "You _what_?!"

"Éothen—Adelig's son—he's with Salkende's Special Forces. He and his second-in-command made a plan, and Al and a partner of his helped us go through with it." Padmé hastily explained. "Everything went about as smoothly as it could, but—"

"As smoothly as it could?" Obi-Wan repeated, interrupting her. He couldn't believe this. He couldn't _believe_ this. Even _Siri_ wouldn't do something this insane!

"Mon Mothma is dead." Padmé snapped, her eyes hard.

The room grew silent as the words registered in the couple's mind. Siri spoke first. "What happened?"

Padmé looked away once more. "Darth Vader killed her."

Obi-Wan tensed but he didn't say anything. One of their leaders was dead, and the culprit was the man Padmé was falling for. Multiple lectures that essentially said _I told you so_ briefly went through his mind, but he pushed them aside. This situation didn't require a lecture; Padmé was smart enough to pick it up on her own. But what were they going to do? With Mothma dead the Alliance took an enormous blow… and how much did Padmé risk in doing this? Was she identified at the prison? If she was it was only a matter of hours before Intelligence would come and break down their door.

Blast it; this was what he got for letting her sort out her own problems. This was what he got for _trusting_ her to know what was right and wrong.

"I presume Al is getting Organa off-world?" Obi-Wan asked quietly, trying to keep his temper in check. He wasn't necessarily mad at Padmé – more disappointed and angry at himself for letting her do this. The more he thought about it, though, his anger at her increased – _she should know better_.

Padmé nodded in reply. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and took a calming breath. "You should have gone with him."

"How would I have explained my absence?" Padmé asked, folding her arms. Her tone held an intonation that rankled Obi-Wan, as if she were lecturing _him_ on how to properly be cautious. He took another calming breath.

"You wouldn't have to – I'm sure once they recognize you from security feeds or witness accounts the Empire will be more than happy to give an excuse for your absence after they _arrest_ you." He replied curtly, opening his eyes and glaring at her. They were in enough hot water, and now she had to get herself into this situation and—_why couldn't things just go right for once?_

"I was disguised." Padmé shook her head. "Obi, it's fine. No one knew it was me. I promise."

"Except for Éothen, his associate, and Al's associate," Obi-Wan noted pointedly, his voice getting louder. "Padmé, why can't you just _think things through_?"

"Would you rather Bail end up like Mon?" Padmé snapped, taking a sharp step towards him.

"Your judgment is getting worse by the day." Obi-Wan retorted harshly, also stepping towards her as his temper began to bubble beyond his typical control. "I can't even trust you on your own at this point."

"This was a matter of _necessity_—"

"You said that about _Naboo_ as well—"

"I'm pregnant!" Siri shouted, causing both to turn and face her. She took a few deep breaths and then said, "I'm pregnant. And Force sensitive. Obi-Wan is also a Force user. Padmé's stupid and makes rasher decisions than I thought. Now that we've all got the obvious secrets out in the open, you mind telling me what's _really_ eating at the two of you?"

Obi-Wan's insides went cold. Then electricity shot through him. She was… Siri was…? And she… how… but…

He couldn't come up with any coherent thoughts. He felt excitement, dread, terror, happiness, and astonishment rip through him, and he eventually shakily sat on the sofa once more.

The only one who seemed capable of talking at this point was Siri, and so she once again asked, "What is wrong with you two? You've been at it ever since we got back to Imperial Center. I thought it was some stupid little problem but now it's even seeping into _this_ argument, something far more important than I thought we'd have to worry about—Mon Mothma is dead, Bail Organa is with Al going to the Rebels, and you, Padmé, just did something that I'm actually a little envious of but have to side with Obi, but you two are still fuming over your secret feud! Now just _spit it out_—what in the _blazes_ is going on?"

Before he knew what he was doing, Obi-Wan said, "Padmé's in love with Darth Vader."

Siri's mouth went slack. "You're _what_?!"

Padmé shook her head. "Now is _not_ the time to be talking about _my _relationship—we've got _bigger_ problems to worry about—like _you_ two—you're pregnant?! You're _Force sensitive_?!"

Obi-Wan put his face in his hands and tried to regain his composure. In his stead, Siri continued the conversation. "Adelig told him how she smuggled him away from the Jedi Temple as a toddler; he was an initiate. How in the _blazes_ are you—what _compelled_ you to look at that—that _thing_—"

"Vader is a _Human being_," Padmé suddenly interrupted with such gusto that even Obi-Wan looked up at her. "Don't—don't you _dare_ say otherwise."

Siri stared at Padmé in horror and confusion. She shook her head. "I can't believe we're having this conversation. You _seriously_ love that monster?"

"I_ didn't say _that—"

Here Obi-Wan interrupted. "You didn't have to, Padmé."

"Well it's _over_," she snapped, glaring at him. "He killed Mon."

The finality of her words left a heavy silence in the room. Eventually Padmé couldn't stand to be there anymore, and her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she stormed to her bedroom. Obi-Wan remained still, trying to process everything that was happening. He was tempted to follow Padmé, if not to tell her off then at least to try and comfort her somehow, but he didn't know what to say or do. It was probably for the best that they just remain apart for a while… though _last_ time he thought she could be alone she _broke into an Imperial prison_. And _Siri_…

Turning to his wife, he whispered, "You're pregnant?"

Siri, who had been looking where Padmé had been standing, slowly turned to him. Her dark blue eyes were filled with so many emotions. "Yes. I've been feeling… off for a few days. I kept wondering what it was, and when I thought about when it started… I just wanted to check. Turns out I was right."

"But… you said you were _Force sensitive_?" he added, reeling from too much information at once.

Siri shrugged. "I don't know… but I figured if you are, and you and I get the same feelings that nobody else seems to get… at first I thought maybe it was _because_ you could use the Force, that somehow it spilled into my head since we were married… but you didn't sense anything about the baby and I did… women don't find out they're pregnant this early. I could tell, though. I…" Siri shook her head and then suddenly hugged herself, closing her eyes. Her voice trembled as she said, "Obi… what are we going to do… I… this galaxy is a mess. How can we bring up a child in this insanity?"

Her emotions were spilling out of her, and she was visibly shaking. Obi-Wan found his calm as he watched her, and he slowly walked towards her, placing his hands on her shoulders. She looked at him, crying quietly, and he wiped the tears away with a small smile. "Well… I suppose we'll just have to clean it up before the baby's born."

Siri let out a broken chuckle and he pulled her to him, holding her as she cried. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, holding on to the little bit of hope left in him that somehow this would all work out.


	26. The Calm before the Storm

Padmé lay in bed shaking. She didn't know if the cause was rage, terror, hurt, or the cold chill from the rain outside. She was a mess of so many emotions, thoughts, and desires that she couldn't even see straight. The room was spinning. Everything was insane. Nothing made sense.

Mon Mothma was dead at Vader's hand. He… why would he do that? _How_ could he do that?

Because Palpatine told him to.

A wave of nausea overcame Padmé. Over and over again Vader always insisted he did whatever was necessary, whatever Palpatine said he had to do. Every single time it hit her differently, affected her differently, reminded her of how screwed up he was… but it had never _stabbed_ into her like this. It had never _clicked_ just what _do whatever necessary_ meant.

_"You're no longer a target." _His voice whispered in her mind. A cold chill shook her to her very core, one that she didn't quite understand.

Reaching to her nightstand, she pulled out the box full of materials for her shoto. As she gazed at it she felt tears fall from her eyes. Life was so kriffing screwed up. Squeezing the box she unceremoniously tossed it back into the drawer and buried her face in her pillow. He couldn't help it. He was just following orders.

_How long will you keep telling yourself that? How long will you lie to yourself?_ A small voice whispered in the back of her mind, but she shoved it down. No. He needed her. There was good in him. She'd seen him act almost _normal_ – she'd seen him open up to her. He was capable of being _so much more_ than what he was; why couldn't he just _realize_ that?

And what about Obi-Wan and Siri? They were _Force users_? How long had they known? Why hadn't they told her?! Sure, she kept a secret from Siri, but she'd _tried_ to open up to Obi-Wan. Why would he not mention his ability to her? It was pretty kriffing important! And he had the nerve to tell her not to keep secrets from him? What about Siri? How long had she known about their sensitivity, about her _pregnancy_? She obviously hadn't told Obi-Wan yet, so that might have been a more recent discovery, but—

Oh stars above. The baby. The _baby_ was without a doubt Force sensitive.

Padmé sat up abruptly, her breath punched out of her. She was about to run out to the den and mention this revelation when she realized Siri had no doubt come to the conclusion herself. What were they going to do?! Siri couldn't hide her pregnancy, and once she started to get prenatal checks the tests would reveal the baby's Force sensitivity. Heaven only knew what the Empire would do. Padmé didn't know the details of Force sensitivity testing, but she knew the end result: Force users were always killed.

How in the blazes had Obi-Wan and Siri survived? Did her _parents_ know? Was there anything else they'd hidden from her?

Who in the blazes could she trust anymore?!

Eventually Padmé's anger drained her so much she couldn't even stay angry anymore. She slowly reached back to her nightstand for the parts Vader had given her. Grabbing the data chip he'd provided she placed it in a pad and watched the instructions scroll across her screen. They read like a technical manual, but it was still relatively straightforward. Grabbing the pieces of machinery she spread everything out in front of her on the bed. Sorting through the different objects was like solving a puzzle, and it gave her something to do with what little adrenaline was left in her system. As she read the manual and started piecing together the hilt her mind wandered back to Vader. What was she going to do when he got back? He told her to train while he was gone, and she'd said they'd be totally honest with each other upon his return. How in the blazes was she going to pull that off now? She couldn't exactly accuse him of doing similar considering he was doing it under Palpatine's orders, and she'd already lied to him about switching loyalties. What a mess. How in the blazes was she going to sort this out? She hoped she had a few days to get her head on straight before he got back.

Sighing, Padmé glanced at her progress and noted that she still had a long way to go. Putting everything back in the box she finally felt exhaustion overcome her and she collapsed against the pillows, dreading tomorrow. Well, almost dreading it; at least lunch would be normal… maybe even a good escape from the rest of her chaotic life.

* * *

Tarkin stood calmly as he watched the Red Guard drag the body of the chief of police from the throne room. Palpatine had been less than pleased that they hadn't found Organa or any suspects since a prison breakout that had occurred last night. As Tarkin observed the removal of the body he thought dully that at least he wouldn't have to worry about making amends with the chief after they'd exchanged less than polite words at the party for the Festival of the Stars.

Honestly it was slightly annoying that Organa had broken out, but it wasn't particularly Tarkin's concern at the moment. The Jedi and Amidala were his biggest problems, and Vader was already handling one of those; in fact, Tarkin had inquired about the mission and the last known report was that Death Squadron had found and engaged the Jedi fleet. He was planning on going to Intelligence for an update later this morning. In the meantime he'd been busy making plans for Vader's return; with Palpatine's permission he was now going to be giving the boy political training. He'd use Amidala as the test subject. The results would most certainly be interesting, especially if Vader told the woman that Tarkin knew of their secret. He couldn't wait to see how he could manipulate her.

Smiling to himself, the grand moff wandered off to the hangar to meet with his spy. He had a lot of information to collect before the young Sith's return.

* * *

Obi-Wan had been walking eggshells around Siri all morning and it was beginning to grate on her nerves. They'd barely slept since yesterday, but they'd also barely spoken; neither knew what to say to the other or how to cope with the situation. The discovery that was she was pregnant had floored Siri; it was wonderful news, but it was also _terrifying_ news – she suspected most parents felt a healthy amount of nervousness about becoming parents, but she was fairly certain most didn't have to worry about their child potentially being killed before it ever had a chance of being born.

Sighing, Siri once again shot Obi-Wan a glare as he picked something up for her. The last thing they needed was to attract attention to the problem, which was exactly what would happen if he continued to watch her like some terrified kiimke waiting for something to happen to its young.

"Don't you have something you should be doing?" she whispered to give him a relatively obvious hint to leave her alone. She had a kriffing preppy handmaiden to train and he had paperwork. They wouldn't be seeing much of each other until lunch when they'd meet up with Al.

_Al_.

Would he even be there? He had to smuggle Bail off-world, right? If he was there, though, he would be the biggest miracle worker in the galaxy – he could get Kelathik serum for Siri. Thank heaven Obi-Wan had found out about that stuff on Nar Shaddaa – maybe if Al found that agent who'd bought some they could even ensure the Empire would stay out of their way from both sides of the issue.

Siri glanced at Padmé as these thoughts went through her mind and then she was coldly reminded of the _other_ problem that had been plaguing her. Padmé had done a lot of stupid things in her life, but never had Siri pegged her as being even more emotionally reckless than herself. Siri had been called the loose cannon during her time in the RRM because she'd constantly been looking for attention; growing up in a foster home had made her feel left out and she'd been quite insistent on making people know she was there and that she mattered. After she'd settled with Obi-Wan he more than satisfied that desire, but before they'd gotten together she'd been the biggest emotional train wreck the Naberrie clan had met. What in the blazes made Padmé beat her in that department? How the blazes had Darth Vader managed to dupe her? Was he that good at manipulating people? Siri hadn't gotten the impression that was the case when they'd had dinner several weeks ago (how long had it been? Three weeks?). He'd been blunt, unnerving, and _obvious_ – how had Padmé fallen for him? What had happened on Naboo? Obviously they couldn't talk about it here, but Siri would definitely find time to talk to her.

"Lady Naberrie?"

Siri turned to see the new handmaiden, Lek Ieru, smiling a little sheepishly. "Yes?"

"I'm afraid I don't know where this data chip goes. It's locked so I can't access it to see the recipient."

Siri glanced at the data pad. When she activated the chip there was an insignia just above the code access; it was Organa's seal. The data chip must have been for Padmé or Obi-Wan but had been detracted when the senator had been arrested. Smiling at the handmaiden, Siri said, "Don't worry about it; I'll handle it."

Ieru nodded with an understanding look and walked away. Siri sighed, leaning against the wall; at least the woman understood discretion. With that attitude she'd go far in this despicable line of work.

Briefly looking at the data pad once more, Siri headed towards Padmé's office and plopped it on her desk. The senate was in session at the moment, but she had little desire to sit in the pod provided for her sector and listen to the useless chatter – it wasn't like the senate could actually accomplish anything, anyway. Besides, she had busywork to do; if anything it would keep her mind off the millions of other problems she was mulling over.

By the time the morning session ended Siri didn't feel much better, but the possibility of talking to Al made her hurry to her husband. She figured she should also confront Padmé, but she was a little more concerned with the baby. Obi-Wan and Siri did their best to act calm as they left and went to their usual lunch spot. They sat and remained silent for a few moments as the waitress brought them drinks. The two occasionally glanced around expectantly, waiting for Al. Siri hoped everything had gone smoothly last night – as much as she didn't like Padmé working with strangers, she was still pretty happy it had happened. At least _something_ had gone right. Obi-Wan did have a valid concern, though – this Éothen person, along with two other strangers, knew of Padmé's involvement in the matter. Siri had no doubt Al would try to protect Padmé, but she wasn't sure how much he could actually do.

"You think everything's okay?" she asked softly.

Obi-Wan sighed, and Siri grew even more nervous. Were those her own nerves or was she feeling Obi-Wan's? Now that she was fairly certain she was Force sensitive everything made her jump as if she wasn't sure what emotions were her own and what were others'. It was no wonder Obi-Wan hadn't had a nervous breakdown yet if this was what he'd been enduring since Salkende.

Changing the subject for the sake of her sanity, she brought up another point that had been bothering her. "Why didn't you tell me about Padmé?"

"I said why before you even knew the issue."

"You thought I would make it worse?" Siri recalled his argument, crossing her arms irritably. "I don't see how it _could_ be worse. What are we going to do?"

"I don't know." He shook his head. "I wish we could just get off Imperial Center. That would at least be a start. It would certainly be the healthiest option for all of us."

Siri had to laugh at that. It was indeed amazing how toxic this planet was for them.

"Hello lovebirds."

Jumping, Siri and Obi-Wan both turned sharply to see Al pulling up a chair. Immense relief flooded Siri and she snatched him into a hug. Al seemed startled by the maneuver but he returned the gesture happily.

"Now see, _that's_ a warm welcome," he said pointedly to Obi-Wan. "None of this _we weren't expecting you_ rudeness."

Obi-Wan, who looked similarly relieved, laughed. "You'll have to forgive me, Al. I've forever wronged you."

"Exactly," Al nodded curtly with false annoyance. Then he smiled brightly. "So how are you two?"

Obi-Wan and Siri's smiles quickly faded.

Al's did too. "What's the matter?"

Neither said anything initially, but Obi-Wan eventually found civil words to describe the situation. "We've… had a lot going on over the past twenty-four hours. I assume you're already quite aware of some of it."

Al shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I might be."

"What happened last night?" Siri leaned in, asking her friend softly so they weren't overheard. "All we know is the end result."

"From what I could tell things were… a little rough, but they managed." Al replied. "The team was competent, so I think they'll get through without trouble."

"What do you think of her partners?" Obi-Wan immediately questioned, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Al took a deep breath. "Careful. Quiet. Understated. Relatively well organized, though for SpecForces I figured maybe they could get the job done a little cleaner. Still, from what I understand they didn't have much time to plan, so I guess it is what it is."

"Cleaner?" Siri repeated nervously. "What happened?"

"Alarm went off a little early," Al answered. "But like I said, they managed. I can't deny they can improvise in a tough situation. My money pouch sure is lighter, though."

"We can refill it," Siri said, taking this as a good segue into the biggest problem in her mind. However, as soon as she was about to continue, something made her feel uneasy. The hair on the back of her neck stood up and she glanced around. Obi-Wan seemed similarly bothered, but neither could pinpoint what was wrong. Al gazed at them confusedly.

"What is it?" he asked.

Siri shook her head, unsure, until her eyes settled on a familiar face. What was Ieru doing here? This restaurant wasn't really affordable on a fresh college graduate's salary.

"We'll tell you later," Obi-Wan whispered, glancing at his menu to look calm. "Can you meet this evening after the session?"

Al stretched and smiled, looking like he was getting ready to leave. "Yeah, sure. I've got more to tell you, anyway… like about some sage guy who's coming into town. Usual spot? I could really go for some good juri juice."

"I'll have to pass on the alcohol," Siri sighed, suddenly realizing that she'd have to give up that beautiful luxury for quite a while.

"If you can, we'll be needing a different concoction," Obi-Wan said softly. "Do you think you can get your hands on some Kelathik serum anytime soon?"

Al's smile faltered a little, and his eyes widened slightly. He caught their meaning well and clear. Letting out a small whimper through his strained smile, he actually looked rather amusing for a moment before he quickly cleared his throat and sobered. "Yeah, sure, I'll see what I can do. Anything for an old friend. See you then!"

Giving an extravagant wave he skipped away, seemingly merry as ever. Siri felt a little lighter as if some stress had been taken off her, but she still didn't like feeling… _watched_. She gave Obi-Wan a brief smile to act casual, but as she grabbed her water she asked, "Do you sense it?"

_Sense_ it. Blast, she was already talking like she was a kriffing Jedi.

"Yes," Obi-Wan replied softly, stroking his chin as he looked intently at the menu. "You don't think Padmé was followed somehow from last night, do you?"

"I don't see how." Siri shook her head. "Besides, there'd be no reason to tail us."

"We don't even know if it's a tail. It's just that something's wrong."

Siri blew out an irritated breath. "Well it ruined our meeting, in either case."

"It's fine," Obi-Wan reassured her as the waitress approached. "We'll find out what we need to tonight."

* * *

Padmé sifted blindly through some information on her data pad before gazing out the window. She still didn't know what she was going to do about Vader, and she hadn't heard anything from Al, so she wasn't sure if Bail was off-world or not, and she hadn't spoken to Obi-Wan and Siri since yesterday; the flight to the senate building had been spent in tense silence, though she was fairly certain it was mainly due to their own concerns over the baby rather than her. She had so much stress on her she wished she could just sleep the day away, but if she did so it would accomplish nothing and make her even more anxious.

How was it possible that two days after her supposed vacation had ended she felt like she already needed another one?

A knock at the door caught her attention and she answered it. Cordé was waiting on the other side.

"Yes?" Padmé prompted.

Cordé offered an apologetic nod. "Sorry to interrupt, milady, but a man from the Tsograda Sector says he has a lunch appointment with you."

Padmé was momentarily surprised but then she quickly remembered the invitation for lunch. Smiling, she figured she could at least use the opportunity to just stop thinking about everything for a little while – it was probably best for her health and sanity, anyway. Besides, she had plenty of questions for Éothen, anyway.

"Tell him I'll be right there," she said.

Cordé nodded but paused. "Milady?"

Padmé knew that look. Cordé had been her handmaiden since she had begun her term as senator, and though she wasn't as close to Cordé as she had been to Sabé, the two had still become relatively good friends. Cordé was being sly and curious, and Padmé figured she knew what was going through the handmaiden's mind. "I just met him, Cordé. Don't get _too_ excited."

Cordé let out a soft laugh. "Milady, you could definitely use the break. Just some friendly advice."

Padmé grew a little worried. "Is it that obvious?" She didn't need the Imperials noticing anything was wrong.

Cordé shrugged. "You look haggard, milady. Just enjoy your date."

Before Padmé could protest that it wasn't a date, the handmaiden had closed the door on her. _Cheeky._

Sighing she pushed her mild irritation aside and allowed herself to laugh. To think that Cordé was assuming she was doing something as normal as having a nice date with a handsome man was… charming. Maybe if she lied to herself she'd believe it too. Maybe.

Organizing her desk a little, Padmé exited her office and walked into the foyer. Éothen was there waiting for her, wearing dark brown trousers, leather boots, and a thick deep blue tunic that almost reached his knees. The collar was high and had a little fur on it, and some embroidery decorated the edge of the sleeves. His left arm was back in a sling. He bowed in acknowledgement. "Senator."

Padmé smiled. "Good morning. How's your arm?"

Éothen shrugged, reciprocating her smile. "Well enough. I trust you slept well?"

"Heavily, to be sure," she admitted with a laugh. "I was surprisingly tired."

"I can't imagine," he replied cheerfully and offered his right arm. Then he paused. "Wait. Cultural customs are different here, aren't they?"

Padmé chuckled at his naïveté, and she shrugged, approaching him. "Yes, but I don't mind. Imperial Center is such a cold planet – I prefer my own home culture."

Éothen paused briefly and then offered his arm. "Then shall we?"

"You know Naboo culture?" she asked just as she wrapped her arm around his.

"My father is from Naboo," Éothen admitted. "It's part of the reason you caught my interest."

Padmé raised her eyebrows, surprised. "The warlord's husband is from Naboo?"

"Circumstances were… different when they met." He answered. "He loves doting over the planet, though. I think I could probably describe all of Theed to you even though I've never been there."

"So he grew up in Theed?"

Éothen nodded. "What about your parents?"

"My father teaches part-time at Theed University," Padmé answered. "My mother helps with the Refugee Relief Movement."

"The RRM, right?" Éothen latched onto the subject. "My father talked about that. He said he joined it for a rotation when he was fourteen."

Padmé guided Éothen towards her usual lunch spot as he briefly talked about some adventures his father had experienced. She enjoyed listening to his soft voice, but as she finally saw the small restaurant, her mind immediately returned to Darth Vader. The last time she'd been in this restaurant had been with him. They'd barely known each other. Sometimes it still felt like she barely knew him, but she supposed the true issue was that she didn't know his _past_. She basically knew _him_ at this point – his point of view of himself and his life motivation was pretty blasted straightforward, after all.

Éothen seemed to notice her change in attitude. "Is something wrong, milady?"

Padmé blinked quickly and shook her head. Blast it all, why couldn't she just enjoy the moment? "No, just… remembering something. Please continue."

Éothen paused and faced her fully. "We can go back if there's something you have to do."

Padmé smiled at his kindness. "It's fine, really. I just… have a lot going on in my life right now."

That was the understatement of the _millennium_.

"Sounds like you don't get to relax much," he remarked, resuming their walk towards the restaurant.

Padmé sighed. "Not really."

"Weren't you just on vacation?"

Padmé laughed mirthlessly. "Yes."

Éothen attempted to offer a reassuring smile. "Whenever we get anxious back home we often sing – heaven knows there are plenty of songs to choose from."

Padmé giggled at the thought of a group of SpecForces soldiers randomly bursting into song. Éothen seemed spurred on by her amusement, and he said, "One of my favorites is _Ké Varg_. It's about—well, here, let me just sing it."

Padmé raised an eyebrow questioningly, wondering if he was actually going to do so. Éothen didn't notice, but he was most certainly true to his word. He began belting out a song in his native tongue, making half the inhabitants in the Pampered Palette jump and look at him, affronted. Although most of the clientele here consisted of aides and clerks, they all still held their employers' sensibilities and stiff Coruscanti manners. Each planet had their own sets of cultural customs, and even different ones within the world, but if there was one very important rule in upper Imperial Center society, it was that one did _not_ make a raucous in public. Padmé was fairly certain singing as loudly as possible fell in that category.

She did her best to listen to him without being too distracted by the baleful looks, but eventually she started glaring back at the customers. Éothen could care less. Padmé suddenly mirrored him and just stopped bothering with the other customers altogether. Éothen's voice when he spoke was a baritone, but when he sang it was a deep resounding bass. The tune was somber and nostalgic all at once, and even though Padmé had never heard it before she felt immediately immersed in some ancient history as if she knew the entire story. When he finished singing the restaurant was unusually quiet since everyone had stopped what they were doing to either stare or turn up their noses, but everyone quickly resumed their previous conversations and the chatter filled the air with a soft buzz.

"That was beautiful," she remarked with a soft smile.

Éothen tipped his head in thanks. "One of my favorite stories."

"What's it about?" she asked curiously.

Éothen paused, briefly confused, and then his orange-brown cheeks darkened in a blush of embarrassment. "Right. Sorry. I, uh…"

Padmé furrowed her brow and then understood with a laugh. "No, I don't speak your language, sorry."

"It's a stupid assumption," Éothen replied sheepishly. "I've never been off Salkende, so I get a little… airheaded sometimes."

"You've never been off Salkende?" she repeated, surprised. Traveling to other planets always was a pretty dramatic experience for those who weren't on the move as often as herself, but to have never visited any place but home and then to suddenly be on Imperial Center was quite the culture shock. Éothen was handling himself awfully well – she didn't know much about Salkende but she was fairly certain it wasn't a planet-wide city, so she would have expected him to be in awe or nervous or _something_. For heaven's sake, she'd been asking _him_ where they were when he took her to that cantina yesterday.

Éothen shrugged. "I've been… busy back home."

Padmé glanced briefly at his arm and then looked him in the eye once more. "How long have you been fighting? How long has that war been going on?"

"The war started about twenty years ago," Éothen answered. "That's… almost as long as I've been fighting."

What? "How old are you?"

"Twenty-one," he said nonchalantly.

"When did you start fighting?" Padmé asked, surprised and concerned.

Éothen, paused, considering it. "Hm… about… well, I guess it depends…"

"Depends on what?"

"What you consider fighting."

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"I was responsible for defending the camp and the younger ones when I was eight," Éothen explained briefly. "Alongside my brethren, of course. By the time I was about thirteen I hit the battlefield. I wasn't put in SpecForces until a couple of years ago. Just got the commander's position and formed my own squad a month ago."

Padmé marveled at how she always managed to find the guys who never had a childhood. First Vader, now Éothen. Though honestly, she supposed some would say she didn't have much of a childhood either, but apart from her time with the RRM and the Junior Legislative League she had a perfectly normal and happy childhood with a loving family and secure, safe home environment. Sure, she'd become governor of Theed when she was thirteen and had ruled the planet when she was fourteen, but at least she'd been a kid until she was _twelve_. These people, though… one was raised on the principle that he was nothing but a means to an end and the other was raised to be a soldier.

By heaven, Padmé was going to drag both Éothen and Vader to Naboo and just keep them segregated from the rest of the galaxy until they had _some_ time to be normal, sane people.

Blast it she missed Vader.

"What about you?"

Padmé jumped and glanced at Éothen. Just hearing someone ask about her own past was astonishing at this point – she'd gotten so used to Vader knowing everything through Intelligence. This was actually kind of _nice_. "I… I learned some combat training when I became queen. I was fourteen."

Éothen's face immediately lit up. "You know combat training?"

Okay, so not only did she attract men with seriously screwed up childhoods, but also men who loved to fight _way_ too much, even if they were for very different reasons.

"Just a bit," she reminded him with a smile. She thought briefly about her training with Vader, but she pushed the memories out of her mind. She just wanted to enjoy the moment. "But I still can't believe that you've never been off Salkende. You're taking this awfully well, considering everything you've done since you got here."

Éothen shrugged. "Salkende doesn't have any cities like this, obviously, but I've seen the holos. It's a little claustrophobic here, and I hate the smell, but it's manageable. At least it's temporary."

"What's it like on Salkende?" she asked, leaning back in her seat as the waiter brought them drinks.

"I can't speak for the entire planet, obviously," Éothen began with a slightly smile. "I've mostly seen Maa and Jord; they're only two out of our four continents. Jord's closest to the ice cap, so it's always pretty chilly and the winters are brutal, but they're beautiful too. Maa is milder, and it's got these massive mountains that are the biggest pain to scale and not the best place for battles, but they're still nice. The cities aren't normally too big – more spread out than anything. The architecture's homier in my opinion, and we don't use as many synthetic materials."

Padmé's gaze drifted away as she imagined the place. It sounded harsher than Naboo but still nicer than Imperial Center – honestly, _anything_ was nicer than Imperial Center. She smiled dreamily, wishing she could be there, or home, or anywhere but this planet. Then she registered something he'd said. "Wait, not the best place for a battle? So you fought in the mountains?"

Éothen inclined his head. "My clan lived on Maa when they started the war."

Padmé blanched. "Your clan _started_ the war?"

"Yes," he replied simply. "They had many alliances to other lesser clans and wanted to take over."

Padmé felt her insides churn a little. Éothen couldn't help what had happened or how the war had started, so she wasn't too uncomfortable around him, but she thought about his mother, the woman they were trying to get _help_ from, and she suddenly shuddered. Did they really want help from someone who was making power plays at home? "Why did your mother do that? What was the point in starting a war?"

Éothen grew confused. "My mother?"

"She _is_ the warlord, isn't she? Doesn't that mean she's the head of your clan?"

Éothen's eyes widened slightly in realization. "Oh—my mother wasn't originally the head of the clan. My clan used to be a lot bigger. The war killed all of them."

_Stang_. In a heartbeat she was filled with embarrassment and guilt. "I… I'm sorry, I—I didn't mean—"

"It's okay," he interrupted her stammering gently. "I won't blame you for not knowing any better."

Padmé marveled at how easygoing he was considering his upbringing. He seemed so much more at ease than the other times she'd interacted with him. Thinking about that brought up an important question, though, one she'd been planning on asking. "If you don't mind me asking, why did you help me yesterday?"

Éothen blinked a few times, formulating an answer after she abruptly changed the subject. "Your friend was doing the right thing. He didn't deserve to endure what was happening to him."

Padmé smiled. "Thank you."

The two sat in content silence for a little while as their food finally arrived. Éothen glanced briefly at it as if he didn't recognize some of the items on the plate, but he eventually started to eat. Padmé garnered some mild amusement from his behavior; he reminded her of a more innocent Vader.

_Blast it, stop thinking about him._

"How long are you staying on Imperial Center?" she asked conversationally as they ate.

"Not much longer, I should think," Éothen answered. "My mother sent me here to recover."

Éothen could have easily recovered back home. From what Siri and Obi-Wan had told Padmé, the capital city of Fjesky wasn't exactly a warzone. It was far more likely that the warlord sent her son here to just get away from the war.

"What about your friend, Erwyna?" she prompted. "If she's your second-in-command, shouldn't she be leading your squad while you're gone?"

"My squad is on temporary leave," Éothen explained. "The war's slowing to a halt. We've almost won. It's why I don't understand why we can't just help your people already; it's not like we have much to worry about anymore."

Padmé considered his words and gave him a confused and concerned look. She wanted their help, and she knew the Alliance desperately _needed_ their help, but Obi-Wan, Siri, and even Éothen himself had painted a pretty grim picture. "What about your clan?"

Éothen paused and sighed. "It's… complicated. Before the war, my mother was so inconspicuous in the clan she didn't even live on Salkende – she captained a freighter, and when the Clone War started she smuggled to planets under siege. She met my father while she was doing that. When the war started up, she was called home to help the clan. The war… tore us apart. If it weren't for the alliances we had to other clans we would have lost. Most of the other lesser clans were hit pretty hard as well, but when the Bidra Clan—Tlenden's clan—joined in we finally got the upper hand. Since my mother was the eldest survivor of my own clan, the Ønske, she became the de facto leader, and since our clan had declared the war, she will be the warlord once the fighting stops. But… she's too old to have more children, and I'm her only youngling. It's my responsibility to keep the line going. I figure part of the reason she sent me out here was so Tlenden and I could talk about getting a mate when I return home."

Padmé couldn't imagine what it would be like to have such a large family and then to watch them all die in a war. She felt immensely sorry for Éothen, particularly with the burden and responsibility he now carried. She also felt her heart sink at another realization. "That's going to be your mother's priority when the war ends, isn't it?"

"Probably," he answered, suddenly looking tired. "We have to rebuild the clan. I know my mother cares for your cause, but…"

"The clan's more important." Padmé finished for him, dejected. She really did feel sorry for Éothen, but at the same time she was saddened and frustrated that he could do nothing to help her. "So even when the war's over, we'll just be an afterthought."

Éothen shrugged. "I could join, I suppose; then she'd be forced to help – if a member of the clan is involved in the fight, all of Ønske pitches in, which would mean the entire planet would do so… maybe even the sector. But…"

Padmé's hopes, which had skyrocketed as soon as he'd said that, dropped a little as he paused. "But what?"

He shook his head, looking out the window. "I can't do that to her. I can't do that to my family. I have to find a wife and settle down… I have to make sure the clan lives on."

So that was that. Even after their war finished, they wouldn't help. Padmé hadn't come to lunch with the expectation of convincing Salkende to aid the Rebels, but it still felt like a punch in the gut to realize this. Their last hope for supplies and reinforcements was gone.

Well, almost. There was that Jedi fleet that Obi-Wan and Siri had mentioned. Heaven willing, the fleet would be able to rendezvous with the Rebels and bolster their forces. Then maybe they could try to reestablish a base.

There was no point in pushing for Salkende to join anymore. So Padmé just dropped the subject and went for something entirely different. After all, it was actually kind of nice and relaxing to be with Éothen. "Well if you're leaving soon you should at least see the best Imperial Center has to offer."

Éothen's tiredness evaporated and he smiled softly. "I suppose. My father told me to go to the opera – it's where he took my mother on their first date. Well, a less expensive opera house than the ones here, at least… he said she slept the whole time and he enjoyed the show. I'm not sure which one I would be if I went."

Padmé laughed. Stars, it felt good to laugh. "Let's find out, then."

Éothen's eyebrows rose a little. "You want to go to the opera with me?"

"Why not?" she shrugged with a genuine smile.

Éothen barked a laugh. "Yeah, you're right. But I don't know any operas here… or the venues…"

"I do," she said. "There's a showing of_ Cemran_ tomorrow night. Care to go?"

"I'd be honored, milady," he bowed his head.

* * *

The conclusion of lunch brought an entirely new wave of anxiety. Siri barely paid any attention to the new handmaiden and instead hovered close to Obi-Wan, looking for any sign of someone following him or her. She didn't like the feeling she'd had when they were speaking with Al. Eventually it seemed to fade, or at least it became less pressing in her mind when the afternoon session came to a close. Padmé returned to her office and Siri immediately closed the door so they could talk in private.

"I'm really busy, Siri," Padmé immediately said, knowing what Siri wanted. "Can we save it for later?"

"I don't have a _later_ right now," Siri remarked, walking towards her sister-in-law. "Look, I'm not trying to pick a fight; I just want to know what the blazes is going on."

"You already _know_ what's going on."

Siri rolled her eyes. "So tell me _why_ it's going on."

Padmé grew annoyed. "You first."

"What?"

"Why didn't you two tell me about your…" Padmé gestured to her. "Gifts?"

Siri sighed. "Obi didn't want to worry you. And I only just found about myself _yesterday_."

"Including the baby?"

"Yes."

Padmé's gaze drifted elsewhere. She still looked frustrated and worried. Siri was too – after finding out that Padmé was… she shuddered. She couldn't even _fathom_ how that had happened. Padmé said it was over, but the fact that it happened it at all scared her. "Padmé, what _happened_ on Naboo? How did he trick you? What did he do to you?"

Padmé sighed heavily and sat down. "It's a long story, Siri. It's just… a long story."

Siri was tired and stressed, but she had to press on. She stood straighter and gathered what little strength she had so she could get to the bottom of this, but then she saw that Padmé looked equally exhausted. Siri's heart screamed out that she should ensure the matter was closed, that Vader could never hurt Padmé, but her mind said to wait; they were both fatigued from the chaos of the past few days. She felt her chest tighten as she held her anxiety back. Instead of pushing the matter, she looked at her feet and took several deep breaths and tried to ignore the migraine quickly forming in her head. Padmé had said it was over. She hadn't seen or heard anything about Vader anyway, so they were clear of him for a while, she hoped. She'd have to look into where he was to ensure that really _was_ the case. She took another step towards Padmé and changed the subject. "Al's back in town."

Padmé immediately locked eyes with her. "Is everything okay?"

"Seems to be," she replied cryptically; Al never specifically mentioned Bail Organa, but considering he was wandering around calmly she assumed the trip to the Rebels was smooth.

Padmé leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes and blowing out a breath of relief. "At least _something_ went right."

Siri snorted. "You're telling me. But what about the other people you were with?"

"It's fine, Siri," Padmé practically moaned. "Please, just trust me."

_Trust_ her? She couldn't trust Padmé after what she'd learned. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she replied. "One of them didn't know who I was, and the other two are fine. I even met with Éothen for lunch."

Siri blanched. "You did what?"

"Nothing bad happened," she waved her hand dismissively, growing even more tired. "It was actually nice."

Siri _really_ needed to investigate Éothen and his crew more. For Padmé's sake, though, she finally let the matter settle. "Well... I'm glad you had a good time. Please, Padmé, know that we're just worried about you, okay? I'm not _trying_ to be a murglak."

Padmé gave a small smile, her eyes softening a bit. "I know. You're still a bit of a murglak, though."

Siri rolled her eyes. "I only said I wasn't _trying_ to be one, not that I'm not _actually_ one."

The tension in the room eased a little and then Siri felt Obi-Wan approaching. She gave one last glance to Padmé. She seemed relieved over the news about Al and the change of subject, but still preoccupied with a million other thoughts. She was probably thinking about how the Alliance was going to survive – honestly, they were _all_ thinking about that.

Siri made a mental note to arrange for dinner at one of the calmer, quieter restaurants on Imperial Center; heaven knew they all needed a break.

The door hissed as Obi-Wan entered. He immediately looked at Siri, then Padmé. "Everything all right in here?"

"Fine," Siri immediately answered. "You ready to go?"

Obi-Wan watched his sister for a while and Siri glanced at her briefly. She was watching them curiously.

"We're meeting up with him again," Siri explained quickly. "Things were interrupted at lunch."

Padmé stood. "Is everything okay?"

"Just making arrangements," Obi-Wan replied and he stood straighter in the doorway, motioning to Siri that they should leave. They had a lot of ground to cover to get to their usual meeting spot, and they had to take an extremely roundabout way to do so through tons of traffic. It was likely they wouldn't get home until after Padmé went to bed. "We'll be out for a while; I'll explain later."

Padmé sighed and sat once more, nodding. "Be safe."

Siri flashed a reassuring smile. "Always."

The two left her office and remained silent until they exited the senate building. Then Obi-Wan immediately asked, "How is she?"

"Stressed," Siri noted, crossing her arms. "You could have asked her yourself."

"We didn't exactly end last night on good terms," he remarked, shaking his head. "I confess I don't really have the energy to resolve that at the moment."

"You aren't the only one," Siri muttered.

"You seemed awfully calm with her, actually. You're not bothered by what she said last night?"

Siri tossed out a halfhearted response. "She said it was over. Besides, Vader's not around for now."

Obi-Wan was silent.

Siri looked at him suspiciously and her migraine compounded. "You think she was lying?"

"I think she's emotional," he replied slowly. "If she's… foolish enough to fall for him I don't think she'll lose that spark so quickly."

"He _killed_ Mothma." Siri pointed out, trying to reason with herself as much as she was with Obi-Wan. She still couldn't fathom how Padmé could have been so badly fooled, how she could make such an _obvious_ mistake. She'd been lonely and desperate on Naboo. That was all.

That was _all_.

"Siri, stop lying to yourself," Obi-Wan sighed, his gaze clouded. "We both know it isn't over yet."

Siri furrowed her brow and looked away worriedly. The migraine grew worse, and her hand drifted to her abdomen. No… nothing was over yet. The nightmare was just beginning.

* * *

Tarkin sighed as he finally relaxed in his quarters in the palace. He'd been running around all day gathering information, and between that and sitting on the floor with Vader a couple of days ago his knees were killing him.

Intelligence reported positively on Death Squadron: the Jedi fleet had been destroyed, and the Jedi were dead. Darth Vader was returning home triumphant. Tarkin had no doubt the boy was far more stable now – the notion that he was no longer a failure to Palpatine would calm him immensely. Maybe then Tarkin could finally manipulate him – if the boy was too unstable Tarkin wouldn't be able to talk reason into him, but if he was too complacent he would be his usual emotionless self. Tarkin had a fairly distinct suspicion that Amidala would be the key to maintaining that balance.

Speaking of Amidala, she seemed to have been quite busy as of late as well. She wasn't on the Intelligence's watch list, but Tarkin's personal spy had been keeping a close eye on her. Apparently she'd been making contact with some person from Senator Tlenden's delegation. Whether this was political in nature or pertaining to the Rebels was beyond his knowledge at the moment, but he'd watch the development closely. He couldn't have the woman doing something too stupid unless he needed her to do so.

Oh he couldn't wait to start training Vader. Once the boy returned he would order the apprentice to bring Amidala to his office in the senate building. They would have a lovely discussion about her treachery and how she would do everything Tarkin ordered or he would have her killed. Not that Vader would be around to hear _that_ part, of course – Tarkin would preserve the boy's naïve heart for a little while. He'd let the woman's own disgusting nature speak for itself when the proper time came. In the meantime, though, he'd have her whisper all sorts of delightful notions into Vader's ear while Tarkin reinforced them through his teachings. He'd expose Palpatine as some sort of decrepit manipulator who really had no power compared to Tarkin and Vader – that ought to get the boy's attention. As a Sith, power was everything – if Palpatine showed weakness, that would be the end of him.

Tarkin smiled, leaning more into the comfortable cushioning of his chair. This was going to be most enjoyable. He had to be vigilant, though – he had no doubt that Palpatine was keeping a close eye on anyone who had enough power to challenge him. That was why he still needed some sort of Rebel threat. He had to ensure the Alliance didn't get _completely_ wiped out – if they did he'd have to conjure up some new threat to keep the emperor's resources busy. The Jedi were no longer an option, but with Organa out of prison the Alliance might cause a bit of mayhem. Palpatine would certainly be looking for the culprit for a while, and that would be enough of a distraction for now.

There was a knock at the door, and Tarkin waved his hand lazily as if the person on the other end could see him. Sighing, he said, "Enter."

He heard the gentle hiss of his door opening and closing and the soft sound of small feet on the carpet in the foyer. "Grand Moff."

He recognized the voice. It was his spy. "Report."

"Senator Amidala spent the senate session in her usual manner, sir. No suspicious activity. She accompanied one of Senator Tlenden's entourage for lunch."

"Have you figured out who he is?" Tarkin asked, not bothering to look at the spy.

"Éothen of the Ønske Clan of Salkende. He is the son of the clan's leader, who will soon be warlord."

Interesting. What was she doing with someone of that stature? Was she trying to procure an allegiance from Salkende? The planet had been embroiled in its own issues – it cared little for galactic matters, though its sector's senator was quite vocal in his displeasure on certain subjects. "Anything interesting?"

"Casual conversation from what I could ascertain, governor."

"Very well," he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, mulling over everything. "Anything else to report?"

"The senator's handmaiden and one of the representatives, sir."

Tarkin's eyes opened abruptly. He recalled that Vader had mentioned one of Amidala's handmaidens was probably an information gatherer for her. "Which handmaiden?"

"Siri Naberrie."

_Naberrie._ The name sounded familiar. Wasn't that the surname of one of the Chommell Sector's representatives? "And the representative?"

"Obi-Wan Naberrie, sir."

Wait. There was something else. "Naberrie is Amidala's true surname, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

Suddenly it made perfect sense. Of _course_ she'd have her family in on the secret. They were no doubt assisting her in some manner. For all the Empire knew she had an entire operation on Imperial Center. "What about them?"

"They've met twice now with a Zabrak male. I couldn't overhear their conversations, but I ran the man through Intelligence's database and saw that there was a flag on him. Lord Vader had assigned him to be followed and the agent doing so was found dead."

Score. He'd found his next source for information. "Find him and bring him to me. Use discretion."

"Yes, sir."


	27. Out of Commission

**Hm, these updates are coming way faster than I expect, lol. Also, lately I've been obsessed with the Myers-Briggs personality test and I don't know why, but it's made me want to see what kind of personality types my characters are. What do you guys think?**

**Ahem, anyway, enjoy the chapter - its length ought to excite you at the least.**

* * *

Warmth enveloped him. He felt life surging through his veins, pulsating repeatedly. He heard whispers in his mind. He saw tendrils of decisions, of lives, form webs all around him. What was once a luminescent portrait, like dew drops on a silk web, was now a dingy and cold mass of mistakes, complications, and emotional turmoil. The Force was empty and frigid like a dead, barren forest in wintertime. But every winter came to an end, and spring would always triumphantly return.

The Light always won in the end.

Even in winter there was light; though the sun didn't shine for as long, and though the leaves were fallen from the trees, life continued. The Dark Side would try as hard as possible to beat life out of the galaxy, to suppress it in its cold embrace, but the galaxy would always fight back. And the Jedi would _always_ lead it in the battle.

The web around him shuddered. Bonds snapped with such intensity it was like being punched in the face.

Mace Windu opened his eyes. The Force cried out and grew colder. Bright lives were snuffed out. He got a headache.

Something happened to Kota.

As if on cue, his comlink chimed. Windu activated it, his brow furrowed in concern. "Windu."

"General, we received notification from Gen. Kota's fleet that Death Squadron had engaged them, but we've heard nothing from them since. Should we send out a signal?"

Mace felt the pit of his stomach grow cold as if the Darkness had seeped inside his own body. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, and once again wrapped the warmth of the Light Side around him. He wouldn't risk it; he couldn't let the Sith win. "No. We should return to Ghanu'jivo; the other Jedi must be protected."

"Yes, sir."

Mace sighed heavily as he put the comlink on the floor beside him. He felt the weight of Kota's and Marek's deaths press firmly upon him as if the Force had thrown a boulder at him. The universe around him shifted. He closed his eyes, focusing keenly. Their deaths were saddening and disheartening, but he wouldn't let it affect his decision; if the two had fallen, Mace had to ensure any information about the Jedi remained safe. He had no way of contacting the Alliance since the Jedi had remained distant from both Empire and Rebels alike for their own safety.

Taking a deep breath, Mace tried to figure out the new scheme of things. He had a special ability to detect crucial connections in the Force between people or their decisions; he called them shatter points. Everyone contributed to the web of life that he saw in his mind, but some had more strings attached; some affected the web more than others. The loss of Kota and his Padawan tore at the fabric of this web, but it was quickly reforming. Mace focused intently, letting the Force give him insight into what happened. He found the trace pieces that were left left, the small influences from the two lost Jedi. It was hazy, and the Dark Side was making it difficult to ascertain anything, but that in itself answered his question. It must have been Darth Vader.

That Sith apprentice was more dangerous than any of them had suspected. Even Mace had to admit he'd been a little too proud in thinking that an apprentice was a lesser job for a Jedi of lower rank. He hadn't thought himself above the task so much as he simply thought that he'd be needed elsewhere for more important matters while other capable Jedi handled the issue. Apparently he'd been wrong. They all had been wrong. He felt frustration fill him as he knew that mistake had cost those two their lives and the lives of their soldiers. Even after all these years, the Jedi were still too cocky.

_There is no emotion, there is peace._

Mace sighed, letting the mantra of the Code fill his mind. He had to calm down. He had to learn from the mistake, but he couldn't let it overpower him. He still needed to return to Ghanu'jivo where the other Jedi were hiding, but he couldn't leave the Rebels in such a dire situation; the entire reason they'd chosen _now_ to attack the Empire was because the Rebels were falling apart. Nevertheless, since they'd never made themselves known to anyone, they also had no means of contacting the Alliance.

Well, almost no means.

Grabbing his comlink once more, Mace entered an encrypted channel, one he hadn't used in several years. It was typically only reserved for emergencies; the recipient visited Ghanu'jivo enough that it wasn't necessary to use the comlink anyway.

He heard a distinct click as the person on the other end answered. The person was silent, but Mace expected it. "Kota and his Padawan are dead."

There was a pause, and then a heavy sigh was heard from the other person.

"Have you heard from Organa?" Mace asked, giving the person little time to mourn.

"He requested my help," the other person replied.

"With the Alliance's war effort?"

"No. He remembers the stipulations of our agreement. It's more of our traditional role."

Mace caught the meaning. "Protection? You're not going to Alderaan, are you?"

There was amusement in the other's tone. "A little closer to the Core than that."

Mace closed his eyes and rubbed his face harshly in an attempt to release his irritation. "And you're actually going?"

"It's necessary."

"While you're there, then, ascertain the Alliance's status. Get me in contact with Organa."

"Yes, Master."

The other person ended the connection and Mace sighed once more, leaning against the wall. This wasn't how they had planned it, but they'd have to make do. Kota and Marek would be honored and remembered back home and then they'd formulate a new strategy.

_Home_. He'd just called that moon _home_. Blast it he'd been in exile too long. Images of the Jedi Temple passed fleetingly through his mind, tempting him to fall into a brooding mood, but he firmly pushed them out. He'd had twenty-one years to mourn what had happened. It was no longer time to sit around and bemoan their situation. It was time to rectify it.

* * *

Qui-Gon Jinn gazed out at hyperspace musingly. The tall man was sitting cross legged mainly to avoid hitting his head on the low ceiling of the ship. He brushed some stray graying hair out of his face and pondered the situation in which the Force had placed him.

Master Windu's news explained the sudden tear in the Force that he'd sensed. Though it was difficult to tell anything about the galaxy these days due to the shroud of the Dark Side, every Jedi could still sense the loss of their own. He had no doubt the emperor had felt it as well – as soon as a Jedi became active their bright aura in the Force burned through anything. Kota and his Padawan were probably obvious to find for a Sith, but as Qui-Gon understood it, that had been the point; they'd wanted to attract the apprentice to them. It had been their task to eliminate him.

Qui-Gon reviewed information about the apprentice. He'd collected what little could be known about the Sith since he was told that the person he was to protect, Senator Padmé Amidala, was being watched by Darth Vader. He'd known about the apprentice long before this new assignment, but he figured he might be able to dig up more information. HoloNet was surprisingly devoid of anything useful, however, and Qui-Gon unfortunately had no connections to hack into Imperial Intelligence. From what he could ascertain, the Sith apprentice had first appeared in the public scene about nine years ago, and he had always been working with the military to quench any kind of uprisings. He was powerful, capable, ruthless, and efficient. And now that he'd killed Rahm and Galen, it was also apparent that he was quite adept at handling Force users. Qui-Gon wondered how he managed to get the training to fight Jedi so well; did Palpatine invest so much time in him? Why had Palpatine chosen Vader specifically? Where had Vader come from? Was he a lost Jedi initiate? His origins seemed like an insignificant matter, but they could be key to understanding him, especially if Qui-Gon were to run into him on Imperial Center. This mission would certainly be challenging, but it was also an irony; Palpatine had been the one to hide in plain sight for decades, and now it was Qui-Gon's turn.

All he knew was that Senator Organa had contacted him and told him that Senator Amidala was in danger. He'd told him to make contact with her upon his arrival. She supposedly would have important paperwork that would make him pass as some sort of aide so he could follow her in the senate building without raising suspicion. Qui-Gon had to confess that he didn't know much about Amidala before the assignment; his main priority had been on Imperial threats prior to this point and he therefore didn't concern himself much with the senate apart from those members who openly aided the Empire. When he did look up information on her, though, he took a distinct interest in her family.

A very long time ago, back in the day when black acrid smoke still billowed from the Jedi Temple, he'd heard the names Obi-Wan and Siri. They were Jedi hopefuls, younglings caught in the chaos and terror of the purges. Qui-Gon had helped them escape. He'd had to separate with them; Obi-Wan had gone with a smuggler who had been aiding them, while Siri had gone with Shaak Ti. Qui-Gon took several other younglings, but he never forgot any of their faces, especially Kenobi's. The boy had clung to him, crying, terrified. Qui-Gon had hated himself in the moment it took for him to tear the boy from himself and give him to the smuggler. He'd thought he'd never see the boy again.

How in the blazes had Kenobi and Tachi gotten so prominent? Did they know of their heritage? Were they trained? He doubted the last possibility; they would have gone to Ghanu'jivo and Shaak would have taken care of them. Besides, it would take serious discipline to hide their training right under Palpatine's nose. Qui-Gon was still wondering whether he himself would be able to accomplish the feat.

He had to prepare himself. Pushing all thoughts out of his mind, he immersed himself into the Force and awaited his arrival on Coruscant.

* * *

The cool night air made Obi-Wan shiver. He glanced at Siri worriedly and saw her trembling as well. Taking off his cloak, he wrapped it around her, garnering an irritated look.

"I'm not made of glass, you know," she said. "I won't just suddenly shatter on you."

"I know," Obi-Wan replied. Honestly, she was made of more durable material than he was… but he couldn't help but worry. It was just in his nature. Besides, despite her protest, she didn't offer the cloak back to him, so she was genuinely cold.

Bustling crowds jostled the two of them as they approached a cantina. Obi-Wan glanced around subtly to ensure for the millionth time that they weren't followed. Ever since lunch he'd been nervous, though he wouldn't admit it to Siri; she had enough concerns, and it was obvious she was doing the same, anyway.

By this point Obi-Wan had at least finally processed all the news he'd received over the past few days. Siri was Force sensitive. It made sense. It was a miracle that neither of them had been discovered, but after spending several days on Imperial Center fully aware of his ability, after standing right in front of _Darth Vader_ and realizing that he sensed nothing, Obi-Wan was finally starting to ease his concern over the matter. No, his and his wife's gift in the Force wouldn't be noticed. The baby, on the other hand… that was an entirely different matter. They wouldn't have prenatal checks for a very long time assuming the pregnancy began when Obi-Wan thought it had, so they at least had time, but that didn't account for much. Al was still looking for the agent who had ordered Kelathik serum for his own devices, and Obi-Wan wasn't even sure Al would be able to find the concoction on his own. He shouldn't doubt the man's abilities; Al was a brilliant smuggler. It was just that… lately everything that could possibly go wrong had been going wrong. He was expecting that to continue for a while.

Obi-Wan wasn't a particularly superstitious person, but sometimes the universe seemed to want to prove him wrong. If he really _did_ believe in luck, he'd say the Alliance had the _worst_ luck in the history of creation. But there was no such thing as luck, and any situation could be tipped in one direction or the other – after all, Organa had escaped in one piece and it seemed like the Empire had no trail to follow in that regard. Padmé was safe.

He should amend that thought. She was safe from _outside_ threats. She was still quite dangerous to herself at the moment.

Obi-Wan and Siri entered the cantina and sat in a booth. The Drunken Dewback Cantina was known as a cesspool of scum and villainy. Anyone who wanted a job or was offering one would be in the area. No one ever asked questions, and the place was the best kept secret on all of Imperial Center, so Imperials never bothered with it. Obi-Wan and Siri had often met Al and Kuna here.

_Kuna_. To think this had all started with that poor Rodian. Obi-Wan hoped his family was alright; he'd been so caught up in the repercussions of the man's death that he'd barely given any thought to those outside of the Alliance who were associated with him.

Kuna. Padmé. Vader. Siri. The baby. Al. Organa. Mothma. Dantooine. Yavin 4. Salkende. Everything had just fallen on them at once. Although he'd managed to sort everything out over the past few days, just looking at the bigger picture almost made his head spin. The room certainly did; he grew dizzy and closed his eyes, centering himself. He had to be the sturdy rock for everyone else at this point; he'd already come to the conclusion that Padmé had lost her senses and Siri would soon start to follow as her hormones got the best of her, though he was still more inclined to trust Siri than Padmé at this point. Nevertheless, Siri had quite the temper _without_ hormones, so he couldn't imagine that would improve as time passed.

"Hey lovebirds!"

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and saw Al approaching. Blast it, he'd _felt _Al approaching. Up to this point he'd only noticeably detected Siri through the Force. Had he always been able to sense Al? How many others could he sense? Could he use the Force to find Padmé?

It was probably best not to attempt that here.

"You owe us dinner," Siri immediately remarked with a small smile.

Al grew confused. "How's that?"

"When you made _us_ pay for _your_ lunch yesterday." She reminded him.

Al pouted. "But… I just… my money…"

Obi-Wan sighed. "We'll pay for dinner."

Siri grumbled under her breath, but she didn't argue. Heaven only knew how much Al had to pay to silence or enlist any partner who had aided in the prison break; Obi-Wan wasn't going to add to that.

Al sat across from them and handed drinks to them. Siri glanced at hers questioningly, but both she and Obi-Wan quickly deduced that it was water. Obi-Wan on the other hand, was given a Twi'lek Fizz, and he was more than happy to gulp down its contents. Even _he_ had his limits to the amount of stress he could bear, after all, and while he knew he had to be the one to care for everyone else, he also knew this would probably be his last chance to unwind for a long time.

"So," Al began dramatically, clapping his hands. "You want the good news or the better news?"

Obi-Wan and Siri immediately exchanged curious glances. _Good _news? "I'd almost forgotten there was such a thing."

"Our friend is safe and at home," Al immediately explained with an enormous grin. "Took kriffing forever to get in contact with his buddies, but we managed."

"Did they manage to move into their new home without a problem?"

Al tipped back and forth in an uncertain gesture. "Well, they're still house hunting, but no one's hounding them, at least."

Obi-Wan felt his gut clench a little but he pushed the anxiety aside. At least they were safe. He needed to count any tidbit of good news as a victory.

"Also, about that sage guy," Al continued, immediately catching Obi-Wan's attention. "Apparently our friend called some weird guru and he's coming tomorrow. Friend said that he left a care package for the guy with Padmé, but I'm not sure if it got to her in the craziness."

"There was an encrypted data chip from him," Siri offered. "That's probably it."

"Where is it?" Obi-Wan asked.

"I left it on Padmé's desk. She should have it now."

It almost seemed like things were turning in their favor, but Obi-Wan was far from ready to admit it.

"Any luck finding the agent?" Siri asked. "Or getting Kelathik serum?"

Al sighed, his chipper attitude diminishing somewhat. "I've got a lead on the guy, but I haven't laid eyes on him yet. I think I've narrowed his living space down to a sector, which is pretty good considering I had to scour an entire planet. As for Kelathik… it's a work in progress. My buddy on Nar Shaddaa is trying to find the dealer, but we're not having much luck in that department. It's okay, though – it's my top priority now, I promise."

Obi-Wan felt Siri tense beside him. He took a deep breath and another generous sip from his drink. With that Jedi protector coming things could potentially improve – the protector might know how to hide the child from the Empire.

Blast it. Would he have to explain Padmé's emotional situation to the protector? That wouldn't go well. Honestly, he still needed to talk to Padmé herself about it; his last few attempts hadn't really gone well, and… he would say it would be better to leave it alone as he normally did, but the more time she spent alone the _worse_ it seemed to get. He just couldn't fathom it. He understood that Padmé had such a gentle and caring nature that she always wanted to help people, but she was also an intelligent woman; she should be able to recognize Darth Vader as the obvious threat that he was.

Again he wondered what in the blazes had happened on Naboo. How did so much change in the course of two weeks?

Was Padmé actually _right_?

As Siri and Al started an animated conversation about his search for the agent, Obi-Wan settled further into his seat and contemplated the matter. What if Padmé _was_ right? Could Vader somehow be an asset? It didn't seem likely; in fact it seemed nearly ludicrous just to imagine. Obi-Wan knew that he was best at analyzing people's emotions and their decisions when he himself wasn't involved in the situation. He knew that since this involved Padmé and put her in such a dangerous situation, it was part of the reason he couldn't quite fathom what was happening. Her emotions seemed spastic, obtrusive, abrupt – he couldn't explain any of that.

His love for Siri had been steady, and he could see the logical progression as their relationship had evolved. He knew the catalyst had been their adventure with the first Rebel they'd ever met. He _understood_ Siri, her complexities, her simplicities, _everything_. But Padmé… he should be able to understand his younger sister, but he could never wrap his mind around her _fix it_ persona. Intellectually she knew she couldn't save everyone, yet she still had her pathetic life forms that she _had_ to help. It just… didn't make sense. This new charity case of hers, this _love_ of hers… he couldn't fathom it. He shouldn't be surprised – love was a difficult emotion to understand, and the expression _love is blind_ was _quite_ true in this instance, but… _but_…

Blast it, if Padmé could at least articulate _why_ this had happened it would be _something_. Perhaps what bothered Obi-Wan the most was that she refused to explain _why_ she felt the way she did. She wasn't foolish enough to simply fall for Vader's trap when he asked for her help – there had to be another reason. She'd said it was too private – why hadn't she just told him?

_I understand loving someone, Padmé_, he thought, as if he were having a conversation with her right now. _But not like this. Not him. Tell me _why_ it has to be _him_. What did he say or do that convinced you he's "not as bad as we thought"? Are your emotions simply getting in the way of logic? Or are you right?_

Obi-Wan sipped at his drink as Siri and Al continued to talk and he resolved to discuss the matter with Padmé tomorrow after the senate session. He _would_ make this right somehow.

* * *

The large room was cold, formal, and uninviting. The furniture was designed to look similar to familiar architecture, but it didn't quite capture its essence – it was still too _foreign_. The air freshener irritated his nostrils, but if he left the apartment the stink of chemically filtered "clean" air would only give him a headache. The chilly moisture made his arm ache.

Gazing out the enormous curved window of Senator Tlenden's apartment, Éothen marveled at the view. He'd seen gorgeous starry skies, but he'd never seen a city match it. Also, did these people ever _sleep_? The traffic was _still_ insane out there and there were only two hours left until midnight.

The typically harsh lighting of the room had been dimmed considerably, and light blue sconces bathed the room in a gentle glow. A holographic fire crackled in the background. Everything about Imperial Center was so pristine, but so very fake. It reflected its government quite well, honestly.

Éothen sighed heavily and leaned back into the sofa. A sharp sensation shot through his left arm, making him wince.

"Still bothering you, huh?"

Éothen glanced at Erwyna. She'd been staring at the holographic fire in silence for a few minutes while Tlenden paced at the window. He hadn't been very happy with either of them for their stunt last night, but Éothen had been quite adamant in defending his actions; it was _ludicrous_ that Tlenden did nothing active to aid the Rebels. He didn't even have to get _directly_ involved, for Mother's sake – he could just help _somehow_. He was far from the war back home – what else did he have to do, anyway? It wasn't like the senate was actually useful; to have a bunch of loud mouthed imbeciles in one room was beyond asinine.

He abruptly remembered that Erwyna had asked a question, and he just shrugged. That made his arm hurt again. Blast it.

"If you hadn't gone running off last night your arm would be almost healed by now," Tlenden remarked, sounding annoyed.

"I've been leaving it be since then," Éothen replied stubbornly. He rolled his eyes towards Erwyna, who smirked and returned her gaze to the hologram.

"Your mother sent you here to _rest_," Tlenden said notably.

"I always relax best when doing something I enjoy." Éothen smiled serenely at the senator. He shouldn't be irritating the man so much – Káern's decision to ally with Éothen's family had saved them. Still, Káern was a politician, and Éothen had very little patience for their sort, _especially_ if it was all they'd ever done. He supposed somebody had to do it, but that didn't mean he liked them for it.

Well, maybe except for Amidala. She was at least decent. Okay, fine, she was a lot more than decent, but that was beside the point at the moment.

"Éothen, stop playing around with me," Káern warned. He stopped pacing and walked around the sofa to face Éothen. "That was foolish and dangerous."

"So you stated _last_ night," Éothen pointed out a little tiredly. "I understand your concern, Káern, but—"

"But you don't regret your decision," he interrupted, crossing his arms and sighing. "How do you expect me to follow your mother's orders if you don't listen to me?"

"You never specifically said _don't break Organa out of prison_." Éothen smiled.

"I'll be sure to write a list of things you can and cannot do," Tlenden replied dully.

Erwyna continued to gaze at the hologram, but an amused smile crossed her face.

"I promise I won't cause any more trouble." Éothen said sincerely. "The immediate concern is handled."

"The immediate concern is _you_, not Senator Organa."

Éothen grew even more exhausted. He was a little tired of being everybody's immediately concern. Nevertheless, he didn't say anything; it was his duty to do this, and his family was far more important than just him.

But he'd most certainly voice his displeasure to Erwyna if Tlenden ever decided to _go to bed._

"So what's the plan, then?" he finally asked to move the conversation along.

"Have you heard of the Dalja Clan?"

Éothen wracked his memory for the name. "I think…?"

Káern looked exasperated. "You should know them – they're the second largest clan and they own a little less of Jord than my family."

Suddenly the name clicked. Éothen grew annoyed. "They're also the people who said they'd sit and _watch_ how things played out. They _still_ haven't done anything."

"If you marry the leader's daughter that would change things."

Éothen grew even more irritated. "I won't marry someone from that clan. They've done nothing to help us."

"Perhaps someone from one of Ønske's allies," Erwyna suggested softly, still gazing intently at the holographic fire.

As Tlenden prattled on about the importance of making good connections and how Éothen's marriage could be an apt opportunity to do so, Éothen found himself tuning the man out. If Káern wanted to make good connections, then he should realize that Éothen would only choose someone who would _benefit_ his clan – those who carried their own weight, who were willing to _fight_ for what they believed in. Eventually he moaned, rubbing his left arm dramatically. "Please, Káern, can we save this discussion for the morning?"

Tlenden's face immediately softened, and he sighed in resignation. "You can't keep pushing this off."

"I'm not," Éothen argued halfheartedly. Honestly he wasn't _trying_ to push it off – he hadn't been keen on coming to Imperial Center in the first place and was more than ready to take on the burden that had been handed to him. But he just wanted to get to the marrying part already – the planning and politics were beyond him. He was raised to be a warrior and a man of honor; as long as his wife understood that and was capable of handling the other matters, and as long as his parents thought she was suitable, he was more than happy to just say yes and be done with it.

"Far," Erwyna looked at Tlenden, addressing him respectfully by his status in his clan; she was a distant relative of his, after all. "I'm sure the commander will be more than happy to discuss the matter with you after the senate session tomorrow."

Éothen was about to agree when he recalled the opera he'd be invited to watch. Hm. Should he tell Tlenden about that?

Nah.

"Very well," Tlenden acquiesced to Erwyna. Then he walked over to Éothen and placed his hand on Éothen's head between his montrals. The sensation was odd, making his hollow montrals tingle with a soft buzz, but he knew it was just Káern trying to be reassuring. "Rest well, Perillinen."

At that the senator left. As soon as he went upstairs Éothen and Erwyna both burst into action, standing and talking at once in their more comfortable dialect of Iohtu.

"I thought he'd _never_ go to bed—"

"The _nerve_ of even _suggesting_ that worthless clan—"

"Is your arm really hurting?" Erwyna asked.

Éothen was about to shrug again when he remembered what the result was last time. Instead he waved his right hand. "A little, but it's not awful." Then he smiled slyly at her. "Will you massage me if I say it hurts more?"

Erwyna rolled her eyes. "Yeah, sure. Come closer and I'll throw you down the stairs. Will that work?"

"So violent, tsk, tsk," Éothen shook his head disapprovingly.

"Scared?"

"Petrified."

"So what was the deal with the senator, anyway?" Erwyna asked, sitting once more.

"What about her?"

Erwyna rolled her eyes. "You invited her to lunch, remember?"

Éothen barked out a laugh. "You heard me invite her? It's rude to eavesdrop."

"I figured you'd say _something_ stupid to her," Erwyna shrugged.

Éothen grew annoyed. "Stupid?"

"You boys all say the same dumb pick-up lines," Erwyna shook her head. "It's just sad. I've told you how to get a lady's attention, but you don't listen to me."

Éothen laughed a little. "It's not like that."

"Uh huh."

"It's _not_." He insisted. Honestly, it really wasn't – sure, the senator was _gorgeous_, and he wouldn't mind, but this wasn't another war torn town the army happened to be passing through. He couldn't just hook up with any old thankful loose young thing awaiting the soldiers. Besides, he was SpecForces now – they made an oath to dedicate their entire mind, body, and spirit to their work. The only reason Éothen was allowed to marry was because of his clan's dire circumstances.

But if he had the choice… well. It was complicated, that was all.

"So why'd you ask her to lunch, then?"

_That_ was a loaded question. "I don't know. She's pretty."

Erwyna laughed loudly. "Ah, the height of intelligence. You're living proof that men need women to ensure they don't kill themselves by their own stupidity."

"Care to demonstrate your womanly ways?" he flirted harmlessly, flashing a smile. This was typical for both of them; honestly, it was typical for _any_ soldier. It was just how they coped. They always had to put on a veneer of civility around those outside their circle; civilians just never understood things the way they did. They didn't _see_ the things Éothen and Erwyna saw.

"You couldn't handle me," Erwyna replied seductively and then pushed her previous agenda. "So you went to lunch with her 'cause she's pretty?"

"She looked stressed," he reasoned honestly. "I was too. We just broke somebody out of a prison."

"So how'd it go?"

"She was kind of out of it."

"Aw, you didn't catch her fancy?"

"Come on," Éothen chuckled. "No senator would dare look at a soldier _that_ way; Mother forbid the press catch wind of it. I just figured I'd cheer her up."

"And she's pretty."

"And she's pretty," he added innocently. "What, I've never seen a foreign woman before. Her Basic has a nice accent to it. She's got a nice voice. And _damn._ That body."

Erwyna sighed heavily. "Hopeless. Absolutely hopeless. What's your future wife going to do with you?"

Éothen eyed her suggestively and twitched his eyebrows.

"Yeah, I shouldn't have opened my mouth on that one," she laughed. "So that was it, then? Just lunch to cheer up a pretty foreigner?"

"She invited me to the opera," he said, suddenly growing a little confused. Sure, Amidala was a nice lady and easy on the eyes, but he hadn't expected her to take interest in him. He'd been sincere at lunch, but she was a politician; he knew she was only indulging him. Using him. He didn't care; it didn't affect his life back at home, and it was always nice to rant to a harmless stranger. Still, he'd be lying if he hadn't enjoyed himself. Even if she was faking, she at least made people feel nice while she did it. And who knew – maybe she _wasn't_ faking, and maybe she actually _did_ enjoy being around him like he did with her. But that wasn't likely – Éothen knew politicians were all the same. Even Káern. The only trustworthy people were the ones who'd actually been on the battlefield, who'd actually _experienced_ the repercussions of the decisions politicians made. The day a politician hit the battlefield would be the day he respected him or her, and while Amidala had shown she was capable of doing so, she hadn't taken the initiative for it – Éothen had offered and she'd accepted. Honor dictated he should offer, anyway. She was a step above the others, particularly since she came from Naboo, but that didn't make her at his level just yet. He'd definitely be willing to give her the chance to prove otherwise, though, but that chance wasn't likely to occur.

"The opera? Oooh, fancy." Erwyna swooned mockingly. "What are you going to wear?"

Éothen paused. Well, shavit. What _was_ he going to wear? "Would my formal uniform work?"

Erwyna shrugged. "Hell if I know. It's not like soldiers actually go anywhere like that. This place is for the delicate folk, not us. You should ask Tlenden."

Éothen shook his head violently. "Hell no, I'm not telling him."

Erwyna grew annoyed. "I assume that means I have to cover for you?"

Éothen dashed over to her and snatched her into a hug with his right arm. "I'll love you forever."

"I'm not doing it."

"I'll find hot men to give you massages."

"Maybe."

"And they won't be wearing anything."

"Deal."

Éothen chuckled. "We're going to a special hell when we die."

"It's inevitable." She agreed with a smile. "It'll probably be nicer than the one reserved for _these_ people, though."

She gestured around the area. Éothen added his silent agreement to her before he wandered towards the window. "I wonder what it's like living a constant haze of arrogance and ignorance," he thought aloud, looking outside.

Erwyna snickered.

"Seriously, though," Éothen pressed on, watching traffic go by. "Everybody here, they just live in their own little bubble. I bet you nobody in this apartment could tell you anything about people in the next building. Or the lower buildings. _Especially_ the lower buildings."

"To be fair, we don't really care for anything outside of Salkende."

"Yeah, but that's because we've got _real_ issues on Salkende." Éothen replied. "What issues do cloud dwellers have?"

"Getting thrown in jail, apparently."

"Yeah, and enlisting foreigners to help bust them out because they're incapable of doing it themselves."

"So why are you going to the opera if you think so little of her?"

"It's not _her_," Éothen shook his head. "It's just _all_ of them."

"You like her, don't you?"

Éothen pondered the matter. "Yeah, I guess. But that doesn't mean much here."

"So why's she taking you to the opera?"

"Publicity?" Éothen shrugged, and then winced again as his arm screamed in protest.

"I could come along as security. I'm sure there are handsome men out there who I can sing with."

Éothen snorted in an attempt to hide a laugh. "Steamy songs backstage, mm-mmm… can I watch?"

"Pff, like you haven't seen it before?"

"The setting's different," he offered with a smirk.

"I don't think your senator friend would approve."

Éothen sighed dramatically. "What am I going to do? I'll be bound to a chair and forced to watch bellowing people wearing so much makeup they could spontaneously combust."

Erwyna crossed her arms and watched him shrewdly. "You're going to fall asleep during the opera, aren't you?"

Éothen smiled sheepishly. "Probably."

* * *

Al watched his breath exit his mouth and form a cloud of mist in the thick, moist air. He'd left the Drunken Dewback about an hour ago and was prowling the streets in search of some sort of clue for the Intelligence agent. The sooner he found that guy, the sooner he could ensure Obi-Wan and Siri's youngling was safe.

Their _youngling._ Al couldn't believe it. Siri was _pregnant_.

It was silly to think that it wouldn't eventually happen, but after everything else that had been going on, that had been the _last_ news Almusian would have expected to hear. It made his insides squirm and made him jittery with nervous energy. The small window of time they originally were given just shrank significantly, and they were relying on _him_ to handle the matter.

Thinking about them starting a family briefly made him recall his own family. Before he'd fallen into crime he'd lived happily with his parents and two siblings on his homeworld of Gleeshra, but after he'd finally given up on any legal way of life he'd dissociated himself from them for their own safety. He hadn't seen his family in a decade. Stars, he missed them.

Turning sharply, Al squeezed between people in the crowd. It was almost midnight, but the crowds still weren't thinning. It reminded him of Nar Shaddaa, though at least here it smelled _infinitely_ nicer, and though the lower sections were still pretty dirty they weren't anywhere near as bad as the city-moon. This place was still a daunting maze, though, and while he'd narrowed down the agent's location to a sector, that still left him with hundreds of floors filled with shops, apartments, schools, churches, temples, shrines, shelters, restaurants, businesses, and anything else under the artificial sunlight. And all he had was a physical description and an alias that had only succeeded in telling him at which spaceport the man had arrived.

It didn't matter. He had to find the agent for Obi-Wan and Siri's sakes. He had to find him for their _baby_.

Over the past few years that Al had gotten to know Obi-Wan and Siri, they'd become very close friends, and after Kuna's death they were practically the closest connections he had. He wasn't going to let them down now. The _real_ question was what the blazes he would do with the agent after he found him. He obviously would blackmail him with what he knew, but how would he get Kelathik serum? What would he tell the agent to do? He figured he'd start by asking who the agent got it from; then he could have his contact on Nar Shaddaa track the person. Al would find the dealer, find her source, and start peddling the stuff on his own; he wouldn't risk having a middle man for Obi-Wan and Siri.

Turning down an alley that was a shortcut to the next street, Al glanced around dully to ensure the locals didn't cause him trouble; he was steadily climbing the levels, so the crime rate would decrease, but he was still fairly low in the city. There were plenty of poor and desperate people around here. He felt bad for them, but priorities were priorities – if Al felt guilty over every poor sod he saw he would've given up his life of crime as soon as he'd started it. He supposed that made him cold hearted, but he preferred to think of it as his logical side – he couldn't save everyone, and even if he did, they'd only be replaced by other—

Wait, what was that?

Pausing a millisecond, Al stiffened and then resumed his walk. He thought he heard someone behind him. Eventually he tossed a cautious glance over his shoulder. No one was there. Was he imagining things? He hadn't had _that_ much to drink, and what little he did have was wearing off by now. Maybe it had been one of the people sleeping in the alley?

Quickening his pace, Al hastily entered a busy street once more, feeling the safety of the crowd engulf him. His blaster hand remained tense and hovered just over his weapon, which was hidden under his coat. As the hairs on his body stood up he felt his breath quicken and he constantly looked everywhere to ensure no one was following him. Had he picked up a tail at the cantina? Was it just a thug? What was going on?

Growing even more anxious, Al eventually started to trot through the crowd, and when he glanced back he saw someone matching his pace. _Shavit_. This person obviously didn't care if he or she was noticed, which meant it wasn't just about gathering information. Since they were still in the lower levels, Al could easily be picked off without anyone batting an eye. Al weaved in and out of groups of people. He was still being followed. He passed through several markets and even slipped through a club or two. He was still being followed, and this new parasite was gaining on him.

No sense in being subtle now. Breaking out into a full run, Al shoved his way passed people, knocking some over and nearly tripping over an enormous Trandoshan's foot. He once again looked behind him. A figure was chasing him. Feeling his adrenaline skyrocket, Al continued to run as fast as he could through the streets as the people around him remained oblivious. If he could reach the nearest taxi pad or bus stop maybe he could snatch a ride and get away. He didn't know how or why, but his follower's lack of concern over being spotted was indication that Al was probably marked.

_Sithspit_. He _was_ marked. How could he have forgotten what had happened before he'd left for the final recess?

Al started muttering every swear word he knew between gasps of air. Eventually he saw another relatively abandoned alley and squeezed into it, finding the nearest dumpster to use as cover. As soon as he entered it he dove for the dumpster, rolling behind it and pulling out his blaster just as his pursuer arrived and opened fire.

The shot was loud and rang in his ears, slamming into the ground where he'd been a few seconds ago. It diffused rapidly in an electrical burst and didn't leave much of a mark on the pavement – a stun bolt. Somebody wanted him alive. _That_ couldn't be good.

Hazarding a glance around the dumpster Al caught sight of a female humanoid, though whether she was Human or not he couldn't tell in the split second he got to examine her. He quickly ducked behind the dumpster again as another shot hit the area. He heard her approaching, so he shot blindly once and then looked before shooting again. She quickly dodged the attack and retreated to the edge of the alley so she could hide behind the wall of the building. The large crowds outside the alley were either oblivious to the firefight or so used to it that they were unperturbed.

The two continued to exchange weapon fire for a few seconds before part of the dumpster melted from being hit too much. Al flinched and jumped back a bit as hot metal chunks flew towards his face. Yelping, he quickly shoved off whatever landed on his skin. In that time another bolt singed his arm, and he felt the effects make the arm go numb and limp. Swearing, he fired blindly several times while running towards the other end of the alley.

He reached the other side and rushed into the open once more, using the crowd as a cover. His pursuer ran after him, but she was smart enough to not fire into the mob. Almusian ducked between people to keep himself out of sight, gasping for air, but the effects of his arm wound threw him off balance. He started bumping into people left and right, garnering angry scowls and interjections, and everything started to grow blurry. Panicking he pushed his body harder and reached for his comlink, calling any frequency that would respond; he'd been on Imperial Center enough to make a few illegal buddies here – it was the sensible thing to do in his line of work. Heaven willing, he'd be able to find those associates before his pursuer found him.

Al groaned as he bumped into someone else and it sent him tumbling to the ground. He slammed headfirst into the duracrete. Some people jostled him, others walked around him, and a few stopped to gawk or ask if he was okay. He heard the fast footsteps of his pursuer and he tried to reorient himself and leap to his feet once more. The world was spinning and he felt woozy and tired and panicked all at once. Warm liquid began to puddle around his head where he'd fallen—was he bleeding? His legs twitched in an effort to get moving once more, and he staggered to a standing position, nearly toppling on some of the bystanders who'd stopped. He felt the ghost of fingers behind him grasp at his collar and he whirled around and shoved his attacker away with his good arm. Definitely a Human; small build, black hair, black eyes, black clothes, black blurs—wait, no, that was just the—wait—

Blast it, _focus_!

Al stumbled away from her and half ran, half tripped as quickly as he could. He heard her gaining on him once more and he looked around desperately for some kind of help or cover or _something_ when he noticed people were starting to avoid him altogether – they realized what was going on and didn't want to get caught in the middle of it. Feeling isolated and alone amidst hundreds of people, Al grew cold and finally felt his legs give out under him. His pursuer was right behind him.

BANG.

Al jumped but didn't quite register the sound. He heard a person shout out and then felt hands dig into his arms and roughly pull him up. "You okay? Al? Al!"

That voice sounded familiar…

Al glanced around blearily and he caught sight of a familiar face – the man was an arms dealer who Al had worked for in the past. What was he doing here? Looking back at his attacker he saw her laying on the ground, smoke tendrils emitting from a blaster wound in her chest. As Al felt his associate drag him away from the scene of the crime he saw the woman twitching; she wasn't dead. Pointing to her with his good arm he tried to note that she was still alive; she was probably wearing some kind of blaster-proof mesh. However, he couldn't articulate anything by that point, and he was roughly dragged through alleys, streets, and turbolifts for an eternity before he ended up in some dingy looking shop.

"Al what the hell were you doing?"

Al mumbled a reply, but he finally started to lose consciousness… until he was smacked soundly on the face. That made his head hurt a _million_ times more.

"Ouch!" he snapped, coming back to awareness.

"What the hell happened?"

"I dunno!" Al slurred, trying to regain his balance. "Stun bolt… crazy lady… head… bad stuff…"

His partner sighed heavily. "No kidding. Look, go lay down on the cot in the back. We'll sort this out later. You need to lay low for a while; you're stuck with me for the next few days."

Al mumbled a protest as he was tossed into the back room. "Gotta find… crazy… no… Kela…th…"

"Shut up and sleep it off," his associate replied before closing the door, and then everything faded into black.

* * *

Padmé sat on her bed, small pieces of the shoto strewn all over the blanket. The half completed hilt was in her hands, warm from constant contact. She was almost finished with the crystal chamber according to the readout, and she was engrossed in her work.

She still hadn't decided what she'd say to Vader upon his return. She wasn't sure when he'd be coming back, but she still hoped it wasn't for a little while. How was she going to go about this? She'd promised full honesty – she'd done it on the hopes of finally getting some information out of him, but it had to go both ways; she couldn't hide her allegiance to the Alliance. So what in the blazes was she going to do? How was she going to convince him in the span of one conversation that it was okay to be a Rebel? There was absolutely no way she could convince him that the emperor wouldn't mind, so that wasn't even an option… was it? Even if she _did_ somehow convince Vader that Palpatine would be fine with it, she had little doubt that he'd go to the emperor and ask just to be sure.

From the way Vader had described her back in Thecine it seemed like she was more of a pet project, but she knew she meant more than that to him. He _wanted_ to trust her, but his pragmatism wouldn't allow for it. His _indoctrination_ wouldn't allow for it. He'd gone out of his way to show he cared, whether it was through hugging her in the senate building, giving her a shoto to make, allowing her to drag him around the Lake Country, or allowing her to handle the rebellious slaves on CC4. He _did_ care about her. And she cared about him.

So why couldn't it just be _that_ simple?

"Why am I even asking myself that?" she muttered, plopping the half finished hilt on her bed. She'd been going in circles ever since she found out about Mon's execution. She wasn't sure she'd _ever_ be ready for Vader's return.

Sighing she looked at the data pad. Two chips were inserted; one contained the manual that Vader had provided for the shoto and the other was some kind of profile for an imaginary aide from Bail. She presumed it had to do with the Jedi protector they'd be getting. Honestly, she'd completely forgotten about the Jedi; she'd assumed Bail never got word to the person, so she'd been prepared for the usual: relying on herself, Obi-Wan, Siri, and Al. It was kind of reassuring thinking that a Jedi would be arriving, but Padmé wasn't sure how he or she would help the situation, particularly if Padmé and Vader started meeting often. Frankly it only seemed to make matters _worse_.

She also had a tab open for opera showings. She'd just bought two tickets for _Cemran_ tomorrow night. It had been almost surreal ordering the tickets; it seemed extraordinary to be doing something so normal, almost as if it were a luxury. Padmé suddenly felt like a foreigner in a sea of people who lived everyday lives, and she felt all the lonelier for it. It felt like it was just her against the Empire.

Padmé paused as she heard Obi-Wan and Siri returning. Glancing at the chronometer she was surprised to see it was one in the morning. Quickly putting away the shoto pieces (she figured it wouldn't be a good thing for them to see), Padmé entered the den and saw them removing their cloaks. They both looked exhausted.

"Where've you two been?" she asked hesitantly. She didn't want to bring up their argument from yesterday, but she still was worried.

"We were meeting with Al, remember?" Siri said dully, sluggishly heading towards her room.

"Yes, but you never said where or for what." Padmé noted, glancing at Obi-Wan.

"Kelathik serum," Obi-Wan answered. "And the agent. He's not had much luck on either account."

"He's got a lead," Siri argued groggily from her bedroom.

"Oh right," Obi-Wan gave a ghost of a smile. He looked worse than Padmé felt; his skin was pale and he had dark circles under his eyes.

"We can talk about it in the morning," Padmé suggested as she observed him. He needed rest.

"I'd like to talk, yes," Obi-Wan muttered, rubbing his eyes.

Padmé suddenly felt tired too. She didn't want to argue anymore. Why couldn't he just let it go? "Sure, just go to bed."

As her brother did as she said, Padmé slowly trudged back to her own room. Closing the door she slipped under the blanket and lay awake for another hour, unable to sleep but too tired to think straight or do anything. Eventually, though, she finally slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

Honestly, she would complain about her headache but that seemed to be a constant thing now.

Siri grumbled as the alarm mercilessly compounded her pain. She reached blindly to turn it off when it suddenly stopped. Growling, she kicked the blanket off the bed and looked over to tell Obi-Wan to get up, but he was gone. Slowly dressing in one of her handmaiden gowns, Siri carelessly tied her blonde hair out of her face and entered the den to see him sitting on the couch with a cup of caffa in his hand. His eyes were closed as if he was concentrating on something, but the fact that his grip on his cup was steadily slipping indicated he was just falling asleep.

"Obi." She said.

Her husband immediately opened his eyes with a startled jolt and he sighed, squeezing them shut once more. "Is Padmé ready?"

Ready? What time was it? Siri glanced at her chronometer and was shocked to see that it was about the time they'd be _leaving_ rather than getting up. How many alarms did she sleep through?

Blast it all, how was she going to eat?

"I packed some breakfast for you, don't worry," Obi-Wan mumbled.

Siri glanced at him. Had she said that out loud? Or had he sensed it? Or did he just know her that well?

Oh to hell with it all. She didn't care.

"Morning," Padmé said as she entered the den from the kitchen. Apparently she was just finishing her breakfast.

"Did I miss the fun?" Siri asked as she helped Obi-Wan stand. Had he already told her about the Jedi?

"Fun?" Padmé questioned.

"No, I was attempting to collect my thoughts," Obi-Wan replied slowly, his brow furrowed as he took another sip of caffa.

"We can talk on the way, then," Siri remarked, motioning towards the door. "Where's my food?"

Obi-Wan wordlessly picked up a small bag and held it for her to see. "I'll drive. You eat."

Siri smirked as she took the food. It had been a while since Obi-Wan had driven the speeder, and he often preferred not to drive at all on Imperial Center; he hated the traffic. This would at least provide her with some entertainment as she ate.

The three exited the apartment and hopped into the speeder, entering the morning traffic. The sky was a bland pink with clouds already covering most of the sunlight; another dull, rainy day. Blast it all she hated the wet season.

"Padmé, you recall that Senator Organa was going to send us a Jedi protector?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Yes," she replied evenly.

"He should be arriving today."

Siri munched on her breakfast nonchalantly, barely listening. She'd forgotten the Jedi was showing up today, but at the moment she was too exhausted to care about much of anything. The food was at least helping her headache, though.

"Do you know when?"

"No. Al also mentioned that the senator sent information about his cover identity. Siri said she left it on your desk."

"Yes, I looked it over." Padmé replied. "Apparently he's going to be an aide."

Siri perked up immediately. "Oh, so I get to order him around? This should be fun."

Obi-Wan smiled gently, garnering some amusement from the remark. The three sat in silence for a time, and as they did so Siri pondered the matter. Thinking about the Jedi protector blatantly reminded her of their actual mission on Imperial Center; ever since they'd gotten back they'd been cleaning up disasters rather than actually gathering any sort of valuable information for the Rebels, but she wasn't sure what kind of information they _could_ gather right now. Their best hope was Al; if he found the agent then maybe they could help the Alliance that way. Honestly, though, her biggest priority was the baby.

Speaking of all the disasters they'd had to handle, though… "Hey, I was thinking maybe we could all go out to eat together after today's session."

Obi-Wan and Padmé glanced at her in unison. Siri shrugged. "It'd give us something to do apart from running around meeting Rebels and killing Imperials. As much fun as that is, I figure it'd be nice to sit down long enough to breathe and eat something apart from cantina food or sandwiches."

The other two continued to stare at her as if she were speaking a foreign language. Siri rolled her eyes. Did they not think she was terrified too? Stressed? Bone tired? For heaven's sake, _she_ was the one carrying the baby. She expected Padmé to get caught up in the insanity of everything occurring; it's what she always did. Obi-Wan, on the other hand, typically had enough wherewithals to… oh, who was she kidding? He got caught up in everything as well. Siri was the only one who realized that they needed a sanity break.

"I can't," Padmé eventually said.

If this had something to do with Vader… "Why not?"

"I'm going to the opera."

Obi-Wan and Siri both looked at her in confusion. "What?"

"I invited Éothen to the opera yesterday. We're going tonight." She explained sincerely. "I'm actually… kind of looking forward to it."

Siri was baffled. Was Padmé trying to convince Salkende to help through Éothen? Was she trying to figure out if he'd keep her secret about the prison breakout? Was she trying to get to know him? When did _this_ happen? She knew Padmé had gone to lunch with him, but… this was just… Siri shook her head. Too much. This was all too much.

"When's the opera?"

"1800."

Obi-Wan exhaled slowly. Something was frustrating him. Siri was tempted to ask, but she figured it had to do with Padmé, so she'd wait until lunch.

The trio eventually arrived at the senate building without much of a fuss. Obi-Wan and Padmé went to their separate offices and Siri found Cordé and Ieru. As she reviewed the agenda for the day and any incomplete business from yesterday, she noticed Ieru winced as she received a data pad. "You okay?"

Ieru nodded. "I fell last night. Got a bad bruise from it."

Siri watched her for a little while longer, but she seemed like she'd be able to handle the day's work just fine, so she let it drop. Once the morning session began she busied herself and tried not to think too much about everything going on; it was doing wonders for her headache.

About an hour before lunch, Siri was standing in the foyer of the Chommell Sector offices glossing over some information when someone entered. Looking up expecting to see a handmaiden, she was surprised to see a tall man with a sturdy build, large nose, intelligent light blue eyes, shoulder length brown hair, and a graying moustache and beard. His gaze immediately fell upon her and she felt electricity shoot through her. Her heart rate increased and she took a small step back from him as if the energy he exuded would burn her, but at the same time a gentle peace fell upon her as he smiled.

"Siri Naberrie?" he asked in a softly accented voice.

"Yes," she answered slowly, trying to regain her composure. "Who are you?"

"I'm the new aide."

Son of a Hutt, is _that_ what a Jedi felt like in the Force? But if she could sense it, couldn't Vader?

Vader. Right. She said she'd investigate where he was. Great, something else to do.

_He's staring at you. Say something._ "Uh… right. Right, the new aide. I remember. You… what's your name?"

He smiled. "I have a few names."

What? Oh. _Oh._ "Uh, there's a care package for you. I'll get it."

Siri hastily entered Padmé's office and closed the door behind her, taking several deep breaths to calm down. She'd never dreamed of meeting a Jedi, but now that one was standing right in front of her it was the strangest feeling in the universe. She needed to get her head on straight. Grabbing the data chip provided by Bail, Siri reentered the foyer and inserted it into a data pad, accessing the information. "Okay. So you're Lymen? Lymen D'jen?"

"Yes, that's me." He answered with a graceful tip of his head. He was so poised. Everything he did looked like the simplest yet most dignified act.

"Nice to meet you," she bowed slightly, not wanting to take her eyes off him. She noticed that the Jedi was examining her intently, and she asked, "Is… something wrong?"

"Not at all," he replied. "I trust we can speak freely?"

Siri nodded. "I'm the only one here right now. The other handmaidens are in the arena with everybody else at the moment."

He nodded and then immediately went to business. "What's the situation?"

Ah, yes. How could she possibly explain that Darth Vader had killed Sabé and was keeping a keen eye on Padmé, and that Padmé herself had fallen in love with him, and that they'd broken Bail out of prison, and that she and Obi-Wan were Force sensitive, and that she was pregnant, and… Siri's headache returned and she held back a moan.

The Jedi sat on a sofa and motioned to a seat across from it. Siri slowly walked to the seat, grateful for a chance to sit. "I'm not sure where Vader is right now, but I know Padmé's not safe. He killed one of the other handmaidens."

The Jedi nodded again, listening. Siri watched him for a few seconds more and shifted uncomfortably, suddenly wanting to burst – she just wanted to say _everything_, but this wasn't the place. They'd be lucky to get out the essential details before somebody showed up.

"It's all right," he eventually said calmly, and his very presence seemed to soothe her rattled nerves like Obi-Wan normally would if he himself weren't such a wreck at the moment. "We can discuss this further over dinner. I'm going to get acquainted with my new work setting. In the meantime, don't worry."

Siri nodded obediently and closed her eyes, lowering her head in an attempt to actually listen to his advice. The Jedi stood, making her rise as well out of courtesy. He placed a hand on her shoulder, gave her one more smile, and departed.

* * *

Obi-Wan and Padmé exited the senate arena in silence. The morning session hadn't been particularly eventful; honestly, none of the sessions had been eventful at this point. The Empire seemed to be in a temporary lull, or at least it was giving that impression to the senate. Perhaps they were on to them, or perhaps they had all the resources and sanctions they needed at the moment. He wasn't sure. The emperor hadn't made an appearance since the start of the new year, so no new laws or regulations had been made yet.

Glancing at Padmé, Obi-Wan pondered how he'd talk to her if she always had something to do. And what was this new situation with Éothen all about? Was she trying a different avenue to get Salkende to join the Alliance? After almost three weeks of tedious debating that always ended with the same conclusion, Obi-Wan was growing doubtful they'd ever be able to reach a satisfactory agreement, but he wouldn't deter Padmé from trying. He just wished she could go to the opera _another_ night so they could actually _discuss_ matters. He did have lunch, though, but it didn't count for much; the amount of time they'd have was minimal, and they had to choose a good location to speak frankly. Even the restaurant where Siri and Obi-Wan often met with Al wasn't safe for Padmé; she was too recognizable. Obi-Wan was just a representative; the media didn't care about representatives unless they brought some kind of scandal, but _senators_ were always a hot topic. The only reason the media couldn't snatch Padmé in her usual lunch place was because it was so close to the senate building that security kept them out.

Obi-Wan was tempted to ask Siri to bring lunch for him and Padmé so they could speak in her office where there were no listening devices, but he didn't want to make his wife do that. So he was stuck.

The two reached the Chommell Sector offices. Padmé immediately went to her office and busied herself with paperwork. Siri approached her and handed her a data pad, stating that she had several meetings scheduled. Well, there went any chance of speaking to her during lunchtime.

As soon as Siri relayed the information she left Padmé's office, closed the door, and grabbed Obi-Wan's arm. "Let's go to lunch."

Something had her jittery. If he couldn't tell from her instant insistence that they head out, he could tell from her body language. She was restless, and her eyes glistened with so many words that she wanted to convey. Nodding, he took a moment to drop his things off at his desk and accompanied his wife to their usual table at the outdoor restaurant where they always ate.

"Our new aide is here." She immediately said as soon as they'd sat down.

Obi-Wan crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. He still wasn't sure if this was good or bad news anymore. The possibility of meeting a Jedi was quite intriguing, and the hope that he could handle Vader was reassuring, but the situation with Padmé… "Who is it?"

"His name is Lymen D'jen," Siri explained with a nonchalant wave and a tilt of her head that indicated she was using his cover identity. "He looks _perfect_ for the job. He's so… so… _calm_. It's just what we need."

Siri seemed to like him a lot. That was good, at least; she couldn't read people as well as Obi-Wan, but it took a lot to impress her. But why hadn't Obi-Wan run into him yet? "Where is he now?"

"I don't know," she replied. "He said he needed to familiarize himself with his new work space. He'll speak with us at the end of the day."

The end of the day? So he wouldn't be able to meet Padmé? "I presume he'll rendezvous in the office?"

"Most likely."

Obi-Wan contemplated the matter and sighed. If he could just sort things out with Padmé first, that would make his life _infinitely_ easier right now. By the stars she was impossible sometimes – so _rash._

"Obi?"

Obi-Wan looked at his wife once more and offered a reassuring smile. She was watching him intently.

"Obi, what's wrong?" she asked. "It's not the usual."

Blast it, sometimes he wished he _could_ hide things from Siri. Whenever he had an issue, she'd _always_ bring it up, and she was always blunt – he couldn't dance around the issue when she'd pound it into submission and toss it right in his face.

"I was hoping I'd have a chance to talk to Padmé." He explained, nodding to a waitress to get her attention.

"Is it about her stalker?"

Stalker. An apt name for the guy who was going to kill all of them as soon as he gathered enough information. How much did he know? And where was he, anyway? Obi-Wan hadn't seen him since Naboo, but if Vader was supposed to be gathering information, he should be interacting with Padmé a bit more; he'd been silent as the grave since their return. There was no way Padmé was secretly meeting with him, especially after the stunt she pulled the other day… so what was he up to?

"Yes and no," he replied carefully. "It's just about her."

"You mean her latest activities?" Siri leaned back in her seat, her wonder about the Jedi quickly fading. "Yeah, that's got me confused too. What's she doing with Éothen?"

"I don't know, but I suppose we won't find out until after the opera."

Siri looked annoyed, but she quickly pushed the subject aside. "In the meantime we can focus on the aide. You think he can help with our biggest dilemma?"

"I hope so," Obi-Wan muttered. Earlier he'd worried about the Jedi being noticed by Vader, but considering the Imperial hadn't been spotted and Obi-Wan and Siri hadn't been noticed—and they weren't trained to hide themselves from Force users—he was inclined to think they were safer with the Jedi than without.

It would certainly be interesting when he met him.

* * *

The rain started at noon. Tarkin was a little surprised at the intensity of it; the people of Imperial Center were extremely sensitive to changes in the usual perfect sunny day, so they always called half the year the wet season because meteorologists and meteotechnologists always had to allow for the moisture in the atmosphere to come back down, but the precipitation was often only a short drizzle every day. For it to be consistently raining so heavily was a little surprising and more than irritating. He couldn't wait for the dry season to come.

Glossing over information concerning his oversector, Tarkin allowed himself a respite to skim through activities in other corners of the galaxy. He took particular interest in one report that stated that prior to his battle with the Jedi Darth Vader had ordered a fleet to go to Alderaan and declare martial law. Smiling, Tarkin nodded to himself. It was a smart move. The boy was more than naïve in politics, but he was brilliant in the military.

Another report caught his attention and delighted him even more; Vader was due to return just about now. Glancing at the indicated hangar, Tarkin walked briskly to the location. It was actually an unexpectedly helpful and entertaining notion that Vader's return coincided with that contact's capture – Tarkin was eager to see Vader interrogate him, especially since the young Sith had originally been the one to have him followed. Tarkin had yet to hear from his spy, though, which could be a potential problem; nevertheless, he also hadn't received any kind of report yet, so he'd reserve his judgment for later.

Entering the hangar, Tarkin eagerly awaited the young Sith's arrival. He'd finally start the boy's training, and he'd finally get to begin his game with Amidala. He wasn't sure which would be more entertaining, but he did his best to prevent too much excitement – it was far more helpful to be pragmatic about the matter than to happily declare he'd already won and was in control. Emotionalism would do him no good at the moment.

In the distance he could clearly make out a military shuttle heading towards the palace. Walking slowly towards the entrance to the hangar, he waited patiently as the shuttle entered and landed. Judging from the pilot's ability, it wasn't actually Vader in the cockpit, which was a little odd; Vader always insisted on flying.

The landing ramp lowered and all was still for a few seconds. Tarkin approached slowly, eager to hear the news of Vader's victory. The report already claimed he'd won, but hearing it frankly from the man himself was far more assuring.

Although it was difficult to hear much over the sound of the shuttle's heat exhaust hissing out, Tarkin's ears picked up on the sound of shuffling feet. Eventually a silhouette appeared in the entrance ramp. Judging from its dimensions it was most likely Vader.

Tipping his head in acknowledgement, Tarkin was about to ask about the success of his mission when the man finally stepped into the dull afternoon light. Vader's skin was paler than the clouds in the sky, and his gait was off. He was stiff, and there was a subtle but present sheen of sweat on his forehead. His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw was clenched, and he was noticeably breathing sporadically.

"Milord?" Tarkin immediately was at his side. "What happened?"

"I must make my report." Vader answered. His voice didn't hold the same manic or frantic quality that it had held the last time Tarkin had seen him disembark a shuttle looking like a complete wreck. That was at least something. So this wasn't an emotional or mental issue, then? Tarkin racked his mind for what the Intelligence report had said, but for the life of him he couldn't remember anything being mentioned about Vader sustaining injuries.

As the young Sith nearly limped off the ramp, Tarkin hovered close beside him. "Milord—"

Vader's eyes fell upon the grand moff, and they hardened. Tarkin grew silent; it wasn't often that Vader demanded silence from him, but he still remembered the look. The boy probably didn't want any interruption to his meeting with the emperor. Had something gone wrong, or was he just eager to get it over with? Tarkin wasn't sure. He wouldn't leave the boy's side, though.

The two slowly walked to the turbolift, and as soon as they entered, Vader reached his left arm towards the panel. Come to think of it, he hadn't moved his right arm at all. Tarkin was bursting at the seams with a million different questions, but he didn't speak. Vader closed his eyes for the duration of time they were in the lift, and he seemed to be putting all his weight on his right leg. As Tarkin examined the boy's face more closely, he detected a slight amount of swelling around his nose and one of his eyes, and there was a small cut above the same eye.

When the lift reached its destination, Vader stood still for a millisecond and took a ragged breath to compose himself – or brace himself. Tarkin wasn't sure. He pondered just grabbing the apprentice's left arm and making Vader lean on him, but he knew the Sith would shun any attempt at help – he didn't tolerate showing any kind of weakness.

The young Sith walked uncertainly towards the throne room, and the Red Guard quickly opened the doors for him. Tarkin waited outside for a few seconds before grabbing his comlink and heading back to the lift. He was going to call the admiral and figure out what in the blazes had happened.

* * *

Vader was injured.

As soon as the apprentice entered the room Palpatine sensed it. He _saw_ it. An observer would assume he sustained a leg injury and probably an arm injury and they were causing him pain, but there was more to it. Palpatine probed the Force and felt the bruises on the boy's life presence – a particularly bad one stained his stomach, and now that he looked closely, Vader was carefully avoiding putting a lot of pressure on his lower left abdomen. That was probably what was causing him all that pain. And yes, there was _pain_ – so much pain. If the boy wasn't so well trained he'd be on the floor screaming right now. These injuries were not only bad, they were life threatening.

At the same time, though, Palpatine could sense determination from the boy, and the Force was so infused with utter _satisfaction_ that he could practically taste it. The boy had succeeded; he'd killed the Jedi, and he'd restored balance in his mind.

Well, for now. Palpatine could still sense the underlying tension. There were plenty of unresolved issues to handle, and he intended to exploit them. But… not now.

Just as soon as Vader started to kneel so delicately it was practically painful to watch, Palpatine rose to his feet. The boy had often been injured, and Palpatine had taught him to never show such weaknesses to anyone – instead he'd taught him to simply take care of the matter himself and be done with it. Frustration boiled through him as he wondered why Vader would allow himself to be this injured and to _not_ immediately go to the medical wing and just solve the issue. His obsession with fixing his mistakes surpassed his logic, and that was a bad habit that Palpatine would not allow to continue.

"You're hurt." He remarked tersely.

Vader, who was still kneeling, glanced up at him. Palpatine poked delicately into the Force, testing the water – normally he'd try to tear through to the heart of the matter, but Vader had mental shields that were stronger than the most durable substances in the galaxy. There was no point in forcing himself into the boy's mind, and there was even less point in openly making it known that he was probing him. Besides, the boy's emotions always come out in turbulent waves – it didn't take an expert to pick up on them. It _did_ take an expert to figure out their cause, though. At the moment the satisfaction from earlier vanished, but the boy was still guarded; he let no emotions leak out.

"I handled most of the immediate threats, Master. It's not a concern."

Palpatine took a calming breath. The boy's voice was tight; he had no reason to lie about his treatment, but Palpatine suspected that Vader had only glossed over the wounds instead of actually treated them.

"The Jedi are dead, Master," Vader continued, and the excitement in his tone was evident. "Their fleet has been destroyed. I've been reviewing the information in their computers and I might have a general location for where they launched."

Vader was going to continue when Palpatine held up a hand to silence him. For a millisecond he questioned his own action, and he debated just letting the boy continue his report. However, the millisecond passed uninterrupted, and he quickly prioritized matters. A dead apprentice was a useless apprentice. The fool really had no sense of self-preservation; all that mattered was serving Palpatine.

Well blast it, he had the right idea but—Palpatine sighed. The boy still had a lot to learn.

As Vader awaited permission to speak, Palpatine approached him slowly. He'd been spending much time lately musing about the boy's motives, his development, and his actions. He'd always taught the boy to be methodical, but he'd insisted on using passion as a fuel. Palpatine had wondered when the change had happened, what had just _clicked_ in Vader's mind and made him into what he was now. He suspected Tarkin might have had something to do with it; the man shared Palpatine's pragmatism, but he didn't share the drive to use powerful emotions as weapons. But even _Tarkin_ wasn't the same as Vader.

Did the boy's mother ever act like this?

Ah, wait, she _had_. In a sense. Though Palpatine had held no concern for her whatsoever, he did recall that she had always been able to control her emotions impeccably. It had actually impressed him. Perhaps the boy took too much after her. But even _she_ had a sense of self preservation, at least to a point; she'd do anything for her son, but—

Palpatine stopped. It hit him, right then. It _hit_ him. He locked eyes with Vader as his apprentice kneeled patiently, and that odd little feeling that always resided in the back of Palpatine's mind where Vader was concerned diffused his anger in a heartbeat.

A dead apprentice was a useless apprentice. But he was more than that. Palpatine just… didn't want him dead.

Motioning for the boy to stand, he watched as Vader took a subtle breath to prepare himself for the enormous pain he was about to feel. Palpatine felt him clutch softly at the Force as a youngling would slowly reach for something in a manner that would avoid attention. He was still trying to hide the severity of his wounds from Palpatine. His apprentice rose slowly and stiffly, but it was too little effort for such serious injuries – as soon as the boy was nearly standing straight the pain shot through him so harshly _Palpatine_ felt it in his gut. Vader flinched and nearly lost his balance, and in that moment the world slowed.

It would make sense to let him fall. It would be a good lesson. The boy needed to learn from his own stupidity. The landing would _hurt_, no doubt making the injuries worse, and it might just knock some sense into him.

Palpatine reached out and caught him.

Vader gasped for air, sweating profusely now. He tensed his muscles and hastily struggled to stand on his own so Palpatine wouldn't have to help him. The emperor tightened his grip to prevent that, and the boy immediately winced. Flicking the Force, Palpatine opened the throne room doors while helping his apprentice stay on his feet. The Red Guard immediately entered. Palpatine didn't have to say a word; as soon as they saw that Vader had sustained some kind of injury they were out the door again. He could vaguely sense one of them head for the lift to get a gurney when Palpatine saw Tarkin nonchalantly waiting in the corner with that very item.

"Need a stretcher?" he asked the guard calmly.

Palpatine's attention returned to his apprentice when Vader softly said his name and tried to push away from him. "Be silent."

His voice held a bite to it, and he was reasonably annoyed at the boy for causing him so much headache, but he didn't feel nearly as angry as he should have. Instead he just felt… resigned. And perhaps slightly worried, though he wouldn't admit that to himself let alone anyone else.

"Learn from this mistake," he instructed as the guards drew near with the stretcher. "Don't let it _ever_ happen again."

Vader continued to struggle against Palpatine's grip until the stretcher was directly behind him, and then Palpatine finally released the boy. The apprentice unceremoniously stumbled a little and tried to regain his balance, but Palpatine motioned irritably to the stretcher, brooking no argument. His apprentice obediently sat, but it took another glare to make the boy lie down. Young fool; didn't he realize the seriousness of the situation?

As the guards hastily guided the stretcher towards the lift, the emperor followed. Tarkin did as well. Before Palpatine could prompt him, the grand moff said, "The medical bay already knows. They're prepared for his arrival."

The Sith Master said nothing, but he offered a nod of approval. Tarkin always fulfilled his duty as the boy's protector. Not that the man was harmless, of course, but that was another matter for another time.

"Exactly _how_ did you handle the 'immediate threats,' Lord Vader?" Palpatine asked curtly as they waited in the lift.

Vader, who had been steadily slipping into unconsciousness, grew alert once more. Tarkin frowned disapprovingly. The boy mumbled, "I… disinfected… treated… wrapped up…"

"The doctors will handle the rest, milord," Tarkin interrupted. "Just rest."

Palpatine turned his attention to the grand moff. "You seemed to already be aware of his injuries."

Tarkin nodded. "I contacted the admiral, sire. He told me the troops witnessed Lord Vader being stabbed by the Jedi. From what the admiral observed there were also injuries to his shoulder and leg, but he wasn't sure what else. When I reported this to the medical bay, they said he would no doubt need surgery."

The lift slowed as it reached its destination. The Force shuddered and grew soft and muffled as Vader steadily slipped into unconsciousness. Palpatine sent a surge of energy to the boy, making him awaken with a jolt; Palpatine may have prioritized the boy's well-being over the mission, but that didn't mean he wouldn't drive the lesson home. Vader would stay awake until they gave him anesthesia; he would feel every ounce of pain until his master said otherwise.

The Red Guard pulled the stretcher into the medical bay where practically an army of health care providers and droids were waiting. As soon as they were in sight the doctors, nurses, technicians, and droids were surrounding the stretcher after curt nods to Palpatine and a mask was placed over Vader's face.

Palpatine and Tarkin stood in silence as Vader was taken to an operating room. Eventually Palpatine sighed and turned to leave. Looking at Tarkin, he said, "Inform me when he is out of surgery."

Tarkin bowed. "Of course, Majesty."

Palpatine departed, heading back to the lift. He had much to consider, and he preferred to not be in the palace while Vader's presence in the Force trembled with pain. Perhaps a night at the opera would be a nice change of pace.


	28. Drastic Measures

Obi-Wan waited anxiously as Padmé looked herself over in the mirror. They were in her office; if she were to make it to the opera on time she'd have to leave directly from the senate building since traffic was always so heinous at this time of day. The afternoon session had just ended, and he was hoping to at least have _some_ time to speak with her before Siri and the Jedi arrived.

"Padmé," he began carefully. "We need to talk."

Padmé paused, her fingers in her hair. She looked at his reflection a little warily. "Is it about Éothen?"

She was leading him on and he knew it. Avoiding the offer, he continued, "You _know_ who it's about."

"I'm really not sure what else we could talk about, Obi-Wan," she replied a little coldly and a little tiredly. "You harped on me about Vader quite a bit already."

"I wanted to give you a chance to explain."

Padmé turned around. "_Now_ you're letting me explain myself?"

"You weren't being very forthcoming before," Obi-Wan argued, a little annoyed that she was throwing all the blame on him. "Can you fault an older brother for worrying over his little sister?"

Padmé softened at the rebuke. "It's… I don't know what to say, Obi."

"You can start by saying why you think he's trustworthy."

Padmé sighed heavily. "He's… he's not trustworthy. But he isn't a lost cause, either."

"You love him, but you don't trust him?" Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows, growing more exasperated by the moment. Her argument _really_ wasn't very convincing.

"Well, he doesn't trust me either, but—"

"That's reassuring."

"Obi, just—just let me explain." Padmé took a deep breath and centered herself. "Darth Vader was raised to think he was nothing more than a tool for the emperor. He has no opinion of himself, and I don't mean he thinks little of himself or prioritizes differently, I mean he _literally_ has no opinion of himself. Everything he does is because he's ordered to do so."

"No one can hide behind that excuse, Padmé, and you know it. Is a soldier exempt from all his sins if he just claims he was _ordered_ to do it?" Obi-Wan crossed his arms, remaining calm as he tried to convince her of the error in her judgment.

"Of course not," Padmé shook her head. "But a soldier isn't _raised_ a soldier – he enlists or is drafted, but he's got a sense of self, of _identity_, before he becomes a soldier. Vader _doesn't have that_ – he was _raised_ a soldier, he was _raised_ to follow orders."

"I know plenty of people who were raised to be soldiers and turned out to be decent sentient beings," Obi-Wan rebutted. "The man you're going out with tonight is one of them, though I'm not entirely sure why you started interacting with _him_, either."

Padmé waved a dismissive hand. "He's nice, and it's the only _normal_ interaction I'm having in my life right now. Can you blame me?"

"It doesn't have to do with Salkende?"

"It did, but that's a moot point," Padmé sighed. "Éothen already said that once their civil war ends, they'll probably be primarily concerned with rebuilding."

"Yes, Senator Tlenden said as much as well," Obi-Wan agreed, glancing outside at the dull cloudy evening. "I don't even know how our allies are faring right now, honestly."

"Al didn't say anything?"

"He said they still haven't found a new home."

"_Still_? It's been _two weeks_!" Padmé immediately grew concerned.

"Padmé, you have to remember what is required to start a new home," Obi-Wan explained evenly, though he himself was just as worried as she. "You need _supplies_, you need people, you need _resources_ like money, and you need to find a suitable location, a _safe_ location. You also need leadership, and we know how good _that _situation is."

"They have nothing," she muttered in a moment of horror, leaning against her desk. "They literally have _nothing_."

"They have the new fleet."

Padmé locked eyes with him. She knew he was talking about the Jedi fleet. She took some comfort in it just as he did; to think that people who'd endured and survived twenty-one years of persecution and ten years of war before that were aiding them was extremely reassuring.

The door to the office opened and Siri entered. The other two handmaidens were in the foyer looking through paperwork and other tasks. Padmé sighed and turned to the mirror once more to ensure she looked decent for the opera and then faced the couple. "Well, I'm off. I'll see you two after the opera."

"Enjoy yourself," Obi-Wan wished sincerely with a smile. If she just wanted to destress he wouldn't deny her that, so he hoped the opera helped.

"Make him buy you some nice drinks while you're there." Siri winked. "It's what the gentlemen are for, after all."

Obi-Wan gave her a slightly offended look, garnering a chuckle out of Padmé. "I'll be sure to do that, Siri."

After she departed, Siri finished organizing matters with the handmaidens and bade them a good evening. Obi-Wan settled into a comfortable chair in the foyer as everyone else left; he and Siri were finally alone.

"Did you manage to find out why she's going out with Éothen?" Siri asked.

"Apparently to help her relax," Obi-Wan replied.

Siri laughed. "You're kidding. I'd forgotten that word existed."

"Perhaps our new aide can help us remember it," Obi-Wan muttered.

As if on cue, the door to the foyer opened to reveal a tall, broad shouldered man. He had a serene and knowledgeable look about him, and he walked with confidence. Obi-Wan felt a strange warmth envelope the room and his anxiety lessened significantly. It was strange looking at him, as if Obi-Wan were staring at a fictional character come to life. He'd thought for so long that the Jedi were dead. Even more bizarre was the fact that the man seemed strangely… familiar.

Siri looked at him pointedly, as if to say, _told you so._ Then she bowed her head towards the man. "Good to see you again, Lymen."

The Jedi bowed in return, and his eyes fell upon Obi-Wan. His face softened and he smiled before returning his attention to Siri. "I'm still rather new to this area… do you have any suggestions on where we can get some good food?"

Obi-Wan and Siri exchanged glances. "Does cantina food count as good food?"

Lymen smiled. "Sometimes it's the best."

Obi-Wan nodded in return and grabbed his and Siri's cloak. The two led the Jedi out of the senate building and into a taxi. They flew for a short while without saying much, and Obi-Wan watched the Senate District vanish; he hoped Padmé really did have a good time at the opera. She deserved the respite.

Since the Jedi was here now they'd probably resume their old work; he would say they'd lain low long enough, but after the stunt Padmé pulled… in either case, the Jedi was here. That had to count for something. Not to mention Siri was chomping at the bit to get back to work; Padmé seemed fixated on Vader, but Obi-Wan and Siri remembered everything at once – the baby, Darth Vader, the Rebels, Al, the agent… he wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he was rather annoyed at his sister's selfishness over the matter. Perhaps the reason he wouldn't admit it, though, was because he realized she was under a lot of stress too, but he was just too bone tired to empathize.

The taxi arrived at its destination and they disembarked. Siri and Obi-Wan led the Jedi through several areas, levels, and lifts until they were low enough in the city that barely any light pierced through. The Drunken Dewback Cantina was off in the distance, humming with activity.

The Jedi suddenly smiled and gave a soft, deep chuckle. "I remember this place."

"You've been here before?" Siri asked.

"A very long time ago on a mission."

Obi-Wan was suddenly hit with a strange feeling of foreign nostalgia, as if he himself were recollecting the time. It gave the cantina a strange antiquated feel to it, and it somehow made him sad. To think that at one time this place was Empire-free was mind boggling. He wondered what it must have been like.

As they found a booth in the corner of the cantina, Obi-Wan briefly glanced around for the small chance that Almusian was there. The large cantina had an upper level that was entirely an internal balcony, typically reserved for those with more money, so he didn't bother looking up there. Most of the clients were around the bar in the center of the large expansive room, but Al wasn't there, either. The other corners were dominated by gamblers and HoloNet viewers, and the other wall had a stage where musicians were playing and singing. Another entrance led to private rooms, but he knew Al wouldn't be there. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised the Zabrak wasn't around, but it would have been nice.

"What poison do you prefer, Lymen?" Siri asked.

"Just some juri juice, please," he replied politely.

After obtaining some drinks, Siri immediately got to the point. "There's a bit more to it than what I said earlier today."

The gentle amusement on his face was evident. "I suspected as much."

"Obi and I are… well…" Siri sighed, glancing around discreetly. "We share your gift. And I'm pregnant."

The Jedi sipped from his drink calmly as if he hadn't registered what she said. Obi-Wan wondered if he should perhaps repeat her words for the sake of emphasis, but the Jedi replied before he could do so. "How far along are you?"

Blast, Siri was right; nothing seemed to rattle this man. Obi-Wan envied him.

"About eight days," Siri replied.

He nodded and then offered a genuine smile. "Congratulations."

Siri and Obi-Wan stared at him for a few seconds and then laughed. It was so strange to be _congratulated_ for the baby's arrival; they'd spent so much time worrying about its safety they didn't give much time to consider that it was a gift.

"Thank you," Obi-Wan eventually replied. "If you could help us keep the little one alive we'd probably be much happier about the matter."

"There are plenty who have managed to hide their younglings from the Empire," the Jedi assured them. "Have you heard of Kelathik serum?"

"Way ahead of you," Siri answered. "We've got a friend trying to get us some. We figured there was more to it than that."

"Yes and no," he replied. "I've heard mothers who are carrying Force sensitive children often get strange symptoms, but since you're also a Force user it might not be so bizarre to you."

_He's still taking this awfully well_, Obi-Wan mused. Was this the legendary Jedi calm, or was there something more to it? Something about this Jedi seemed eerily familiar, or perhaps his behavior was making Obi-Wan suspicious.

"Before you ask, we haven't had any Jedi training," Obi-Wan said carefully, gauging the man's reaction. "We only just found out about our sensitivity recently."

"I see," he nodded. "How did you two meet?"

Obi-Wan and Siri exchanged confused glances. What did this have to do with anything? "We met when we were younglings. We volunteered for the Naboo Service Corps together."

"Is that based on Naboo?"

"Yes."

The Jedi nodded once more. Then he seemed to notice their confusion and suspicion, and he leaned back in his seat and gave a gentle tip of his head. "Forgive me. We should start from the beginning. My name is Qui-Gon Jinn. I, alongside several others, helped many Jedi younglings escape the purges. You two were among them."

Obi-Wan felt like he'd been punched in the gut. He wasn't sure what to make of this new realization; he thought he'd heard everything about his past after he spoke to Adelig, but…

The smell of smoke. The smell of blood. The sound of blaster fire. People screaming. Children crying. _Him_ crying. Rough, torn fabric between his fingers, sobs, terror, abandonment—Obi-Wan shook his head, trying to rid his mind of the strange disjointed sensations.

"I… _I_ was a Jedi hopeful too?" Siri asked breathlessly.

"Yes," Qui-Gon answered. "You two were among a small group of younglings who managed to escape."

"Why didn't you take us with you?" Siri suddenly asked, catching Obi-Wan off guard. "Why didn't you _train_ us?"

Did they _really_ need to be getting into this right now? Obi-Wan didn't want to think of a life where he hadn't been part of the Naberrie family. Why would Siri want otherwise?

Right. She'd been in a foster home. Sighing, he placed his hand on her lap under the table as a sign of reassurance.

"It was too risky having so many younglings leave together; we had to split you up. Even after that, we ourselves had nowhere to go; it was better to let you live out your lives innocuously and peacefully," Qui-Gon explained. "Besides, you can still be trained."

Siri's body filled with energy, and Obi-Wan felt her stiffen under his hand. He squeezed her thigh slightly; they didn't need this right now. Surely Jedi training would only make things _worse_, right?

Probably not. He just wished it would so he wouldn't have to do it. Sighing, Obi-Wan temporarily looked away from the Jedi. He had no qualm with the man, but… he didn't want to be a soldier. Wasn't that what the Jedi were, especially in these desperate times? Obi-Wan preferred not to fight.

"That's not the priority right now," Obi-Wan eventually said, and he could practically _feel_ Siri's glare burning into him. "The priority is Padmé and the baby."

Siri's anger quickly diminished as her excitement was replaced with concern.

Qui-Gon sipped at his drink. "It appears Lord Vader is nowhere near the senate. It's likely he may not even be on Imperial Center due to his recent activities. As for the pregnancy, I believe midichlorian counts don't start until the second or third prenatal visit. You can at least get the usual sorted out for the first visit. Beyond that, you could always take a leave of absence."

"No," Siri immediately shook her head. "I'll take that serum. I'm _not_ leaving Obi-Wan and Padmé."

"You must understand the risk to the baby," Qui-Gon said gently.

Obi-Wan tensed at the same time as Siri. _Bad move, Jedi._ "You think I _haven't_ been thinking about the risk to the baby?"

Obi-Wan's hand went from her thigh to her arm and he pulled her closer to him. She didn't need to make a scene.

"I didn't suggest you hadn't been," Qui-Gon replied. "But if the time comes where you must decide between the youngling and your other family, you must let go of your attachment to your husband and sister-in-law. They're more capable of protecting themselves than the child is. I will be here looking after them."

"How am I supposed to explain my leave of absence? If I mention the pregnancy there will be questions; besides, nobody leaves _this_ early into a pregnancy." Siri shook her head. "I'm not going anywhere."

"If you could assist our friend in finding Kelathik serum, that would help us greatly," Obi-Wan suggested to appease both of them. "But the most important issue is Padmé; Al can find Kelathik on his own, but no one is capable of defending Padmé from a Sith Lord."

Qui-Gon pondered the matter. "How much does Vader know?"

Obi-Wan sighed. "We… don't know. He took out all of the operatives on Naboo. He _suspected_ I had some involvement, but that didn't really go anywhere and I'm not quite sure why… he seems fixated on Padmé."

"That's not even the biggest problem," Siri muttered, though Obi-Wan tossed her a warning glance. Qui-Gon gave no reason to be untrustworthy, and it was strangely calming to be in his presence, but somehow Obi-Wan didn't think it would help much if they mentioned Padmé's infatuation with Vader. Obi-Wan and Siri would handle _that_ end of the issue; Qui-Gon just needed to handle Vader.

"Does the Sith often visit the senate building?"

"Not recently," Obi-Wan answered. "He and Padmé interacted frequently before the recess, but we haven't seen him since the new session started. We… know he recently executed Senator Mothma, so he's been on Imperial Center."

Qui-Gon was still for a moment and then sighed. "I'd heard of her capture, but there'd been no announcement of her execution."

"Yeah, we found out because Padmé busted Bail out of prison," Siri remarked exasperatedly.

Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows in surprise, but before he could comment, Obi-Wan said, "Yes, she's that reckless. You'll be constantly running to keep up with her."

"She's not_ always_ acting like an idiot," Siri halfheartedly defended her. "Typically she has more sense. It's just… we've all been stressed lately, and it seems like we can't do anything. None of us likes that."

"Few people do," the Jedi noted. "It seems the situation is a little more complicated than I expected. I wasn't aware of Senator Organa's arrest."

"He's with the Rebels now," Obi-Wan explained softly.

"Is there a way I can contact him?"

Obi-Wan and Siri looked at each other uncertainly. "Perhaps Al, but… we don't have any direct connection to the Alliance."

"Neither do the other Jedi," Qui-Gon remarked. "But that's about to change."

"What's up with the Jedi fleet, anyway? Are they going to rendezvous with the Rebels and back them up?" Siri asked.

Qui-Gon's expression darkened. He suddenly looked sadder, more pained. Obi-Wan felt his heart sink. This wasn't good. "They're gone, aren't they?"

The Jedi nodded.

"What?" Siri barked.

"Lord Vader destroyed the fleet," Qui-Gon explained.

Obi-Wan's hand, which had been rubbing small circles on his wife's arm, tensed. He returned it to his lap and took a deep breath to calm himself as Siri grew stormy with rage. He didn't have the energy to calm her down; Vader had caused so much trouble recently between seducing Padmé, killing Mothma, and now _destroying_ the Rebel's _one chance_ of reinforcements. Sure, there were apparently other Jedi, but did they have a fleet? Or were they now stranded at their sanctuary? What other uncertainties lay ahead? How many other problems had Vader caused?

This would certainly be interesting to relay to Padmé.

* * *

Éothen glanced at himself in the mirror. He was wearing a white fur-lined tunic that reached his knees and white thick trousers tucked into grey boots. The long sleeves were decorated with intricate woven symbols that indicated his clan: blood red runes encircling the rim of his sleeves spelled out the name of his clan and its founder. His tall collar also had embroidery. Red, white, and green bands interwove with each other, symbolizing the mixing of blood, grass, and snow, indicating that he was a veteran of battle and had seen such a mix on battlefields. The bands were tied together with three golden threads, indicating his rank. A tall hat bore the last symbol to show his regiment or squad, but he forewent the hat this evening.

There was a knock on the door and then Erwyna entered. Her blue eyes looked him over and she smiled, speaking in their native dialect. "You look sharp."

"I hope so," he replied a little uncertainly. "I'm not sure this is what I should wear for an opera."

"It's fancy. So's the opera. They match just fine." Erwyna waved her hand dismissively, before observing, "You're not wearing your sling."

Éothen turned to face her. "I figure it's not a good idea to show weakness in a den of wolves."

Erwyna chuckled. "Good point. Just don't let Tlenden find out."

"That's _your_ job, remember?" Éothen stressed.

Erwyna sighed. "Right. My job. You'd better be ready to deliver those hot nude guys."

"I can look up a spot here – I'm sure this planet has plenty of places you can go to," Éothen smirked.

Erwyna rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Just get going; traffic's insane out there."

"It's _always_ insane from what I can tell," he replied, though he did heed her advice and gathered his things. When he grabbed a small bag that he would carry over his shoulder, he winced as pain shot up through his left arm. Erwyna approached him with concern clear on her face.

"You really should be careful with that arm," she remarked.

"No kidding," he said quietly between clenched teeth, trying to let the pain pass.

Erwyna left the room abruptly. Éothen stood in place, trying to think of anything but the sharp tearing sensation in his arm. He really _should_ be wearing his sling, but as he said to Erwyna, he didn't want to show he was injured. He'd looked up the opera house where he and Amidala would be going and seeing the images reminded him strikingly of the battlefield for some reason; he figured this was probably the politicians' hunting ground. If he was to be seen with Amidala he wouldn't make her look weak.

Erwyna returned with a glass of water and two pills in her hand. "Take this; painkiller ought to hold you over until the opera's done."

Éothen received the items with a gracious smile to his friend and he quickly swallowed the pills. Then he shouldered the bag and ignored the pain as he strolled down the stairs of Tlenden's apartment. A taxi was waiting at the senator's private entrance, and he glanced at Erwyna in surprise.

She shrugged. "Figured you'd need one."

"Thanks," he replied with another smile.

"Buy me a bottle of their best wine and that'll make it up just fine."

"I'll be sure to do that," he nodded and hopped into the taxi, finally letting his left arm relax.

He was to meet Amidala at the senate building, so he directed the taxi there. When he arrived he glanced at the giant dome roofed building in slight disgust. At least back home the enemy would have the decency to face him in battle; here they hid behind so much intrigue and nonsense and hired assassins… there was no honor in this building.

Well, almost none.

Entering he waited in the main vestibule by one of the columns. People were milling about the large space in small spurts, but eventually crowds passed through as the afternoon session finished. He glanced at the different faces before finally recognizing hers. Amidala was in another senatorial gown, a grey one with a dark blue bodice. Her hair was freely hanging around her shoulders, curly, thick, and beautiful. He felt his heartrate rise a little, but he only showed a polite smile and a small bow as she approached him. "Milady."

Amidala smiled and it made her entire face light up. It was nice to see her smile; she'd looked so haggard and worried when she'd come begging for help at Tlenden's apartment. She even looked better today than yesterday. "It's good to see you, Éothen. I've been looking forward to this all day. Ready to go?"

Éothen was a little surprised at her wording, but he didn't ponder the matter much. He'd evaluate the situation after it was finished; he saved analytical thought processes for the battlefield. When the war wasn't wearing him down to pieces he would just relax. Now wasn't the time to stop and think about everything; it was just time to hit the road running. "Let's go."

The two walked in silence for a time until they reached a courier speeder that was reserved for supposedly more prestigious folk. The two entered and sat across from each other as the driver flew them right into the traffic.

Éothen glanced at Amidala before looking out at the traffic. He was glad they were inside a closed speeder so he wouldn't smell the pollution and exhaust, but the inside of this vehicle smelled so sterile. Imperial Center was such a strange place.

"I see your arm's better," Amidala noted cheerfully.

Éothen raised his left arm as if to show off and immediately regretted it. He hid the wince as best he could as his arm screamed in protest, throbbing at the blaster wound site. The senator was watching his arm instead of his face, though, so it thankfully went unnoticed. "Yeah, it's much better now."

"I'm glad." Amidala said, looking comfortable for once. "How's your day been?"

Éothen was about to shrug when he remembered how much his arm liked that _last_ time. He tipped his head instead. "Fairly unproductive, which is… odd, but welcome. You?"

"I wouldn't call any day in the senate productive," she sighed with slight exasperation. "But it was a pretty good day."

Of _course_ it wasn't productive in the senate – that arena full of stuck up idiots didn't accomplish anything. That was just a given at this point. This topic of conversation wasn't very enticing, so he changed it. "So how many times have you been to the opera, anyway?"

Amidala hummed in response as she pondered the answer. It was kind of funny… and just a little endearing. Éothen internally sighed; too bad she was a politician and a foreigner. She'd be fun to hang around with back home… though he doubted she'd ever get near the battlefield, and that quickly chilled any warm feelings he had for her.

"Probably twice before," she finally said. "I had to go when I first got here because it was the best opera house in the Empire, and I do love the arts. Another time I dragged my brother there to show him my favorite opera."

She had a brother? "I didn't know you had siblings."

"A brother and sister," she admitted with a smile.

"Older or younger?"

"Both older."

"So you're the baby, eh?" Éothen remarked, raising an eyebrow. "Spoiled or bullied?"

"Neither," she laughed. "They loved me to death but they definitely put me in my place when I was out of line. So a happy medium, I suppose?"

Éothen did his best to shove the images of his cousins, uncles, aunts, nieces, and nephews out of his mind. He and Amidala continued with the small talk until they'd arrived at the opera house itself. Éothen glanced at it nervously; the actual building was suspended above the lower levels of the city, held by a support to one of its sides. He was sure the wind made that blasted thing shift around just as much as all the other buildings on this planet. Great.

He _really_ missed the ground right now.

When the speeder came to a complete stop Éothen exited first and offered his right hand to assist her; he knew he had to be delicate with people like her, after all. She took the hand with a smile, and he suddenly felt guilty for calling her delicate; she was too radiant and full of energy for such a demeaning word… _innocent_, maybe? He wasn't sure how to categorize her, honestly. She wasn't exactly fitting into his usual organized idea of a politician. Then again, the very fact that she helped the Rebels indicated she was more active than most politicians anyway. Maybe he should just think of her as a Rebel instead of a senator, but he wasn't so sure she'd earned _that_ much praise yet.

As he offered her his arm, Éothen glanced ahead at the opera house and braced himself. This was going to be… interesting, he supposed.

* * *

The Galaxies Opera House was among the most prestigious locations on all of Imperial Center. It stood strikingly, hanging by a precipice over the depths below and making a mark on the skyline. Large hallways and hangars sprawled all the way up to the domed building itself, filled with crimson red carpet, golden statues of famous actors and actresses, and luxurious furniture. The pristine location was always filled with extravagantly dressed patrons every evening. The sights were pleasing to the eye, the drinks always the best on the entire planet, and the refinement was at its zenith. His favorite part of going to the opera house, however, was the opera itself. He always enjoyed watching the singers work their magic – the opera house only hired the best in the galaxy, and it was a strange but satisfying entertainment to watch them work. He often visited this place during his time as Chancellor of the Republic and he reveled in the secret connection he had between himself and the actors – all life was indeed a stage.

Palpatine was always given the utmost privacy when he visited. He doubted the owner of the opera house even realized just how special this place was to him; honestly, this opera house was probably the only location on the planet that Palpatine used for recreation. Here he watched the actors and let them pull the strings for a little while; though most of the plots were predictable, he'd always be extra impressed if some player managed to breathe new life into the role, and he was always careful to ensure the best were on the stage. One time a bass had been too predictable in his movements, too exaggerated in his acting and singing; honestly, it had been a disgrace. Palpatine had ensured the man never performed again.

He had once brought Vader here to show him the opera. Palpatine hadn't been sure why he'd done so – he'd had nothing to say to the youngling, and no lessons to teach him from the opera. Nevertheless, he'd brought the child along, and had been dismayed and annoyed to see that the boy had derived no pleasure from it. Then again, by that point he'd been starting to realize that the apprentice had derived no emotion from anything, so he supposed he shouldn't have gotten quite as upset as he had… but that was in the past. The boy had learned to endure pain better after that evening, anyway.

Endure pain. That _idiot_.

Palpatine had little doubt Vader had done his utmost to ensure he was presentable upon his arrival at Imperial Center. He could just _see_ the fool cleaning his injuries and hacking an Emdee droid to check the severity of the wounds; as soon as the word _surgery_ came up the apprentice no doubt dismissed it, assuming it would impede his briefing. He probably figured he'd go get surgery afterwards. And he'd do all this so casually, as if it meant nothing, as if it weren't _important_ enough to merit much more attention than that.

Palpatine sighed heavily. What had he done wrong to raise such a hapless fool who cared so little for his own well-being? How was the boy's impeccable logic thrown askew by simply proving he wasn't a failure? And why in the _blazes_ had it taken Palpatine this long to realize just _why_ the boy was dedicated?

What in the blazes had happened with those Jedi? This was the first time Vader had confronted sane Jedi, but the boy could hold his own against _Palpatine_ in training sessions by this point.

His emotions. Vader had no control mechanism for his emotions. Palpatine had sent him off to battle so he could regain some control – he'd used the battle itself as a control mechanism, but apparently it hadn't been enough. He should have figured as much. Perhaps the foolish mistake had been on more than Vader's part. Nevertheless, it was being rectified now, and the Sith Master was more than ready to give the idiot an earful when he awoke.

Testing the Force briefly, Palpatine immersed himself in the darkness. He felt out his apprentice and wrapped himself around the boy's consciousness. Vader was deep asleep, heavily sedated. The surgery was still occurring. Checking his chronometer, Palpatine mused how much longer it would take – the boy had been under the scalpel for a little over an hour.

There'd better not be any complications. The last thing he needed was a dead apprentice. Vader was worth too much.

Palpatine seethed with annoyance at the boy's foolishness and his own blunder in sending him off ill-equipped when he suddenly recognized someone in the crowd. Was that Amidala? His anger vanished immediately, and a sadistic delight filled him instead. Ah, this would be deliciously amusing. Perhaps he could get some fun in before the opera began.

Rising, he strode through the ornate hallways until he found the young woman heading towards a private booth of her own. She was walking arm in arm with a Togruta; how had that man passed security? Most non-Humans weren't allowed into such a prestigious venue. He supposed Amidala had persuaded the guards to let her companion through, but if he was that important to her, then who was he? So many wonderful questions to answer, so little time. He put on his best charming smile and a look of mild surprise. "Senator Amidala, what a delight to see you again."

Amidala, who had been smiling serenely at her companion, suddenly grew stiff and cold. Her gentle grip on the man tightened and she pulled him closer to her. She bowed, pulling the Togruta into a bowing position with her. He didn't look particularly happy about the situation. "Your Imperial Majesty, I didn't realize I would have the honor to see you here."

"It has been far too long, my dear," he remarked. He really had little need to maintain a façade these days, but it was far more entertaining to watch them squirm and guess at his motives. "The last time we spoke, I believe, was before the final recess. There had been some unfortunate uprisings in your sector, and I was concerned for your safety. I'm glad to see everything has resolved itself."

Amidala's eyes flashed a little, and she offered a small fake smile. Behind it, though, the Force surged with such intensity that Palpatine would have figured she could access it – her hatred for him had certainly grown since their last encounter. He briefly pondered as to why, but the reason was apparent – after all, she'd no doubt heard of Mothma's death now that Organa was back with the Rebels (he had a deep suspicion Amidala had gotten Organa out, but it seemed unlikely since she wouldn't have had the manpower to do so), and the destruction of the Rebel bases only added insult to injury. In either case, he bathed himself in her contempt and only grew all the more incited to tear into her like a knife into a shuura fruit.

Her companion didn't even bother with a veneer of politeness. The brute certainly didn't belong here. Motioning to him, Palpatine did his best to not show his disgust; there was little point in indicating how badly the soldier's presence—one could easily deduce he was a soldier by his build, posture, and his preposterous uniform—was affecting him. "Who is your companion?"

"This is Éothen, the son of Adelig of the Ønske Clan of Salkende," Padmé motioned to the man.

Salkende? Intriguing. Palpatine had watched the progress of the civil war on that planet with some interest. Salkende was the biggest superpower in its sector, and the Tsograda Sector itself boasted one of the best hidden gems in the galaxy. He had no doubt Amidala was sinking her teeth into this matter with gusto; if Tsograda were to join with the Rebel Alliance, it would rejuvenate the ragtag team to a legitimate threat. Salkende's warriors were supposedly almost as powerful as Mandalorians, and the other planets of the sector were nothing to ignore, either: Ferrasco, the sector's largest world, was the refugee capital of the galaxy; anyone could vanish there. Anamensis was a major exporter of essential foods and nutrients. Llenoh was rich in minerals and material that could be used for armor and weapons. The sector was practically its own self-contained war machine.

Amidala was beginning to outstay her welcome, which was a pity considering the wonders she was doing to Vader. He needed to ensure this relationship went no further. Also, he was more than eager to discover her side of the story about Varykino. "A pleasure, Éothen. Though senator, I thought you were already engaging your attention elsewhere. Was I mistaken in hearing that you invited Lord Vader to your lake retreat on Naboo?"

Éothen stiffened and glanced at Amidala. Palpatine could sense surprise and disgust rolling off the man, and he soaked it up as if it were water in the desert. Ah, yes, this was doing wonders for soothing his irritation. Watching Amidala's face drain of color brought him more pleasure than watching Mothma die at Vader's hand; the young brat from Naboo had been quite the thorn in Palpatine's side since she became queen. After she'd thwarted his not so subtle attempt to get her off the throne he'd finally decided she was a more legitimate threat than he'd given her credit for, but it only led all the more to her downfall. Once Palpatine had given her his full attention he'd quickly come up with at least three alternative ways to make her die with the greatest amount of suffering. However, he'd also quickly discovered that she was an unexploited opportunity as well, and her usefulness had drastically increased her longevity. He might just keep her alive now for pure entertainment, but it was doubtful.

A few tense seconds passed. Amidala's face slowly regained color, but she was even stiffer than before. Apparently she needed plenty of time to formulate the correct response. He couldn't wait to hear it.

"I wished to visit my homeworld, but Your Majesty was concerned for my safety," she finally said. "I figured it would satisfy both of us if Lord Vader accompanied me."

Such a simple thread of a lie. She would have to do better than that. "Ah, I see. It must have been very important to visit your lake retreat."

"I must admit I needed the rest," she conceded a little ground, but the hatred burning in her eyes indicated she wasn't willing to give up. Good. It was always more satisfying when they went down screaming rather than with a whimper. "I'm sure even Your Majesty needs vacation time. If I'm not mistaken, there's a retreat reserved for Your Majesty on Naboo, correct?"

She'd given up on outright fighting him; this was just a deflection. "Yes, I do. It's near the Lake Country. Did you enjoy your time with Lord Vader? I hear it was spent productively."

Her face went white as a sheet once more. Palpatine grew even more curious – this had to do with whatever little secret Vader had been keeping. What had transpired between the two? Had they both taken the bait as he'd hoped? His apprentice's loyalty was still unshakable, that much was apparent, but what little tendril of deceit had she planted in the boy's soul? What did she do that caused him to keep anything at all from his master?

Though Palpatine was reveling in the fear, rage, and disgust pounding the Force like a torrential storm, this part of the conversation received his undivided attention. Using the emotions around him he singled his focus onto Amidala's mind and pierced it imperceptibly, trying to glimpse at what had actually transpired. Images flashed through his mind, clumped together by intensity and emotion – out in the fields, by the waterfall, in a boat, on the shuttle, in some foreign terrain, blaster fire, lightsaber activated, running, yelling, hiding, fighting, hugging, talking, moonlight, rain, warmth, shock, contentment, _yearning_.

Applause was heard in the theater; the conductor had arrived. The opera was just beginning. Amidala used the opportunity to excuse herself politely and she led her companion to their own private booth. Palpatine remained in place, nodding graciously and processing everything. He'd seen enough; he knew what seeds she'd planted in the boy. He almost chuckled with satisfaction and delight; the girl had served her purpose well, just as he'd planned. Now all he had to do was slip the final pieces into place.

The audience quieted down as the conductor raised his baton to commence the show. Palpatine smiled as he slowly walked back to his booth. Oh, the opera had already long since begun. It was just now reaching its climax.

* * *

Padmé did her best to catch her breath as she sat beside Éothen. The two hadn't spoken a word in the few minutes since they'd left Palpatine. She wasn't sure of his temperament, but she herself was too busy trying to contain so many different emotions that were threatening to tear out of her. Just _looking_ at that man had garnered such _disgust_ – after _everything_ she'd endured and learned, seeing Palpatine was like staring at the incarnation of all that was evil in the universe. It was _repulsive_. And then when he'd opened his mouth about Varykino… she shouldn't have been surprised that he'd known; obviously, she'd already basically come to that conclusion, but just hearing him _saying_ it had made her heart almost stop. Vader had said Palpatine didn't know about their relationship, but the glint in the man's eye indicated that wasn't entirely true. Either that or he was just doing his usual tormenting.

She felt like she was going to burst. Sitting here, surrounded by politicians, officers, _Imperials_… she wanted to scream. Éothen would have been a relief to have with her if he hadn't heard that conversation. She didn't even want to know what he was thinking of her; she supposed he was under the impression she was using him just as she obviously had used Vader. Normally Padmé cared little for what people called her since most of the name calling came from her opponents, but Éothen wasn't supposed to be an opponent; he was supposed to be a _friend_.

She felt isolated, naked, violated. She felt like the entire opera house could see into her soul and all her secrets were screaming so loudly Vader could probably hear her from whatever corner of the galaxy Palpatine had sent him off to.

The overture finished and the lights focused on the stage. Large crowds of people were milling about on the stage, and a group of men in the corner began to sing. Normally Padmé enjoyed listening to the music and picking out the most intricate and beautiful outfits, but tonight she felt as if the opera were delaying some sort of inevitable conclusion that she didn't want to think about. She glanced at Éothen to see him staring at the stage, but judging by the glazed look to his eyes he wasn't actually seeing it. He no doubt was pondering the conversation he'd just witnessed.

She wanted to burst. She wanted to break. She _was_ broken.

"Éothen," she whispered to get his attention. She didn't want this; she didn't want the one person she felt like she could relax with to suddenly view her as the enemy. She didn't even understand herself anymore sometimes, but she didn't want _him_ to think ill of her; she'd invited him to the opera as a kindness so he could see some of the nicer aspects of Imperial Center, but the more she'd planned for it the more she realized she'd invited him because she just wanted some companionship that didn't include insane maneuvering and death defying lies.

Éothen glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "Milady?"

"Don't… I know you're smart enough to not trust a word the emperor says," she said. "But… I'm sorry you had to witness that."

"Did you really go to Naboo with Darth Vader?"

She grew dizzy. The room grew too hot. She felt incomprehensibly heavy as if the universe had just fallen on her shoulders. It was that same exhaustion she'd felt before she initially had left for Naboo with Vader. Sighing, she nodded. "Yes. He was… watching me. I wanted to keep his attention away from others who were going to be busy over the recess."

Éothen caught her meaning. "You were distracting him?"

Again Padmé nodded. She was too tired to explain herself much more than that, and she _definitely_ wasn't going to go into what had happened over the vacation. Her relationship with Éothen was strictly for the sake of sanity – if she included him in on the issues with Vader that would quickly tip it in favor of _insanity_.

"It takes guts to deal with the worst killer in the history of the Empire," Éothen remarked, offering a small smile of approval.

That smile was all she needed. The weight released slightly and she raised her eyebrows slightly in response. "Yeah, it was interesting. But let's not worry about that – Vader's nowhere near here, so he's no longer an issue."

"So he's not watching you anymore?"

She was starting to regret bringing this up. "Not really."

Éothen leaned back in his seat and returned his gaze to the opera. "That's a relief."

"I'm sorry," she suddenly said, catching herself off guard. Éothen looked at her once more, a little confused. She was a little upset she'd said it aloud, but it was ringing in her mind. "I didn't want to ruin this night for either of us… but…"

"_Den skéi kypkatøn am den welt, ya den éo kjavikatuk ønske tåkje."_ Éothen said with a gentle smile. At Padmé's slightly confused expression, he explained, "_The cold bites you to the bone, but our great Mother always warms your soul_. It's a saying on Salkende; life may throw terrible things your way, but the Mother always looks out for you."

"The Mother?" she repeated.

"On Salkende we believe that a Creator made everything in the universe," Éothen explained. "But the Creator's too great for us to approach. Legend has it that one woman was brave enough to speak and showed the best that creation had to offer: humility, honor, dignity, strength, love, and obedience. The Creator was so impressed with her that he brought her into the heavens with him to be everyone's great Mother. She's no goddess, but she's as close as you can get, and we honor her for it. Since nobody else can demonstrate creation as well as she did, we don't approach the Creator like she did – we talk to her. Closer to home, anyway."

It was strange to hear someone's religious beliefs differ from those of Naboo; on Imperial Center most people thought of themselves as gods, so religion wasn't a big concern. On Naboo, though, there were many gods for many different things… Padmé often didn't keep up with a lot of them because it was almost as tedious as keeping up with the rest of the insanity in her life. She kept a select few in a special place in her heart whenever her haggard brain had time to think about it. It was a nice feeling hearing about Éothen's religion, though; the idea of having someone who'd experienced this life looking out for everyone in the next one was surprisingly reassuring.

Feeling a little better, Padmé gave Éothen a grateful smile and they turned their attention back to the opera, forgetting about everything else for a while.

* * *

The smell of alcohol scraped the insides of his nostrils and made him pull out a handkerchief and hold it against his face in an attempt to stifle the odor. The stark whiteness of the walls and floor reflected just enough light from the dull outdoors to irritate his eyes. The queasiness in his stomach did little to help the matter. Tarkin glanced around pointlessly, wondering how in the blazes he could keep himself preoccupied since he had nothing to read or do. He'd been sitting in the main area of the medical bay for well over two hours waiting for Vader to get out of surgery. He'd long since moved passed frustration at the boy and was instead marveling at the fact that the emperor hadn't finished him off for his foolishness. Then he'd briefly considered calling his spy, but this place was too public and exposed for such an encounter.

So again, he had _nothing to do_.

A noise caught his attention and Tarkin turned in the seat the nurse had provided for him. The source was a HoloNet receiver, and two people were sitting in front of it while an Emdee droid sterilize some tools.

At first Tarkin wasn't quite sure what they were watching. It looked like some party where a bunch of people were talking excitedly. A man kissed some woman—girlfriend? Fiancée? Wife?—passionately and then wandered off to another girl with a drink in his hand. Giving her the drink the two talked briefly before they were suddenly all over each other. One of the people watching gasped in delight.

"Oh, I _knew_ they had feelings for each other!" she exclaimed.

Her companion looked at her. "But they never said anything romantic to each other."

"It was in her _eyes_," the other one argued. "And just look at them now!"

Tarkin really _didn't_ want to look at them now, actually. Glancing away in irritation he slumped further into his seat and tried to ignore the sappy romantic music wailing in the background. The music eventually settled and then the drama set in—heaven forbid he actually have to listen to _that_.

"What happened last night?" the male character asked blearily.

"I…" his companion mumbled. "We…"

"Well this'll go well," one of the audience members mumbled. "Isn't he _married_?"

"But it's true love!"

"They _don't even know each other_."

"You just don't understand—it's no wonder you've never had a boyfriend!"

Delightful. Now he was going to hear about everybody's personal life.

"What we did last night…" the female on the HoloNet said uncertainly. "It…"

"It felt _right_." The male supplied for her. "I love you."

The intense onslaught of dramatic music told Tarkin enough and he felt a headache pinch the inside of his skull. He squeezed his handkerchief more tightly than before as one of the audience members excitedly cackled and squealed in response.

"Well there goes _his_ marriage." The other one remarked.

Tarkin looked pleadingly at the chronometer on the wall. _Vader, so help me, if you don't get out of that surgery soon…_

After enduring the entire life's story of one of the nurses and hearing about how the HoloNet characters secretly had feelings for each other even though (according to the nurse's companion) they'd never before implied anything of the sort, Tarkin _finally_ saw a physician approaching him. Standing, he hastily closed the distance between them so he could get away from the ocean of hormones at the other end of the room.

"Well?" he asked.

"He pulled through," the doctor said. "Lord Vader ought to make a full recovery, but he'll have to remain here for about a day."

Tarkin released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Very well."

"Shall I inform the emperor?"

Tarkin shook his head. "No, I'll do that."

_Just not now_, he added as the doctor nodded and departed. After all, there was no point in interrupting the emperor's relaxation while Vader was still being weaned off the anesthesia; Force knew that as soon as Palpatine found out Vader was on the mend he'd probably come up with some other ridiculous and suicidal mission for the boy, anyway.

Tarkin watched the health care providers place Vader in a recovery room. The boy's skin had regained some color, and he looked peacefully unaware of everything in the universe. No, Tarkin wouldn't tell Palpatine yet.

"Oh my goodness, there's his wife this is going to get so good!"

"How many more episodes can we watch so we're caught up?"

"Five! Isn't it great?"

Tarkin sighed heavily. This was going to be a long night.

* * *

The applause was deafening. The performers earned a standing ovation. Padmé glanced at Éothen as he rose in response as well, clapping and flashing her a smile.

"What did you think?" she asked after the fourth curtain call.

"It was surprisingly intense," he answered.

Once the applause began to die down, Padmé felt the lightness in her chest start to grow heavy as she thought about leaving the safety and privacy of the seating area. The two gathered their things and set out from the booth, but Padmé tread carefully, not wanting to run into Palpatine once more. The crowds might be enough to cover her, and she hoped the emperor would be preoccupied elsewhere as she hastily dragged Éothen towards the stairs that led to the main foyer. Once they entered it they were suddenly stopped simply by the sheer amount of people. The two stood in place, waiting for the crowds to thin.

"Would you like a drink while we wait?" Éothen asked politely.

Padmé glanced around nervously, but she figured she could at least attempt to enjoy the rest of the evening without thinking about the emperor. Besides, it was unlikely that Palpatine would be near the refreshments. "Sure."

The two managed to squeeze over to the bar and then had to wait to be able to reach the bartender. As they waited the two exchanged pleasant conversation but there was a brief pause, and in that moment, Padmé saw something she wished she would never see.

A woman nearby was holding a data pad and scrolling through news articles. One in particular, titled breaking news, caught her and Padmé's attention.

_BREAKING NEWS: Rumors about mysterious Jedi fleet confirmed – Imperial Intelligence states that the fleet is no longer a threat._

A horrid ache and emptiness filled her as she knew, she _knew_ what was coming next.

_Death Squadron, commanded by Darth Vader, engaged the enemy and defeated them in a heated space battle. Intelligence reports that the Empire's mighty Sith killed the Jedi personally._

This couldn't be happening. This _couldn't be happening_.

"Senator?"

Padmé couldn't hear Éothen. She couldn't hear anything but her own heartbeat. She couldn't feel anything but her own anguish, her own hopelessness and loss. No matter where she turned, no matter what she said, no matter who she rescued, no matter who she convinced, the Empire always won. It was always one step ahead, always more powerful. And _Darth Vader_ was leading it into the battlefield.

She somehow knew she'd hit this point. Somehow she'd always known. She'd finally just reach the point where she'd _snap,_ where the difference between her loyalties and Vader's loyalties finally led to a confrontation instead of a conversation. But she didn't _want_ to hit that point. This didn't have to be that point. Why couldn't Vader just realize he was _wrong_?

"Senator, are you alright?"

Padmé jumped, finally registering Éothen's voice. "I… I'm…"

She didn't have the energy to lie to him. She didn't have the energy to do anything. She _couldn't_ give up, though. She just _couldn't_.

She _wouldn't_. And she knew exactly what she needed to do. The Rebels only had one hope now. Her entire purpose for becoming senator was to help the Alliance, and no matter how much her heart screamed in pain over what Vader had done, she wouldn't let that get in her way of her duty. A little voice in the back of her mind whispered the question she'd asked herself before the final recess:

_How far will you go for the Alliance?_

"Éothen," she turned to him. She felt her determination strengthening, but she also felt herself slipping as if she herself were turning into Vader's counterpart; a tool for the Alliance. "Have you decided who your wife will be?"

Éothen immediately looked baffled. "I… what? Well, no, I… I haven't. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Would I be an option?" she asked before she lost her resolve.

Éothen's mouth slipped open as if to reply, but he only gaped at her in astonishment. Then he quickly cleared his throat and shifted his weight from foot to foot uncomfortably. Padmé wasn't sure what to make of his reaction; it wasn't an immediate no, so that was at least something.

"You… I… well…" Éothen cleared his throat again and took a deep breath. "I don't see why not, but… that's… we…"

"It's a lot, I know," she hastily said, giving him time to process everything. She hoped he'd decide quickly, though; _she_ didn't want time to process it.

"Yeah…" he said with a small surprised laugh. "Yeah, it is. I mean… I mean we can…"

"Our marriage would unite our causes," Padmé emphasized, suddenly getting more energized with the concept. She wasn't sure if it was because it was making logical sense or she was just trying to speed things up so she didn't have to think of _who_ this would effect. "My people could help rebuild Salkende, your people could help rebuild mine, and… and we can rebuild your clan together."

And that was the last piece. She'd finally slid down that slippery slope and just completely thrown away everything for the cause. Suddenly Vader was so relatable it _hurt_. Was this how he always felt?

Why was she still thinking about him? There was no way her emotions for him could grow, there was no possible way they could bring their relationship to any good conclusion. The laws of fantasy and reality were separate for a reason—only in a _fantasy_ could she and Vader have a future together. Only in a _fantasy_ could she convince him that he was a Human being and not just some tool, particularly after the stunt she'd just pulled.

Éothen considered her words. "I… I'm not sure what to say, senator. I…"

"Please," she interrupted him, trying to diffuse the tension. "Call me Padmé."

Éothen looked her in the eye and nodded. "Padmé. I… I'll accept your offer on the condition that my clan also accepts. You have to come to Salkende with me."

She felt her body grow colder as if it weren't even alive anymore. She felt disjointed from everything around her, somehow even more isolated than she'd ever been. "I understand. When can we leave?"

"I leave the day after tomorrow," he answered. "I trust you can get your affairs in order by then?"

Padmé nodded. "Absolutely."

* * *

**I can't be sure, but I'm fairly certain this story is the first time I've attempted to write Qui-Gon so I really don't have much a feel for his character. Tips would be great! Hope you liked the chapter. :)  
**


	29. The Chess Master

**Goodness, these chapters keep getting longer and longer, lol. And dear me, everyone was flipping out quite a bit from the last chapter, haha. Fret not! Just bear the genres in mind. ;)  
**

**PSA: I might or might not have pulled an all-nighter *coughcough* so the editing on this won't be perfect.**

* * *

As the string instruments played dramatically, Tarkin felt his headache intensify.

"She's got to break up with him!" the nurse argued. "She doesn't belong with him!"

"She's his _wife_," the med tech stressed.

"Yeah, but they don't _feel_ it anymore – besides, these two are meant to be!"

"Have you forgotten that his new girlfriend is also sleeping with the commander?"

"It's the captain, actually," Tarkin corrected her. The nurse and tech threw him confused glances and he shrugged. It was hard to_ not_ know the plot when they had the receiver on maximum volume and he'd been listening to the past _three episodes_. He was fairly certain he could explain the entire plot by now: it was a _'historical drama'_ (with heavy emphasis on the drama and very little emphasis on the historical) that took place during the Clone Wars showcasing a romance between a promiscuous Jedi Padawan and three or four different men.

"Right." The tech acknowledged awkwardly before looking back at the nurse. "See? She slept with the _captain_; there's no way she and that admiral can hook up."

"They already _did_ hook up!" the nurse replied hotly.

Tarkin eyed a scalpel longingly.

"Besides, isn't she like, what, fifteen years old? And the admiral's in his fifties?"

The syringe was looking pretty good too. All he had to do was find some poison to fill it.

"So? She's a commander, _and_ a Jedi, so it's not like that matters!"

"When does Order 66 happen?" Tarkin finally asked, at his wit's end. "I'd like to watch that episode."

Any response from the medical practitioners was interrupted by a small groan. Everyone's attention immediately turned to Vader. He coughed a little, his throat no doubt rough from the endotracheal tube that had been there during the surgery. He shifted in bed and winced before opening his deep blue eyes. They were unfocused initially, but as Tarkin approached him they picked up on the movement and slowly rolled over to him.

"Milord?" Tarkin questioned, checking to see if the boy was even aware of what had happened.

The nurse and tech also appeared at his bedside. The tech started to get vitals as the nurse checked Vader's IV drip.

Vader continued to stare at Tarkin, his brow furrowing a little in confusion. He coughed again and then moaned a little, obviously in pain.

"Aren't you people giving him painkillers?" Tarkin looked at the nurse reproachfully.

"He's got the maximum dose in his system right now," she replied. "It's the coughing that's doing it, governor; any motion in his abdomen is going to hurt, no matter what."

As the tech and nurse continued to care for the young Sith, Tarkin once more looked at the information the physician had given him. Vader would be discharged either tomorrow night or the morning after, depending on how his recovery went. He would be allowed to eat solids once he was able to swallow and was cognizant enough to know what was happening. He was to remain in bed for the duration of his stay in the med bay, though, and he would need some therapy after he was released. Tarkin snorted at the last note; as if Palpatine would let Vader have simple physical therapy; the boy's therapy would be to get his asteroid out of bed and get back to work.

"G-governor…?"

Tarkin immediately returned his attention to Vader. The boy still looked confused. Sighing, Tarkin plopped the data pad on the bed and briefly brushed his fingers against the boy's arm as an indicator of his presence. "Yes, it's me. Do you know where you are right now?"

Vader swallowed and slowly moved his head to glance around. He then closed his eyes. The tech and nurse both immediately looked at the monitor, and when Tarkin did as well he noted to his alarm that Vader's heart rate dropped. The tech noticed his concern and smiled reassuringly.

"He's using the Force," she replied. "My mother was a medic during the Clone Wars and she said Jedi's vitals were always funny when they accessed the Force."

"I'm in… in the med bay…" Vader answered Tarkin sluggishly. "How did…?"

"The emperor." Tarkin explained.

Vader's eyes popped open immediately. Tarkin knew what was coming next and he slammed his hand into Vader's uninjured shoulder to prevent him from bolting out of bed. "Don't even think about going anywhere, milord. You're under strict orders to remain in bed."

"My report—"

"Can wait another day," Tarkin interrupted.

"He's stable right now, sir," the nurse reported. "We'll leave you two alone."

The nurse and the tech both bowed and left the room, though the large door remained open and Tarkin could still unfortunately see and hear everything quite clearly through the glass windows and open area between the room and the HoloNet receiver. Vader closed his eyes and rubbed his face with one hand, taking a deep breath.

"How are you feeling?" Tarkin asked him.

Vader shook his head, his eyes squeezed shut.

Tarkin sat once more in the chair beside the boy's bed, not entirely sure what to do or say. Looking the boy over, he glanced at the regimen of medicine Vader was currently taking through his IV. Painkiller, nutrients, ions, and an antibiotic. Tarkin recognized the name of the last medication; he'd been unfortunate enough to have it administered to himself during the Clone War after a particularly bad campaign. He distinctly recalled that it left him feeling ravenous with hunger. He looked at Vader. "When was the last time you ate, milord?"

Vader paused to consider his answer. When he took too long to reply, Tarkin took that as an answer in itself; he probably hadn't eaten since before battling the Jedi. Then again he was on nutrients from the IV… he had everything he needed.

"Wait, when did she sleep with _that_ guy? Rewind the episode!"

Well, that decided it. He was going to the kitchens. "I'll be back."

"Governor," Vader called after him as he walked towards the doorway. "Where's Master?"

Master. Why was he calling him master when there were so many people around? What had him worried? Did he think he was in trouble? Well he was blasted right in thinking _that_ – the idiot should have never let himself get to this point; he should have gone straight to surgery after the battle instead of incessantly worrying over his stupid report to the kriffing emperor and—

Oh right. He'd asked him a question.

"He's at the opera, milord. Now rest."

As Tarkin happily fled the med bay, leaving the wailing of the nurse far behind him, he realized he would now be forced to contact Palpatine. Not only was Vader out of surgery, but he was also awake and asking for his master. Sighing, Tarkin pulled out his comlink, and he finally made the call as he stood in the turbolift waiting to reach his destination. Palpatine received the news coldly and didn't say much else. Tarkin hadn't expected anything different; the emperor had no reason to say anything else, certainly to the grand moff.

Once he reached the kitchens Tarkin grabbed the necessary accoutrements and returned to the med bay, dreading hearing the inevitable—

"OH. MY. GOSH. Is that her _Master_?! Talk about a _hottie_! Too bad he's a Jedi—what a waste of good genes!"

Sighing heavily, Tarkin trudged back into Vader's room. The boy was sitting stiffly, his uninjured leg twitching restlessly, but he focused on the grand moff as he entered. His eyes then immediately fell upon what Tarkin was holding.

"They didn't say anything about you not being able to eat ice cream, I believe," Tarkin remarked as he approached the young Sith. "Just be sure to eat it slowly."

"Sir?"

Tarkin turned to see the med tech watching him uncertainly. "Yes?"

"I'm afraid he's going to have to wait on dessert until we see him eat something more substantial."

"Such as?"

"Well, the Emdee droid is bringing some food for him now, governor," she explained and hastily motioned to the droid once it arrived. "If he can hold that down then he can eat dessert."

"I can eat dessert now," Vader slurred from his bed, his fingers twitching.

The tech sighed and shrugged. "He can eat dessert now."

Tarkin blinked. What? Why did she—he immediately snapped his gaze back to Vader. Cheeky youngling. When he raised his eyebrow in a query, Vader looked at him nonchalantly. "The ice cream will melt before I finish the rest, and then it'll be useless."

"Astonishing logic," Tarkin commented dryly as he passed the bowl to the boy. When Vader received the bowl and spoon, Tarkin firmly reminded him, "Eat _slowly_."

The Sith nodded and took a small hesitant bite. "When will Master be back?"

Tarkin glanced at the boy's vitals. His heart rate was far higher than it had been earlier. He was still worrying over Palpatine. "He ought to be back relatively soon. You can give your report to him when he arrives, if he so pleases. In the meantime don't think about it."

He didn't know why he was saying that; telling Vader to not obsess over his missions was like telling the sun to stop shining. He wouldn't shut up about the report until Palpatine said his mission was complete. At least the boy seemed more stable… for the most part. He still looked restless and nervous, though whether that was due to his wounds, his punishment for being injured, or something else entirely was beyond him.

The Emdee droid abruptly interrupted Tarkin's thoughts when it shoved food onto Vader's lap and snatched his chocolate ice cream. "The doctor commands that you eat a substantial dinner before consuming dessert."

Vader blinked, staring at the bowl. Then he looked at the Emdee droid. Then Tarkin. Then the bowl again. Something sizzled in the background, and Tarkin whirled around to see a circuit board had shorted out. The Emdee droid placed the ice cream on the nightstand and departed.

Tarkin immediately stood and grabbed the bowl, holding it out to the Sith. Vader immediately took it and once again munched on the contents as the grand moff hesitantly looked at the circuit board again. Writing it off as an odd coincidence, he returned his attention to the Sith.

"What happened with the Jedi, milord?" he asked as Vader ate.

"They're dead."

"Yes, I _know_ that," Tarkin rolled his eyes. "I meant how did you get injured?"

Vader paused. His gaze clouded, and his hand slowly lowered, ice cream forgotten. He didn't look pleased about something, but he also didn't look like he wanted to admit anything. After almost a minute of this, Tarkin let the matter drop. "It's a moot point. Never mind."

Vader immediately returned his attention to his ice cream. Tarkin thought briefly about how this would affect his plans, and he thought about his spy as well. He was eager to meet with her, and now that the boy was awake he could do so. He should probably wait until the emperor returned, though. That shouldn't be too long.

Tarkin once again scrolled through Vader's medical file out of boredom. He glanced at the name of the physician who had overseen everything and was suddenly startled to see that the man was a _pediatric_ surgeon. Why was he treating Vader? He immediately looked at the Sith Lord and then back at the file, sifting through all the information until he settled on Vader's patient record. Blast it, the boy was nineteen? He really _had_ lost track of the years.

"_What?_ How could they just _kill him off_ like that?!"

Tarkin sighed. Where was that scalpel again?

* * *

Éothen walked in a daze as he disembarked at the private platform in Tlenden's apartment. Erwyna was waiting for him and she hastily grabbed his uninjured arm and dragged him inside. "Come on; Tlenden will be back soon. I told him you were taking a walk and got lost."

"Right," he muttered, trying to absorb everything that had happened. She… how… but… when… what…

"Tlenden's been gone for a couple of hours, but once we get you all situated I'll call him and say the coast is clear. Unless you brought some nice wine, of course, and then we can wait a little longer before calling."

He thought… how was it that… but she…? Éothen planted his feet firmly in place and refuse to move until his head stopped spinning.

Okay. What the hell just happened?

The emperor had arrived, and Éothen had suddenly learned that it took a _hell_ of a lot more self restraint to prevent himself from strangling the man than he thought possible. Amidala—_Padmé_—had done it with ease. Sure, she looked a little upset, but her execution was practically flawless. When the slime ball had mentioned she'd been with Darth Vader, Éothen had immediately thought his original suspicions about her were correct: she was nothing more than a manipulative politician, and he was her next victim. But after she'd explained herself it had _made sense_ and by the guardians it had finally unlocked that door that allowed him to just recognize that she was actually a pretty amazing woman. But… _but_…

How the hell had that escalated so quickly?

"Éothen?"

He jumped, glancing at Erwyna. Her blue eyes held concern and confusion. "What's wrong?"

"I… it's…" Éothen stammered uncertainly. How in the blazes was he going to explain this? Padmé Amidala had proposed marriage to him and he'd _accepted_ it – he hadn't known what else to say or do, and what she said rang true to him, and she had proven her worth for the most part, and—

Káern was going to blow a gasket. _Erwyna_ was going to blow a gasket. His mom… he wasn't so sure. But he figured his dad wouldn't mind.

"Is it your arm?" she asked.

Éothen shook his head. Honestly, he'd forgotten about his arm entirely since the fiasco at the opera house. "No, it's… I…" He took a deep breath. Time to face the consequences. "I'm engaged."

Erwyna rolled her eyes. "Very funny, Éothen. What's _actually_ wrong?"

"That's it."

"To who?" she looked at him disbelievingly.

"Do I _really_ need to explain?" he looked at her pointedly.

Erwyna gaped at him. "_Amidala?_ But you barely know her!"

Éothen knew that. He knew there were a _lot_ of issues with this. At the same time it was… kind of exciting. And terrifying. And confusing. He had thought through it with the small amount of time Amidala had given him, and what she'd said made sense, and what he'd thought about the matter made sense, and… blast it all, this was still happening _really _fast. Still, he was a man of honor and if he had said yes to Amidala he would keep his word to her, so long as his parents didn't object. He'd made his decision and wouldn't show any uncertainty to anyone else, even Erwyna. Giving his best cocky smile, he echoed his earlier statement about her. "She's pretty."

Erwyna gawked at him. After what seemed like an eternity, she finally said, "You've got to be _kidding_ me, Éothen—you can't just _joke_ about stuff like this! This is the future of your _clan_ we're talking about—the future of _Salkende_!"

She didn't think he _knew_ that? He'd been thinking about this ever since he'd said yes to Amidala—to Padmé. He'd yet to find a single woman he'd been interested in having as his wife up to this point mainly because every possibility he'd been given by Káern was some person he'd never met, and the only reason she was suggested was because it would lead to some kind of favorable political outcome, some sort of _unrelated_ outcome that didn't even do much for his clan at the present moment.

Káern was a politician; he didn't see what Éothen saw in people. When Káern mentioned a woman he saw an opportunity to give Ønske (and therefore his own clan, Bidra) allies via Éothen's marriage… but Éothen only saw a useless woman who had done nothing for him or his own and whose clan was equally worthless to him. Most of the families on Salkende were small and had just watched the war to see who would win, and now that Ønske was on top these previously useless clans were suddenly declaring their loyalty; it made Éothen burn with anger just thinking about it. Worthless idiots, all of them. If they were that concerned with protecting their own then Éothen was perfectly in his rights to feel the same and keep the future of his clan _far_ from anyone who obviously was just waiting to seize an opportunity and cared only for themselves. One's family meant everything, but clans often combined and sided together for common causes – all his life Éothen had been told that the people he'd been fighting had been tyrants to all the people of Salkende and they deserved to be defeated. Anyone who didn't believe that had their heads so far up their asteroids they couldn't help not seeing what was happening around them. He had no patience for that. He recalled the old stories and lore about how all the great clans of Salkende were honorable, but now it only seemed like a small handful were, and most of them were wiped out for their trouble. Honestly, the more he thought about it the better it seemed to marry a foreigner instead of any of the worthless idiots back home. There were a select number of clans who had potential, but they were already allied with Ønske; Káern, therefore, wouldn't even consider them. So if Tlenden wanted to play that game and create a new union through Éothen's marriage, then Éothen would happily oblige—Amidala was a foreigner and would bring quite the new union.

She'd bring the Rebel Alliance.

"I _am_ thinking about all that," he eventually replied, not growing too angry with Erwyna; she had similar views to Éothen, so once he explained things to her it would make sense. Sort of. He still had a lot of sorting out to do in his own mind, after all. Despite how logical the decision seemed, it still made his head spin. How in the blazes had that happened so fast?

"Please do enlighten me as to how this isn't a completely insane idea," Erwyna folded her arms, glaring at him.

"She's got an army."

"We're winning the war."

"Yes, but with the Alliance what more could we win?" Éothen offered, not really caring too much for any more conquest but also not wanting Salkende to ever grow weak. "We'd be the strongest military in the galaxy."

Erwyna laughed. "Yeah, sure, because we all know the Alliance is doing _magnificently_ against the Empire."

"The Alliance is taking a beating just like we did, Erwyna," Éothen argued, suddenly growing a little defensive as he thought of his own clan's plight. "Ønske used to have ten thousand members. Now it's just me and my parents, yet we're still the victors in our war."

Erwyna immediately changed the subject, noting his temper. "Fine, so we're not ruling them out of winning the war, but there's not even any _war_ at this point – there never has been. The Rebels always did these little operations and then scurried for cover."

"They never had the chance to grow," Éothen replied halfheartedly; he was starting to get out of his element at this point. He didn't know much about galactic affairs; his entire life had revolved around Salkende's war up to this point. Honestly, Erwyna was the same, so he was surprised she was arguing as much as she was.

"Most of the clans on Salkende could offer Ønske more support than the Rebels at this point," Erwyna noted. "Think about it: one of their leaders is dead. Besides, they already _owe_ us – we busted one of their other leaders out of an Imperial prison! You don't need to marry Amidala to get their help; you can just demand it."

Éothen looked at his friend disapprovingly. "You know we did that because it was the honorable thing to do. Such actions don't create debts; the Rebels owe us nothing."

Erwyna flushed and looked away, frustrated. Éothen wasn't sure what in particular was bothering her so much; yes, obviously this decision was extremely quick and not _entirely_ thought out, but Éothen had made it quite clear to her that he didn't desire going through the planning stages of this union – he'd much rather skip to the marrying part. Considering what little effort he'd put into thinking this through, it made surprisingly a lot of sense for Salkende and for his own tastes. Besides, if there were holes in his logic (which there no doubt were, he thought ruefully), his parents would pick up on it and he would have held his word… because one of the main reasons he said yes was because Amidala was just one of those passionate, demanding speakers you didn't say _no_ to.

Padmé. Right. Padmé. _Holy Mother_ this was weird. And exciting. And terrifying. And—wait, hadn't he already thought all of this? His head really _was_ spinning.

"There's going to be a nuclear fallout when Tlenden gets back," Erwyna sighed. "You _do_ realize that, right?"

"The decision's been made." Éothen said firmly. He had a million thoughts going through his mind all at once, but he wouldn't let Tlenden dictate his engagement anymore. "Káern will just have to deal with it."

And he _would_ have to deal with it. They all would. Even Éothen himself.

How in the blazes had this all happened so quickly?!

* * *

"I'm not sure this could get much worse," Siri muttered as she paced the living room.

Obi-Wan watched her but said nothing, mulling over the situation. The Rebels' last hope had been the Jedi fleet, and now they were gone, but the Alliance wasn't destroyed yet. What was left of their fleet was still out there, and now that Qui-Gon was here the Naberrie family could resume their spying so long as Darth Vader was far away, which seemed to be the case given his most recent activities. Obi-Wan and Siri needed to get in contact with Al; finding that Intelligence agent was a top priority. If they could get an inside man in Intelligence they would have a far better chance of survival, as would the Alliance. Qui-Gon would protect Padmé, who would be able to make contact with other senators, assuming any of them were trustworthy, and Obi-Wan and Siri could continue to meet with Al. As soon as he got his hands on Kelathik serum the baby would be safe. As insane as the situation was, there was still hope.

Then again, that was all taking into account that things went according to plan. Still, Obi-Wan was surprisingly calm about all of this; somehow that Jedi's inner peace spilled over into him… though obviously it hadn't reached Siri.

Qui-Gon. It was so strange thinking about the Jedi Master. He looked at Obi-Wan and Siri with such foreign familiarity, and it always brought the strangest sensations to Obi-Wan as if the man was from some life Obi-Wan had lived without recalling any of it.

"Blast, I wish we could somehow get rid of Vader," Siri snapped as she twirled around to walk the length of the couch again. "He's caused nothing but hell since he kriffing showed up in the galaxy. I know that's not our priority but now that he's directly involved with us… isn't there some way Qui-Gon can take him out?"

"That's not really his mission," Obi-Wan noted, eying his wife carefully.

"His mission is to protect Padmé," Siri rebutted. "Seeing as Vader is the biggest threat to her safety, getting rid of him wouldn't be too far from his objective."

"And how exactly would we explain that?" Obi-Wan challenged her calmly. "Qui-Gon would have to go into hiding, therefore eliminating him as her protector."

"But her biggest threat would be gone." Siri faced him fully.

"There are plenty of other things he could be doing," Obi-Wan sighed. "There are plenty of other things we should all be doing."

Siri raised her eyebrows in mild surprise. "So we're finally getting back to our usual business?"

"Assuming there's any usual business to do," Obi-Wan shrugged. "Seeing as we're the only spies left on this world I don't think we can push it off any longer, but the senate isn't really telling us much about the military at the moment… and I don't see any potential allies."

Siri sighed heavily, leaning against the wall. "Apart from Al's job I don't know what we're even doing here anymore. There's nothing for the Rebels here unless somebody can infiltrate Intelligence or the military."

That point had been bothering Obi-Wan for some time now. What _were_ they doing besides worrying over issues that could resolve themselves if they just _left_? It was a good thing they were around to save Organa (though he still wasn't happy that Padmé had put herself in such a dangerous situation), but unless they made contact with the Alliance they had no leads and no information. They were sitting around waiting to get caught. Besides, getting Padmé off-world would ensure she didn't let her emotions get the best of her with Darth Vader, either.

Obi-Wan and Siri both turned as they sensed Padmé enter the apartment. Obi-Wan stood, ready to greet her and relay the grim news about the fleet, but when she entered the living room he immediately grew concerned. She looked hollow somehow, like the opera had drained her as much as her time at Varykino. Her eyes were dull, her mouth a thin line, and her brow creased in worry. She didn't even seem to notice that Obi-Wan and Siri were standing in front of her until Siri said, "What's wrong?"

Padmé jumped, slightly startled, and her expression immediately grew relaxed. She smiled. Obi-Wan and Siri didn't have to exchange glances to know she was putting up a façade for them; they'd seen it enough times and they could sense right through the lie. "It's nothing… just… how did things go with you two? You met the Jedi, right?"

"Yes," Obi-Wan answered, waving a dismissive hand before he remembered the news he bore. He wasn't sure he wanted to tell her now, though; she looked like she'd had enough bad news for one night. But what had happened? The opera was supposed to be _relaxing_. "Padmé, what is it? Did Éothen do something?"

"The Jedi fleet is gone." She said morosely, staring blankly at the ground.

No wonder she looked awful. Obi-Wan immediately tried to reassure her. "We know, Padmé, but it's going to be all right. Now that the Jedi is here he can make contact with the Rebels, and—"

Obi-Wan's words were interrupted when Padmé abruptly burst into tears. She tried to hide it, covering her mouth and nose with one hand and squeezing her eyes shut, but her sobs wracked her entire body and she nearly collapsed onto the floor. Siri immediately ran to her and held her, trying to whisper comforting words. Obi-Wan stood awkwardly, watching the exchange and not knowing what to do. Why was she still crying if he'd just said it was fine? Was something else bothering her, or was it just too much all at once? What in the blazes was he supposed to do?

Siri continued to comfort Padmé before turning her head to give Obi-Wan a glare. She jerked her head as if to say _get your asteroid over here, idiot_. Obi-Wan sighed and obeyed, eventually holding Padmé. Hugs were fine. He could handle hugs, and he knew Padmé like them. Then Siri continued to glare at him. _Say something_.

Obi-Wan's eyes widened pleadingly. _Siri, you know I can't speak reassurances to save my life._

"As _Obi-Wan_ was saying," Siri said, rolling her eyes at her husband. "Everything's going to be fine. The Jedi will keep you safe, Al will find the agent, and the Jedi will meet up with Al to get in contact with the Rebels. We'll have all his allies helping us."

Somehow this only made matters worse. Padmé was inconsolable. Obi-Wan looked frantically at Siri. _Do something!_ Siri didn't say anything else, though; she seemed to think it was best to just let Padmé cry it out. Obi-Wan didn't like that solution; with that train of thought he couldn't do anything to help. Then again, he wasn't really doing much now, either. Blast it, why couldn't he handle these situations? He thought he'd improved vastly since he was a teenager, but somehow he still didn't know what to do whenever someone started crying. He always just felt so detached from whatever was upsetting them, so there was no way he could say anything that would be helpful at all. His words, which he always staked so much on, suddenly meant nothing to someone who was blubbering all over the place.

Nevertheless, after almost five minutes of nothing but tears, Obi-Wan finally pleaded in as even a tone as he could manage, "Padmé, please calm down."

To her credit, she did try to do so. Eventually the sobs mellowed into hiccups and the tears stopped. Padmé slowly pulled away from her family, but whenever she tried to speak another hiccup escaped and she nearly fell apart all over again. Obi-Wan only watched her helplessly, hating himself for not being able to do anything, while Siri wiped the tears away from her face. Eventually, Padmé muttered something, making the couple lean in. "What?"

"I'm engaged." She repeated softly, her eyes still closed.

Obi-Wan blinked. Then he blinked again. "You're… what?"

Padmé sighed heavily and shook her head, repeating herself a third time. Her voice trembled with the effort.

Obi-Wan blinked again. What did she just say? He went over the words once more, but they didn't register. It was almost as if she were speaking a foreign language.

And then it clicked.

"_What?"_ he exclaimed at the same time as his wife.

"How did—when did—" Siri stammered, still in shock.

Obi-Wan, on the other hand, had immediately made the connection as soon as the words finally translated in his mind. "Éothen proposed marriage? And you _accepted_?"

"_I_ proposed," Padmé corrected him, opening her eyes and staring at the floor, unable to look at him.

"Are you _insane_?" Siri gaped at her.

Padmé was suddenly filled with energy, and she whirled on her sister-in-law. "What would you have me do, Siri? We're _stuck_ with no allies, no help, no _hope_, and the one person who could lend us aid won't because he has to ensure the survival of his clan! Come on, the answer is obvious, you can't expect me to not do this, and don't you _dare_ say I'm crazy because _somebody_ has to step up and get this done since _nothing_ is in our favor right now!"

"Didn't we _just say_ that we've got a _Jedi_ on our side?" Siri snapped back.

Obi-Wan winced; this wasn't going to end well if they clawed each other to death. Before Siri could continue her argument, Obi-Wan put a hand on her shoulder to calm her, but she brusquely shoved him off and was about to go at it again. Instead, he interrupted her.

"Padmé," he said loudly to get both their attention, but as soon as he had it he wasn't sure what to say. Honestly he wanted to chew her out as much as Siri did—how could she _do_ something this _reckless_?! It was as if every time a situation arose, Padmé just made it _worse_: Darth Vader was watching them, so she had to make him be attracted to her; Organa was captured, so she had to risk her life to bust him out instead of waiting for the Rebels; Salkende refused to help the Alliance, so she _had_ to get engaged! Obi-Wan was seeing a very destructive pattern here. "Why couldn't you have at least waited to come home before jumping to conclusions?"

"I wouldn't have seen Éothen again," she argued.

"You couldn't have found Tlenden tomorrow?" Obi-Wan asked, frustrated.

"What purpose would it serve to delay the inevitable by one day?" Padmé nearly yelled, brushing passed the couple. "As soon as I saw that report about the fleet I knew it was over."

"But Qui-Gon—"

"Who's Qui-Gon?"

"The Jedi—"

Padmé immediately shook her head. "You'll forgive me if I find it hard to believe that the Jedi will instantly fix our problems. That's what the _fleet_ was supposed to do. We can't just rely on _them_!"

Siri only grew angrier, but Obi-Wan was starting to grow desperate. "Padmé, _please_, listen to yourself. You're upset, and it's understandable, but this is just going too far."

"So what _isn't_ going too far?" She questioned him. "Sitting around and waiting for everybody else to solve our problems while we just waste our time here? What's the point in helping the Alliance and putting our lives at risk if we're just going to be _watching_ everything happen around us and not _doing_ anything? We came to Imperial Center to make a difference, to help destroy the Empire, and we wanted to do it with the least amount of blood spilled—just how many more will die if Salkende doesn't help? How many more Rebels, how many more innocents, how many more _Jedi_?"

Everyone was silent for a moment as they tried to formulate an argument. She made some good points, but there still had to be a better way—Padmé never _waited_ until there was a better solution – she just _charged_ into a situation. Before Obi-Wan could say anything, though, Padmé continued, looking drained.

"We're just individuals in a bigger war," she sighed. "I can't be selfish and let my own wants and desires get in the way of what's right. If this is what will help the Alliance best, then… then I have to do it."

"Padmé, don't be so dramatic," Obi-Wan shook his head. "I'm not saying you shouldn't do everything you can for the Alliance, but this may not be our only option."

"It's our only option for getting Salkende on our side!" she rebutted fiercely.

"Then maybe we don't need Salkende!" Siri pointed out.

"Do you have an alternative?" Padmé turned to her challengingly. When her words hung in the air without response, she shook her head tiredly. "Then it's settled. Just… let it go."

With that said, she dragged her feet to her room. Obi-Wan and Siri were silent for a long time, processing everything that had just happened. Any of that calmness Qui-Gon had imparted on Obi-Wan was long gone. This was just _terrific_. Obi-Wan didn't even know why he'd bothered to hope that things would sort themselves out. He should have known Padmé would do something this rash, he should have known there would be no easy solution to any of their problems. What else would go wrong? Glancing worriedly at his wife he walked over to her and held her wordlessly. Siri was tense from anger, but she seemed to catch on to what was bothering her husband and she hugged him back. The two said nothing; they were both too drained and had too much going on in their minds to articulate anything, but they understood each other's concerns well enough.

What were they going to do? How would they fix this? _Could_ they fix this?

"She's going to get herself killed," Siri eventually muttered.

Obi-Wan shuddered and held his wife more tightly. "We'll protect her, Siri. Even if it's from herself."

"How can we protect her from herself?" Siri asked softly. "Follow her everywhere and filter everything she says?"

"We can start by working with what we have," he replied, pulling away as his addled mind finally started to organize itself. His worry clenched his chest tightly, but he could still sort this out. With Padmé an emotional wreck and with Siri a fusion reactor ready to explode, he had to make the rational plans. "We're still not sure what the Empire has on us, especially since they've seemed to ease off on Padmé specifically. Still, as soon as this engagement goes public she'll no doubt be back on their radar."

"Qui-Gon will protect her."

Obi-Wan mulled it over. "I don't know what Jedi are and aren't capable of, but even Qui-Gon can't be there for her all the time, and we can't solely rely on him. We'll have to make our own plans."

* * *

The Dark Side swirled with anticipation. His calm demeanor was unfettered, but beneath the surface he was excitedly awaiting the reaction he would get from his apprentice. The opera had ended, and while Palpatine was tempted to seek out Amidala once more, his focus had shifted elsewhere. It was apparent now that his original plan for the foolish girl had worked, and all he had to do was relay the news to Vader and watch the pieces fall into place. It wasn't the perfect execution that he'd wanted, but Amidala was giving him little time or choice considering her actions. The brat certainly was active in her duties, there was no denying that.

The medical bay came into view as Palpatine considered the matter further. He'd hoped he'd thwarted Amidala's plans on associating with Salkende's heir, but he was certain she'd find some other way even if the Togruta refused her advances. It was the main reason he'd assigned her to be the one to penetrate Vader's defenses, after all.

Of course the other matter was Wilhuff Tarkin. The man had always been dangerous but he'd never been as big a threat as he was turning out to be now. The grand moff was dependable and far more intelligent than Palpatine's other conniving officials, and therefore far more threatening. Palpatine had always wanted to keep a close eye on him. He knew assigning Vader to Tarkin as a youngling was a risk, but it was a calculated one; the grand moff would view it more as an insult than an opportunity until it was too late. That had turned out to be the case, but it was apparent Tarkin had noticed the distinct change in Vader as much as Palpatine had and he was trying to take advantage of it. As soon as the grand moff had reported Vader was awake Palpatine concerned himself with getting back to his apprentice. He wasn't yet sure what the man was up to, but it was quite obvious that he _was_ planning something, and his means to get to the boy was no doubt through his 'political training.' Palpatine would still allow for it, though; Vader did indeed need training, and if he succeeded in his current mission, his loyalty to Palpatine would be assured.

Once he entered the medical bay Palpatine immediately sensed out his apprentice. Judging by the turbulent emotions it was obvious the boy was awake. Palpatine ignored the health care officials who immediately genuflected upon his arrival and made his way to his apprentice's room. Vader sensed him immediately and Palpatine saw Tarkin nearly fighting with the boy to keep him in bed. Palpatine waved a hand to Vader and he immediately stiffened; the last thing he needed was for the idiot to get himself even _more_ injured.

The physician immediately appeared and was making his report, and Palpatine listened dully. His main focus was on the boy himself; he would get the information from Vader. The only useful tidbit the doctor could supply was when Vader would be released. The boy's pain in the Force was still evident, and Palpatine let himself drink it in a little to soothe his irritation.

Eventually the physician left, and Palpatine knew what he needed; Vader would be released sometime tomorrow night or the morning after. That was pushing it a little, but it would suffice unless circumstances changed. Palpatine barely glanced at Tarkin and waved his hand dismissively; the grand moff immediately stood, bowed, and departed, closing the door behind him.

Now it was time to do the real evaluation.

He motioned lazily with his hand and the windows became opaque. Then he stood expectantly. "Rise."

Vader moved carefully, gathering the Force around as best as he could. Palpatine felt the boy claw at the Force with ferocious determination. The Sith Master sealed his mind off to the repercussions as he started to feel the Force nearly smash against him; the apprentice's power really was magnificent to behold. The best part about it, of course, was that it was all Palpatine's – everything Vader did was for him.

His apprentice pulled the cover off and stood, his complexion paling slightly as he did so. He stood straight and tall, not showing any outward sign of weakness apart from the automatic signs and symptoms that he couldn't control. Palpatine smiled at the boy's resilience, but as he slowly lowered his shields to probe the boy's mental state he was slammed by an onslaught of pain. Normally this would be amusing, satisfying, even pleasurable, but now it was just a distraction… and the determination in Vader's eyes to overcome it was good enough to appease his master. Palpatine indicated that he could sit once more, especially after he saw Vader's vitals skyrocket in response to the pain.

Once the boy was situated in bed, Palpatine approached him. He recalled the images and sensations he'd picked up from Amidala. She obviously believed Vader could be turned to her side, and she had feelings for him as well. Considering Vader was keeping his interaction with her a secret from Palpatine, there was little doubt that she intrigued him at the very least. Was it just curiosity, then? Was Amidala simply an anomaly that required investigation? Or was she more to the boy? It was time to find out.

"While you were wasting time in surgery, I happened upon Senator Amidala," he said. "It appears she's courting a man named Éothen from Salkende."

He waited, but he didn't have to wait long; despite Vader's grogginess from the medicine, he still caught his master's meaning immediately. His face flushed, his vitals increased once more, and the Force grew intensely heavy with anger, betrayal, confusion, and… was that hurt? Palpatine hid a smile; she'd gotten to the boy far more than he'd expected. This was delightful. Vader's sealed box was about ready to collapse – his emotions were spilling out so much Palpatine was surprised the boy wasn't overwhelmed by them. It was probably what had happened in his fight with the Jedi. Despite the harm it had done, though, it was a necessary risk; the Jedi threat was diminished now (though he doubted they were completely wiped out), so there were no immediate external enemies to handle. Now all he had to do was focus his attention on sculpting the boy into the perfect Sith and he would happily send him out against any adversary, internal or external. He'd waited years for this, for the opportunity to see Vader finally willingly use his passions to destroy all who opposed him, to fulfill Palpatine's every command.

"Do you want me to kill him, Master?"

_My, my, things are escalating rather quickly._ He felt the urge to laugh, but withheld it; Vader didn't need to see he was pleased. That would calm the boy, and that was the last thing he wanted now. Though he wasn't sure it would matter at this point – the war of feelings coming from his apprentice wouldn't likely decrease simply because Palpatine seemed content with Vader's reaction. Still, this was quite the change; Vader often gave suggestions, but never on so little information, and he _never_ assumed he knew what Palpatine desired from a mission; he'd always wait for orders. It was one of his handicaps that the emperor wanted to eliminate; the boy was capable of thinking on his own, but it was always within the mission parameters, though admittedly the parameters were typically loose enough that it was rarely a problem. It was a blessing and a curse all in one.

But now… now he could drink in the _desire_ to kill this Togruta. Vader was willing to push past the pain, to push through everything to tear apart anyone who dared get in his way. It ripped the Sith Master's breath away like the sudden sensation of a new drug, and he finally couldn't hide his smile. Vader seemed completely oblivious, which made it all the more brilliant.

Nevertheless, he needed to reel the boy in; they couldn't act too rashly yet. "Not at the moment. We will handle the matter another way. Rest in the meantime."

He'd let the boy stew on his hatred. It would be enough to fuel him, to make him heal all the faster without even realizing it. Vader immediately nodded in acquiescence, but his emotions still increased the gravity of the room tenfold. It was magnificent.

Suddenly, the Force shuddered. Coldness swept through the area like a blizzard's wind, and Vader shivered, closing his eyes and pulling his knees towards him. Palpatine felt a strange sensation fill him and Vader started to tremble. He squeezed his eyes shut. That boy was trying to _calm_ himself. No, he wouldn't have that.

"We can also spend this time reviewing your foolishness with the Jedi," he immediately said to ensure the boy didn't have time to bottle everything up once more. It was different than normal, though; the Force cried out in pain and sorrow, but for just an instant a strange intense warmth nearly burned Palpatine's being, making him flinch. He couldn't identify it in the split second it appeared, but he knew it had originated from his apprentice. External Force abilities, signatures, presences… none of those could reach into him like that. It had to be through their training bond. What was the boy feeling so intensely that it nearly injured Palpatine? It wasn't anger – it didn't seem anything like that, actually. It had been blinding, all encompassing… it had been _foreign_ but familiar all in one. What was that? He'd had frustratingly little exposure to it to identify it, so he couldn't be certain, and the Force suddenly whirled with dread and loathing, sweeping Palpatine's mind up in its currents. He held himself firmly, stopping the flow with his own immense power; the Force obeyed _him_, not the other way around. He _would_ find out what that emotion had been; he'd gotten hints at it Vader's entire life, but he'd never sensed it with such passion as now. He had a sinking suspicion he knew what it was now that he'd thought about the matter more carefully, and he was once again reminded of the boy's mother.

Always resilient. Always strong. Always concerned for her son. No matter what came, no matter what happened, no matter the dangers to herself, she always looked out for him. _Everything_ revolved around him.

Once again coldness filled the room, and Vader slammed down his own mental shields so harshly Palpatine could practically hear the crashing sound with his own ears. It left him a little dizzy, and it left Vader looking paler than before. The boy, however, spoke first. "I understand my mistake, Master. I lost control during my fight with the Jedi; I lost focus, and it led to my injury. I will not let it happen again. But I must speak to you about the launching point of their fleet."

It seemed as if everything was back to the status quo, but Vader's emotions were still leaking out. He couldn't focus on his master's gaze for too long, he shifted in bed too much, he was still trembling with rage, hurt, confusion, worry, and so many other things that he probably couldn't even identify. Amidala had done the intended damage.

As tempting as it was to further demonstrate his displeasure over Vader's wounds, Palpatine gave the boy a small reprieve and glossed over the matter. "What do you know about their launching point?"

"They wiped out their navigation information during the attack, but judging from fuel and supply usage, it's likely they originated from somewhere in Wild Space. Their ships were seriously retrofitted – most of them were outdated. It seems likely it took them years to amass the forces they had."

What Vader left off was that the Empire's victory therefore set the Jedi back decades. It wasn't worth seeking them out now; he'd wait to see what they'd put together in the next decade or so. He needed to maintain his entertainment somehow. Besides, the next time the Jedi appeared and he sent Vader after them, the boy would be far more mature and prepared. _Then_ they would eliminate those blind fools.

He loved it when a plan came together.

* * *

Tarkin was slightly worried that Palpatine would finally vent his frustration out on Vader once they were alone together, but he had other matters to attend to. Namely, he had to meet with his spy (and get the heck away from the HoloNet show that nurse was watching). With the emperor in the palace it was best to meet up with her elsewhere, so he made his way over to the Crystal City restaurant and was immediately given a private booth. The wait wasn't long before his spy finally entered.

She had a petite build with small brown eyes and long black hair. Her visage was radiant but calculated; when she wasn't undercover she was the picture perfect agent. She bowed her head in acknowledgement, and Tarkin motioned towards the seat across from him.

"Is everything all right, sir?" she asked as she sat. "You weren't in your quarters at the appointed time."

"Unforeseen circumstances," Tarkin replied dismissively. "Did you get the Zabrak?"

"No, sir," she answered with only the slightest hesitation. "He had backup in the lower levels. He's injured, though, so that will make him easier to find. I have probe droids searching for him now."

Tarkin felt a twinge of annoyance. This wasn't what he'd been hoping for, but he supposed it wasn't the worst thing that had happened today. He was suddenly struck with how late it was and just how blasted _tired_ he was, but he shoved it aside. "Be sure you get him, agent. Anything else to report?"

Here her eyes brightened; whatever she was about to say, she'd been wanting to tell him since the meeting had started. "Senator Organa had sent Amidala a data chip before he was arrested. I scanned it and I've been decrypting it. I don't have everything, but I can tell you that the senator has a new aide, and he's a Rebel spy. The chip Organa provided has a cover identity for him."

A new spy? What were the Rebels planning? Were they going to get rid of Amidala, or was their operation growing once more? How many other spies did they have? "What of Amidala herself and her family?"

"The representative and his wife have been the only ones in contact with the aide. Senator Amidala has been preoccupied with the Salkenden, Éothen. They went to the opera this evening."

Amidala was making herself quite busy, wasn't she? Tarkin felt a mixture of amusement and disgust thinking about it. The woman had been pulling this stunt on Vader just a few days ago. He was tempted to have his agent kill her, but that would do little to help in the matter. No, killing her for Vader's sake wouldn't do. Besides, she was still useful, and this might be the incentive he needed to get Vader on his side. Still, he had to get _Amidala_ on his side, and he didn't like that he'd not spoken to her since before the final recess. It was time he placed matters in his favor in regards to both Vader _and_ Amidala.

He needed leverage over the senator, and he needed to get rid of the new Rebel threat. He wouldn't attack the aide first; he'd observe. But the handmaiden… Vader had been looking for the handmaiden who would have been doing most of the dirty work. It was obvious now that the representative and his wife were Amidala's main helpers, but it would be far too noticeable for the representative to go missing. The handmaiden, on the other hand… "Bring Siri Naberrie to me alive. Do whatever you must to capture her, but be discreet about it."

The spy nodded. "It will be done, governor. Is there anything else you require?"

"No," Tarkin replied, standing. The spy stood as well. "That will be all for now."

After the two parted ways, he wandered back to the palace, lost in thought. Yes, this would work nicely; once he had the handmaiden in his grasp he could order Amidala to do anything he desired. He'd use her to manipulate Vader, assuming the man was still alive after Palpatine met with him. He didn't see why the emperor would kill Vader _after_ the surgeon patched him up, so it wasn't likely… but it was most certainly odd. Palpatine never tolerated weakness, so whenever Vader had gotten hurt he'd barely done anything to help him – most of the time he'd somehow made the injuries _worse_ just to drive the lesson home. It was often _Tarkin_ who had helped the young Sith heal. In either case, he'd soon have both Amidala and Vader obeying him, and then he would have everything he needed to finally ensure his position as emperor.

Arriving in the medical bay of the palace, Tarkin peeked into Vader's room. Palpatine had left, probably to go to bed; it was midnight, after all. Tarkin stifled a yawn and entered the room. Vader was still wide awake, and he looked anxious about something. Tarkin was tempted to ask what was wrong, but he was far too eager about the newly acquired information to worry about the man's mental state. "Milord, I heard some interesting news pertaining to Senator Amidala."

"She left. She… she betrayed… she…" Vader muttered, staring at his hands on his lap.

The glee he'd felt drained out of him as he stared at the forlorn boy. He walked over to him and sat on the bed. "This Éothen that she's with is a pestilence, milord, but not a permanent problem. All we have to do is eliminate him."

Vader shook his head. "Padmé's smarter than this. She's _stronger_ than this. He didn't force her. She chose. _She chose_."

"Any good thing has some bad aspects to it," Tarkin tried to reassure him. "Your little project will still work; simply clip off the diseased branches."

"Why would she do this?" he asked, his voice sounding tired and strained. Then he rubbed his face and tensed every muscle in his body. "It's her fault. Everything's wrong and it's her fault. I can't focus, I—I can't… governor, what do I do?"

Tarkin pulled the boy's hands from his face and looked him in the eye. "You make it right, Lord Vader. And we will. We will."

* * *

It was so early in the morning that sunlight barely pierced the sky. The traffic was as calm as was possible on Imperial Center. The smell of restaurants and exhaust mixed together in the typical morning scent. The hallways were silent except for the occasional security officer patrolling. The office was dead quiet.

Padmé sat on the floor of her office. She was dressed for the day; she'd put on her outfit as if it were her last day of freedom. And in a sense it was; Éothen had said he was leaving tomorrow, and she would have to accompany him. So she wore her favorite senatorial gown: a purple satin dress with blue jewels decorated on the bodice and a long deeper purple sleeved cloak over it. Her hair was pulled back with a golden headpiece. The last time she'd worn this had been the first day she'd met Darth Vader. It seemed fitting somehow to wear it again now that she was essentially his Rebel counterpart.

In her hands was the shoto. It was almost complete; only one more piece was needed to finish it. She had left the piece at home on purpose as if to tell herself that this wasn't her, as if to say her entire life hadn't just been thrown away. Obi-Wan was right; she shouldn't be this dramatic; she'd long since sacrificed her life and happiness when she decided to become senator for the sake of spying on the Empire. Her window of opportunity for happiness had closed after her tenure as queen. The galaxy always had to come first.

But what about Vader? She felt so guilty for doing this; she felt like she'd just tossed his trust and confidence in her out the window. But had she? It wasn't like he knew; he was too busy running around the galaxy _destroying_ everything she cared about. She wanted to find him and smack him, yet at the same time she wanted to just hold him and make everything else disappear. She wished they were back on Naboo together where there was no politics, no plotting, and no _war_. Out on the lake it had just been them; she ached for that time to come back. She just wanted a resolution to all of this.

Padmé let the shoto roll out of her limp fingers and onto the floor. She had no more tears to shed. She just felt empty. Was this how Vader felt all the time?

She wished Vader was here. She wanted to talk to him, to tell him that she _did_ care for him, that it was _him_ she wanted to spend her time with, not Éothen. At least not like this.

Honesty. She'd promised him honesty. How would she fulfill that? Did it even matter anymore? Was she ever going to see him again? What would happen after she went to Salkende, after the engagement became official? Would Vader remain quiet after that, or would he reveal her status as a spy? She hadn't really thought about it up until this point, and she finally realized she should probably tell Obi-Wan exactly how much Vader knew. She wasn't sure she wanted to talk to him now, though; heaven knew what sarcastic remarks would escape his lips once she brought up Vader. No doubt something along the lines of how she couldn't make up who she wanted to get emotional about; honestly, as if he knew what she was going through at this point.

Padmé shook her head, sighing. She needed to stop brooding. She had to get to work. But she just didn't have the energy to do so; the main reason she was sitting on the floor in the center of her office was because she hadn't even been able to get to her desk. Looking at the shoto only made it worse. She had barely slept at all last night. Maybe it would get better; she recalled her first night as queen had been sleepless as well, but that had been out of nervousness (more like outright terror—once she'd been elected she finally realized how much she'd thrown on her shoulders, but everyone seemed to think she'd done a good job with it), not dread. She didn't know what to do anymore. But she knew she had to help the Alliance, and this seemed the best way to do it, assuming Vader didn't rat her out in retaliation.

Retaliation. Just what _would_ Vader do? Where was he? What was he doing right now? She debated speaking to Tarkin, but that was far too risky at this point; she had to go Salkende and ensure the engagement was official first. Then… well she didn't know what would happen then.

She just didn't know anything anymore.

Her comlink chimed after some indeterminable amount of time had elapsed. Slowly reaching for it, she checked the frequency and realized it was Obi-Wan. "Yes?"

"Padmé, are you alright? Where are you?"

Padmé smiled at his concern. "I went to the senate building a little early. I'm in my office. I had… I had to sort out some issues."

"We're on our way."

Padmé sighed and cut the connection. Well that would be the end of her privacy, then; she didn't know what Obi-Wan and Siri would say or do when they arrived, but she knew they wouldn't leave her alone. It was time to put on her best façade. Shaking her head, she amended that; it was time to do her duty. There was no façade required; the needs of everyone else always came before her own.

But what about Vader?

Eventually her privacy was intruded. After trying to gather her strength for a good half hour, she heard footsteps in the foyer. Rising, she walked to her desk and placed the shoto in a drawer; no sense in letting Obi-Wan and Siri have a heart attack about that.

The door to the office opened to reveal her brother and sister-in-law. The two looked similarly drained, but they immediately smiled and approached her. Padmé suddenly felt guilty for putting them through this. She felt guilty for putting _everyone_ through this. How was it possible that in trying to do what she thought was best she seemed to hurt everyone close to her? Could she even do anything good anymore?

"Morning," Obi-Wan greeted with a surprisingly warm tone. Padmé wanted to throw he arms around him just hearing it; she needed all the support she could get, and she'd thought she wouldn't get any after last night's argument. "We weren't sure if you ate, so we brought breakfast."

Padmé glanced at the food he handed to her, and the tears came back in full force. She quelled them as best she could and ignored the lump in her throat. His kindness spoke volumes. Siri reentered the foyer and closed the door, leaving Padmé alone with her brother.

There was silence for time and then Obi-Wan eventually spoke first. "Padmé… I… I'm sorry I upset you last night. I just… I worry about you. I'm here for you, okay? If you ever want to talk… just know that I'm here for you."

Blast it all, _why_ did he have to say that? His words unlocked the dam, and she immediately started to cry silently. When he looked alarmed, she half laughed half sobbed in reply and then just went to him and held him. He didn't have to say anything to reassure her; all she wanted was to be held, and even Obi-Wan could do that much. His hold was a little stiff initially but he softened and then hugged her tightly, and she was all the more grateful for it. Eventually, after she'd cried for what felt like an eternity, she pulled away. Obi-Wan watched her carefully, not daring to speak, so she said, "It's fine. I'm… I'm fine now. Thank you."

Obi-Wan's eyebrow rose questioningly; he looked like he doubted her honesty.

"I'm _fine_," she assured him. "Really. This… this is what I have to do. I can live with that."

"Padmé—"

"Obi, it's okay." Padmé smiled as best she could. "This is why I joined. This is why I became a senator."

Obi-Wan watched her shrewdly. "And Vader?"

Padmé's breath caught in her throat. How did—why would he bring Vader up like that? She'd been beating herself up about him all morning, but she hadn't assumed her brother would think of him as well unless she mentioned him first. "What about him?"

"What about your feelings for him?" Obi-Wan asked, examining her carefully. What was he looking for?

"It doesn't matter," she shook her head. Of course that was the biggest lie of all, but she couldn't say otherwise to him. She couldn't talk about this now, not when the day was about to start.

"Hm," he acknowledged suspiciously, but then he brushed a stray hair form her face and leaned over, kissing her on the forehead. She was surprised and touched by such an affectionate action, and somehow it made her feel stronger. He smiled when he pulled away. "Siri and I did a bit of planning for today. She'll tell you all about it. In the meantime… try not to get any more stressed than you are, okay?"

Padmé chuckled at that. "Yeah, sure."

As Obi-Wan left, she saw him motion to Siri; apparently the moment alone had been planned. Padmé wondered what else they'd planned for her today; she was surprisingly appreciative of their consideration, but it made her feel guiltier than before – they should be worrying about their own problems, like their _baby_, and here they were babysitting her.

As soon as Siri entered and the door closed, she got straight to business. "So I found out Éothen's leaving tomorrow. Are you going with him?"

"Yes," Padmé answered, her gut clenching. How had Siri found out when Éothen was leaving? Had she gone to Tlenden? How late had she and Obi-Wan stayed up last night trying to get this all sorted out?

"Okay, so here's the plan. When you leave, Cordé will go as you, and you'll go disguised as a guard. Before you argue about how that isn't necessary, let me tell you that it _is_ – we still don't know what the Empire's up to, and just because they're quiet doesn't mean they're not still watching. Any connection between you and Salkende will probably be a red flag for them; nothing official's leaked out, and it won't do so until we reach Salkende, so you can't make it look clandestine or the real reasoning behind this will be so obvious we might as well broadcast it. Still, we don't like having you out in the open like that. Our new aide will be assisting as well. Today you just play it calm and quiet, okay? The departure is tomorrow morning, so just… enjoy our lovely accommodations on Imperial Center for a little longer. We'll sort out more as we go along."

Padmé did indeed want to argue about placing Cordé in danger, but she knew better than to do so at this point. Siri's glare brooked no argument; Obi-Wan may have mellowed overnight but Siri only seemed all the more agitated with Padmé's decision. She felt even guiltier, if that was possible.

Nodding in acquiescence, Padmé let Siri leave and was alone in her office, staring forlornly at her breakfast. So this was it; this was her last day of freedom. And what would she do with it? She'd sit quietly in the senate building minding her own business, she'd play the perfect little obedient senator, she'd be inconspicuous and go out like a candle snuffed out by a breeze. She'd just vanish into the chaos of the war.

She shook her head. No, she wouldn't just wilt and disappear. She'd fight the Empire with every breath in her body. She'd help the Alliance with her union to Éothen.

She'd abandon Vader.

Groaning, Padmé sat heavily behind her desk and buried her face into her hands. She didn't know what she was going to do. She didn't know how this would help, if it would help, what else she could do to stop it or ensure its success. She just didn't know anything anymore.

She hoped that wherever he was, Vader was alright.

* * *

It was midmorning and the senate session had begun. Siri walked around with purpose, hiding her anxiety as she motioned to her handmaidens. She hadn't had time to go over the daily agenda with them since she had been talking to Obi-Wan about issues with Padmé.

_Padmé._ Why did everything have to revolve around her these days? Couldn't they just have enough to worry about without having to clean up her messes too? It wasn't like Siri didn't care—she just wished Padmé would go back to her old reputation of _not_ being as reckless as Siri was. Right now she'd take anything over the insanity of their current predicament. She couldn't keep doing this, not when she had a youngling to worry about.

The handmaidens approached her expectantly. Siri sighed, pulling herself together. Explaining the usual agenda, she ended by saying she had to speak further with Cordé. She handed Lek Ieru a data pad to deliver to some senator just to get her out of the room; she was too new and wasn't trained for bodyguard assignments anyway.

"Siri, what's wrong?" Cordé asked as soon as they were alone. "You look tired. _All_ of you look tired; Padmé, you, Obi-Wan… what's going on?"

"Padmé's going to be taking a trip tomorrow," Siri explained. "There's a possibility that there might be trouble."

"Is this an official trip?" Cordé asked. She, like Sabé, had never been told about Padmé's clandestine dealings, but they'd no doubt come to their own conclusions about the matter. _Sabé_. Blast it Siri missed her.

"Yes," she answered. "We need you to stand in for her. She'll be accompanying as a guard."

Cordé nodded. "Of course."

With the main issue settled, Siri and Cordé went over the finer points until they were both satisfied. An hour had almost passed in that time, and she eventually dismissed Cordé so she could go to Padmé and see if she needed anything. Siri would rather just sit in the foyer and wait for lunch at this point. Lek reentered, catching Siri off guard. Shouldn't she be helping the representatives? She'd told her to go to them after delivering the data pad.

Sighing, Siri headed towards a chair in the foyer, more concerned with getting off her aching feet for a little while; she'd talk to Ieru in a moment. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up all of a sudden, though, and her gut clenched as if she was hit with a sudden wave of anxiety. Her head pounded, everything slowed, and her senses went on full alert. What was wrong?

Turning, Siri saw her sweet, new, and innocent handmaiden pulling out a blaster.

In a heartbeat she dove for cover as a blaster bolt flew past her ear. The chairs weren't much use for a fight, though, and Ieru started to march towards her, holding her weapon at the ready. Siri glanced for other places she could go to and looked pleadingly at the wall where there was a hidden compartment for occasions just like this. It kriffing figured that her blaster would be on the _opposite_ side of the room when this happened.

But why? What was going on? Who the hell was this handmaiden?

Siri leapt out from behind the chair as Ieru fired once more. Now _really_ wasn't the time to be answering those questions. Her thought process didn't get much farther as she barely missed another blaster bolt; it was a miracle she was dodging these things, honestly, but how was she going to get to her own weapon without getting shot? It was open space between her and—

Siri yelled out as the blaster bolt singed her left shoulder. Her nerves screamed in protest and then grew numb. A stun bolt; why was she firing at her with a _stun_ bolt?

Terror filled her and Siri stumbled after being hit, falling out into the open. Ieru was seconds away from pulling the trigger once more, her aim directly on Siri's chest, when a large hand grabbed her wrist and yanked her arm harshly. Ieru yelled out, kicking at a steep angle. Siri's eyes followed the hand to an arm to a face—Qui-Gon.

Ieru kicked again, landing a hit on Qui-Gon's face, but he only flinched and took a step back. As Ieru aimed her blaster at his face he once again grabbed her wrist and moved his head to the side so she couldn't shoot him in the face. He punched her on the nose, but as she tipped back she let her feet go off the ground and slam into Qui-Gon's chest. He grunted, releasing her and she fell to the ground, but she arched her back and leapt to her feet once more, her blaster on the floor, forgotten, as she kneed him while he was down. Qui-Gon rolled aside to dodge her and swept his leg powerfully, knocking her down. He hadn't used the Force yet, surprisingly, but it made sense; he didn't want to reveal his true identity unless there was no other way.

Help. He needed help. Get up. _Get up_.

Siri flinched and leapt to her feet, searching for the blaster Ieru had dropped. When her hand slid under an upturned chair she felt the weapon, and she glanced up to see the progress of the fight. Ieru had rolled so she was on her stomach and pushed herself to a standing position as Qui-Gon leapt to his feet as well. Ieru came in with a left hook, which Qui-Gon deflected to punch her squarely in the chest. She fell back, winded, but then she charged towards him and leapt as if to jump on top of him, which was exactly what she did; she leapt onto his shoulders, wrapping her legs around his neck in an attempt to choke him.

Siri grabbed the blaster and aimed. Ieru caught sight of her, though, and arched herself backwards to upset Qui-Gon's balance and make him fall so Siri couldn't hit her. Siri hesitated, not wanting to accidentally shoot Qui-Gon, and Ieru took the moment to make a run for it, releasing her hold on the Jedi and tearing out the door. Siri leapt over Qui-Gon, who had fallen, and chased after the handmaiden at full speed, but the morning session was just ending and she couldn't shoot in the hallway since it was filling up with delegates and senators. Security caught up to Siri and tackled her, yanking the blaster out of her hands as she screamed at them in protest.

"Get off me, you idiots!" she yelled. "That woman attacked _me_!"

"Let her go, she's right." Qui-Gon's voice came from behind her, sounding winded. "She's no threat."

The security nodded. "She's no threat. Let her go."

Siri roughly shoved the guard off after he lessened his grip, and she dropped the blaster. There was no point in looking around for the handmaiden now, but she did so anyway and saw that she was becoming quite the spectacle to all the politicians. _Shavit_. Panting for air, she stormed back to Padmé's office and finally noticed that she was shaking from head to foot. This wasn't the first time she'd engaged in combat, but it was the first time it had happened in a public setting.

_The baby_. Her hand went to her abdomen, and she trembled even more. Qui-Gon reentered the foyer and immediately went to her. "Are you alright?"

"I don't know," she replied, and she was surprised at how much her voice shook.

This had to stop. Now. She couldn't do this. Not with a baby.

"Obi-Wan," she suddenly said, looking at Qui-Gon, silently asking him to find her husband.

Qui-Gon nodded, guiding her to a chair. Siri hugged herself tightly and then held her abdomen again. She didn't feel off, and there was no pain, so the baby was okay, right? Right?

Seconds later Obi-Wan rushed into the room just as Qui-Gon was leaving to find him. "Siri, what happened?"

"The handmaiden—the baby—the baby," Siri shuddered, bending forward.

Obi-Wan pulled her to him and held her fiercely. She heard him say to Qui-Gon, "Get Padmé. We'll meet you at our apartment."

Qui-Gon acknowledged Obi-Wan and then left. Siri continued to tremble in her husband's embrace, but after a few more seconds she started to get her wits about her. Nothing felt wrong, nothing seemed wrong, nothing hurt or felt different… the baby had to be fine. It _had_ to be. Having a panic attack about it would only make things worse, especially if there was nothing wrong in the first place.

The baby was _fine_, blast it.

"What happened?" Obi-Wan asked again, pulling away so he could look her in the eye.

"The new handmaiden," Siri finally got a hold of herself. "The… she attacked me. She must be some sort of spy. I… I'm fine. I… the baby…"

Obi-Wan's hand went to her abdomen. "Is the baby alright?"

"I… I think so," she let out with a gasp of air as her emotions overwhelmed her momentarily. Obi-Wan held her again, any discomfort on his part completely forgotten. Eventually, she was the one to break the contact. "We need to leave."

Obi-Wan nodded and helped her stand. The door to the foyer opened again and Cordé burst into the room. "They said—people said you were shot—what happened?"

"She's fine," Obi-Wan explained for her. "We need you to meet us at our apartment."

"Right. Of course." Cordé immediately nodded, rushing over to Siri and walking alongside her as Obi-Wan guided her out of the room. She stayed with them for a few seconds more before walking ahead of them, saying, "I'll make sure the path is clear."

The walk to the parking area was a blur to Siri as she continuously probed her abdomen and ensured she didn't feel any different apart from the adrenaline rushing through her system. The more time elapsed, the safer the baby seemed, but she was still shaking from head to foot, unable to confirm or deny that anything was wrong. She _hated_ this feeling.

Eventually Obi-Wan guided Siri into their speeder. Padmé was already in there with Qui-Gon and Cordé.

"Siri, are you okay?" Padmé immediately asked, sounding frantic.

Cordé flew the speeder out of the senate building as Obi-Wan and Padmé both assaulted Siri with questions. Qui-Gon answered them for the most part, and Siri spent more time checking her abdomen than anything else. By the time they reached the apartment Padmé and Obi-Wan were both hugging Siri silently. Qui-Gon helped her out of the speeder and her husband and sister-in-law hovered beside her as Cordé unlocked everything and said she'd get an Emdee droid; all the senatorial apartments had one on standby.

Siri sat on the couch and took several deep breaths, trying to center herself since her husband and friend were a wreck. She didn't feel much better, honestly, but she was steadily growing more assured that the baby was fine. So long as that was the case, she was fine, too. Now that she was starting to think straight, other concerns flooded her mind.

"The handmaiden was a spy, a traitor," she said, hugging herself. "She could know _anything_. She could… she could know about us, about Qui-Gon, about Al, about _you_, Padmé, about Éothen… _anything_…"

"Calm yourself," Qui-Gon advised in his steady, deep tone. "Let's concern ourselves with handling whatever damage could immediately occur."

"Padmé's not safe," Siri immediately said.

"_You're_ not safe," Obi-Wan corrected her worriedly.

"Al," Siri added with surprise and realization; they hadn't heard from him in over twenty-four hours. Something had happened. Normally she'd immediately grow angry and spring into action, but after all her panic over the baby she was extremely reserved; the world around her felt muted. Her shoulder was still numb from the stun bolt, and it made her entire body sway as if the bolt had reached her mind, her heart, her resolve… she shuddered. She had to get it together; she couldn't fall apart like this. She'd _never_ fallen apart like this.

Cordé reappeared with the Emdee droid, and Siri finally was able to breathe and relax when the droid claimed there were no injuries to her or her youngling. Cordé looked even more surprised and terrified when the droid declared this.

"You're _pregnant_?" she asked. "Are you sure you're—"

"Cordé, the droid just said I'm fine," Siri assured, finally calm after getting some concrete proof that the baby was healthy. "You need to go back for the afternoon session as Padmé; she can't go back."

"_She_ wasn't the one who was attacked," Cordé noted, looking confused, but she didn't argue beyond that; she probably assumed it had to do with their unofficial business.

"The representatives will notice something's up," Padmé pointed out halfheartedly.

"Rekk can handle it," Siri said. "He owes you his life, Padmé; he's got enough brains to be able to figure out something's up and cover for you, especially if Cordé talks to him." She then turned her attention to the handmaiden. "Obi will meet up with you and let you know if the plan changes for tomorrow."

Siri immediately felt Obi-Wan tense beside her, but she grabbed his hand and squeezed it to silence any argument. Cordé reluctantly agreed and departed. Obi-Wan immediately turned to Siri, but she cut him off. "Get your head on straight, Obi. The baby's fine. We have to fix this."

Obi-Wan's gaze wandered from her to her abdomen back to her and he sighed heavily, looking away.

"Siri, I… what happened? Why would they send someone after you?" Padmé asked, pacing restlessly from the window, which was what she'd been doing ever since they got there.

"Guess that's why they've been so quiet around you," Siri muttered, looking at her sister-in-law. "They turned their fangs on me instead."

"You need to leave." Obi-Wan immediately said. "Imperial Center isn't safe for you anymore."

"Like it's going to be safe for any of you?" she rebutted, standing. "If Ieru was after me she'll no doubt be after _you_, Obi, and I doubt they just _forgot_ about Padmé."

"Regardless, you're leaving as soon as possible," Obi-Wan argued. "I'm calling Al."

As he did so, Siri asked Padmé, "Is there any way we can all leave early with Éothen?"

"Leaving immediately in one large group is too suspicious," Qui-Gon shook his head, unperturbed. Obi-Wan and Siri had told him about Éothen during their meeting yesterday, and after last night's fiasco they'd made contact with him and spoken about the matter, so he was up to speed on everything.

"Al's not answering," Obi-Wan muttered, staring at his comlink worriedly.

"It's got to be because of Ieru," Siri moaned.

"He could be anywhere," Padmé looked between Obi-Wan and Siri, her eyes wide and filled with fear. "You don't think Ieru… she wouldn't have _killed_ him, would she?"

Siri sat morosely on the sofa, unable to answer.

"We can't spend our time speculating. We need to act." Qui-Gon advised them. "I will remain here and protect Siri and Padmé. Obi-Wan, you should go speak to Tlenden about the matter."

Obi-Wan looked angrily at the Jedi, not wanting to be parted from his wife, but Siri shook her head towards him. He needed to go; he was the only one who could do so. She wanted nothing more than to be held by him, but she knew that wouldn't do anything to solve their predicament. The long hours of just being with each other and pretending nothing else mattered could be spent aboard a ship, assuming they could get the heck out of here before another attack.

Eventually her husband sighed and nodded. He gave one last glance to Siri and left.

* * *

This was a nightmare. _This was a nightmare._

He'd suspected attacks on Padmé. He'd assumed she was still being watched. He wasn't entirely sure, no, but he wouldn't have been surprised. It was the entire reason Qui-Gon was there to protect her. But _Siri_? No, no, he couldn't handle an attack on her, he couldn't bear the thought that his wife or child could be hurt.

Obi-Wan did his best to stop his hands from trembling as he piloted the speeder back to the senate building. Thankfully the traffic was so thick he didn't have to worry much about flying very fast.

Who was Lek Ieru? Who was she working for? The Empire, obviously, but who specifically? Intelligence? Palpatine? Vader? Why was Siri targeted now? What had tipped them off? Had all the fuss over Padmé been a diversion, or had the investigation on Padmé led them to Siri instead?

For a brief second Obi-Wan was tempted to seek out Darth Vader, but it had only been for a _very_ brief second. Padmé herself had said that he wasn't trustworthy despite her own certainty that he was able to be turned to their cause. No, that man was of no use right now – he was probably the instigator of this entire mess.

Frustration and helplessness coursed through him, and he did his best to shove it down. This wasn't the time, and he knew it. He couldn't fall apart now.

Why _Siri_?

Obi-Wan landed the speeder in the senate building and hastily sought out Tlenden. He tried not to think too much about the sight of Siri sitting in a chair in the foyer with blaster burns in the carpet and chairs overturned. He tried to forget how much she trembled in his arms, how terrified they'd _both_ been, how close they'd come to losing their youngling.

Eventually the Tsograda Sector's senator came into view and Obi-Wan walked quickly towards him. The concern tearing through his mind and heart obviously was evident on his face, because as soon as Tlenden saw him he dismissed all his aides and representatives and approached Obi-Wan. "What's wrong? There were rumors that one of Senator Amidala's handmaidens was attacked."

"They're true. She's fine. We need to talk in private." He said hastily, the words tumbling out of his mouth.

The senator barely had time to respond before Obi-Wan started to guide him towards Padmé's office where they could speak freely, but then he realized that the scene of the crime was there as well. He couldn't go back there. Tlenden seemed to notice his distress and suggested, "Perhaps we can speak at my apartment. There's still time before the afternoon session."

Obi-Wan swallowed and nodded. The trip was spent in silence until they finally reached the senator's apartment. Its design was similar to Padmé's, though the large den was decorated in a similar fashion to the Salkenden architecture he'd seen in Fjesky, the capital city.

A Togruta male with orange-brown skin, shorter than normal head tails, and tall montrals was in the den, his left arm in a sling. He had a strong, muscular build. Beside him was a Human female who bore a similar build to her companion. Her deep blue eyes shone against her brown skin and matched her blue tattoo that encircled her right eye, and her sharp gaze fell upon Obi-Wan as soon as he entered the room alongside Tlenden.

"Representative, this is our Perillinen, Éothen of the Ønske clan," Tlenden introduced him. Motioning to the woman, he said, "And this is Lt. Erwyna of my own clan; she's his second-in-command."

It struck Obi-Wan as so odd that this was the first time he'd actually met Éothen after all the fuss that had been surrounding him. This man was going to be Obi-Wan's brother-in-law if Padmé's plans came to fruition. But that didn't matter right now – getting off Imperial Center was the priority.

His mind wandered to Al. Where was he? Why wasn't he responding? Had Ieru gotten to him, as Siri suspected? Was he dead? Alive? Hurt? Lost?

Obi-Wan abruptly remembered the introduction and bowed from the waist in greeting, but he couldn't muster the stamina to speak pleasantries. Instead, he got straight to the point. "There was an attack on one of Padmé's handmaidens. My wife. I… we were planning on accompanying Padmé to Salkende with you, but time is of the essence now. I would be eternally grateful if you could get Siri to Salkende as soon as possible."

Éothen and Erwyna exchanged surprised and worried glances. "Is she alright?"

"Yes," Obi-Wan said slowly, as if he was still trying to reassure himself. Honestly, he _was_ still trying to do that.

"Erwyna could leave with her tonight," Senator Tlenden suggested. "As soon as the afternoon session is finished she could take one of the escort shuttles back. You and your wife can accompany her. Éothen and I can leave with Senator Amidala in the morning."

"_Early_ morning," Éothen emphasized. "We'll only leave a few hours after you."

Obi-Wan was surprised at their generosity, but he recalled that Tlenden had been a kind host on Salkende. He certainly was grateful for it, and he expressed his gratitude multiple times over the course of their planning. After the matter was settled, he left the apartment in a daze, heading back towards his apartment to relay the news to Padmé, Siri, and Qui-Gon. He and Siri would leave tonight with Erwyna, and Padmé would remain with Qui-Gon until tomorrow morning when she left with the official party. Cordé would still go disguised as her and Padmé would be with Qui-Gon dressed as a guard.

They were almost through. He kept reassuring himself of that. He and Siri would be gone in a few hours, and Padmé would follow soon after. As soon as they left Imperial Center they would never come back. That much was certain. But how would they remain safe on Salkende unless they basically blockaded the place?

_One step at a time_. He breathed deeply, trying to think of nothing else. They were almost done. Just a few more hours and they'd leave this wretched hive of scum and villainy far behind them.

* * *

_She stood before him, silent and radiating with inner strength. Her face was blank, her eyes glistening with determination. Her belly bulged so much she could barely stand straight. He paced around her, examining her, testing the Force for the strength within her womb. All the while he continued to glance at her, to see how she reacted. She always held herself with dignity, even though she was a slave. She always stood strong and never cowered before him. She always bowed when needed, did as he ordered, and took care to not upset him, but she never gave into him. Many a beating had done little to teach her that her station was decidedly below his. Although she never said a word against him, her entire being radiated quiet confidence and defiance. Despite owning her for two years, he had never broken her._

_The child inside her shared her strength and increased it tenfold. Its power seeped into her, increasing her resolve. She could have escaped; she was allowed more freedom now that she was pregnant than she ever had before. All she had to do was kill the youngling so she wouldn't be impaired and make a run for it. But she never had. The baby always came first, even though they both knew that as soon as her usefulness was finished she would no longer be necessary. The baby was all he cared about._

_She stayed strong and resilient, no matter the cost. She always looked out for her unborn child. He never managed to break her. Even at the last moment, the last time she drew breath, she still didn't cower before him. Instead, she'd smiled; she'd _smiled_ and said that her precious Anakin would shine brighter than any star in the universe. He'd agreed. After all, the boy was the most powerful Force user he'd ever seen. But his brightness would be that of a supernova: destructive, chaotic, and deadly. He never managed wipe the smile off her face, even after his lightsaber had dug into her._

Palpatine pushed the thoughts aside, glancing at the hospital bed. Darth Vader was fast asleep, having finally slipped into unconsciousness when the Sith Master had used the Force to ensure he did so; the boy had been up all night, and it wasn't good for his health.

There were rumors that someone had attacked a handmaiden in the senate building. Most hearsay seemed to point to one of the handmaidens of the Chommel Sector. No doubt it had to do with Tarkin; Vader would have stopped investigating as soon as Palpatine said it wasn't his mission, and Intelligence would have reported if they were going to cause trouble. He didn't concern himself with the matter too much – his priority was right in front of him. Everything else was inconsequential until Vader finished his mission, the mission that Palpatine had started for him long before the final recess.

Ever since Palpatine had decided that Vader's cold, emotionless efficiency wouldn't be enough, he'd started planning different ways to get the boy to feel his passions once more. He'd tried a few grizzly missions, some frustrating and gruesome interrogations, but none had worked. One day he heard about Padmé Amidala being elected as the new monarch for Naboo. He did a little investigation on her, always curious as to what was occurring on his homeworld, and when he noticed her leanings he immediately recognized her as both a nuisance and the possibility of a threat. He'd arranged to have her eliminated, but when she'd thwarted him, he finally put more time and effort into investigating her since she was now worthy of his full attention. Her stubbornness, her passion, her beauty, her naïveté… it was the perfect solution for his lost apprentice. What could spark more emotion and passion than a romance? What could stir a young man more than a beautiful woman? What could pique Vader's curiosity more than someone so fundamentally different from him? Palpatine had introduced the two as a means to keep Amidala in line, but also as a means to teach Vader what it truly meant to be a Sith.

All he'd had to do from that beginning point was some fine tuning. Vader's bluntness needed checking, and he had to ensure Amidala knew that Vader was the one who would be watching her. As soon as she'd made her foolish decision to _tempt_ him so he could have sympathies towards her, the emperor had known everything was set. He had prepared the stage, and now that he'd placed the players there the opera was ready to begin. The two had run off to Naboo together, and Palpatine had waited patiently. He'd sensed as Vader's emotional control steadily slipped, as the passionate woman's thoughts and temptations seeped between the tight junctions that formed the protective shield around his mind and heart. Once Vader had returned he'd sensed the change, he'd noted the newfound secret Vader had greedily kept from his master – his _affection_ for the girl had taken root. Now she'd torn his heart to shreds, and he would want revenge. The climax had arrived. It was now time for the resolution.

Amidala had done her job. She'd served her purpose. Now she was overstaying her welcome; inviting Tsograda to join the Alliance was something Palpatine did not want, and he would ensure that it stopped now. He'd already made an effort to do so at the opera, but he wouldn't stop there. He had no need to openly attack Salkende, for that would provoke a counterstrike. All he had to do was make a surgical incision.

Palpatine smiled as he stroked his apprentice's forehead, watching him sleep. Yes, an incision would work perfectly. All he needed was to wait for his dear surgeon to wake up.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed it. :)  
**


	30. Family Comes First

**One reviewer asked for Padmé's age, so I figured I'd just recap on everybody: Almusian is 29, Éothen is 21, Obi-Wan is 25, Siri is 23, Padmé is 20, and Vader is 18/19 depending on the time period in the story.**

**Fasten your seatbelts, and here we go!**

* * *

Padmé hugged herself tightly. She'd been in her bedroom packing, but she'd spent the entire time restlessly pacing the room. Siri had been attacked. _Siri_ of all people – she was the handmaiden, the inconspicuous person that everybody glossed over and never _saw_. How—what had led the Imperials to Siri? Who had sent that operative? It wasn't… it wasn't _Vader_, was it? He already knew she was a Rebel spy; why would he send an undercover agent to keep tabs on her when he was essentially doing that himself? No, it couldn't be Vader… right?

Padmé had planned on telling Obi-Wan the entire truth about Vader, but after what had happened she'd been far too frantic to say anything, and now it seemed like it was too late. Besides, if she mentioned it by this point it might make Obi-Wan want to stay, and she would _not_ have her brother or sister-in-law risking themselves anymore because of her.

Glancing at her bed, she saw the shoto. She'd had it in her desk. Her _desk_. If she'd just finished the blasted thing and had been there, she could have ensured the handmaiden hadn't gotten away. Of course, then there would have been a whole series of questions that followed. Perhaps it was better that it ended up going the way it did. She was eternally grateful to Qui-Gon for being there, for saving her best friend's life.

_Siri had been attacked._

Padmé shook her head, balling her fists in an attempt to stop her hands from trembling. This had gone too far. The insanity of it all was too much. She'd had enough. They'd all had enough. But what were they going to do? Siri obviously had to leave, but would her supposed guilt leak over to Obi-Wan and Padmé as well? Would the person who had sent the agent turn his or her attention to Padmé and her brother since they were Siri's immediate associates and family? Were any of them safe? Padmé didn't like the idea of simply vanishing; a part of her still hesitated, a part of her still wanted to stay on Imperial Center as long as possible… but for what purpose? If she got Salkende on her side… but shouldn't she stay to maintain the status quo? If she just disappeared after Siri was attacked it would confirm that she was with the Rebels, and with her new engagement that would place Salkende at risk… assuming the warlord agreed to the match. There was so much _conjecture_ about who knew what and so many _what _if scenarios that she felt like she was suspended above a pit and was only held from the fall by a thread.

What would happen to Vader? Where was he? How would he react to all this? How could she confront him? Would she even confront him at all? Should she stay after visiting Salkende or should she just join the Alliance entirely? She didn't want to leave Vader behind – she still wanted to help him… but how could she resolve that with what she'd done, with what she was _going_ to do?

"Padmé?"

Turning, Padmé saw Obi-Wan standing in the doorway. He had a bag slung over his shoulder, and he looked haggard. Startled, she glanced at the chronometer and realized it was evening. Obi-Wan and Siri were heading out. Her heartrate increased as she was filled with frantic energy. What if something happened and Obi-Wan and Siri were captured or worse, killed? What if by some random coincidence Vader showed up? What if that spy came back?

"Is everything set?" she asked worriedly.

Obi-Wan nodded with a tired smile. "Stay here, all right? Qui-Gon will keep you safe."

Padmé hugged him tightly. "Shouldn't Qui-Gon go with you, at least until you leave the planet?"

"Padmé, we agreed on this," Obi-Wan shook his head. "Qui-Gon stays with you, and you stay here."

She sighed, closing her eyes and allowing herself to relax in his embrace. "Be safe, Obi. Please."

"We will be, Padmé."

She shuddered, thinking about everything that had happened today. Her mind wandered to all the others the spy could have affected. "Have you still heard nothing from Al?"

Obi-Wan tensed. "No."

Padmé intensified her hold on him, burying her face in his shoulder. "I love you."

She heard Obi-Wan take a deep breath. "I love you too."

As soon as Obi-Wan pulled away, Padmé was nearly tackled by Siri. "Stay safe, Padmé, got it? Don't leave the apartment until it's time to meet up with Éothen. Obi and I will be fine. We'll see you on Salkende."

Padmé nodded, her throat tightening with emotion. She walked alongside her brother and sister-in-law until they reached the door. They would take several taxis and a very roundabout walk to get to the designated landing pad so they would ensure no one was following them. Padmé prayed to the gods that they got there safely.

The sunlight diminished from the sky as the two left. Clouds destroyed the remainder of daylight, and a cold drizzle began to descend upon the city. Padmé gazed outside, and her eyes locked with the palace. Qui-Gon approached her.

"The Force will guide Obi-Wan and Siri." he said softly, his voice laced with concern and compassion. "Do not fear for them."

Padmé nodded and smiled. "It's hard not to be worried."

"It's true, but it will do you little good," Qui-Gon replied. After a brief pause, he said, "I must meditate. Do you need anything from me at the moment?"

Padmé continued to stare at the palace and she shook her head. "No, thank you."

Qui-Gon bowed and walked towards the veranda, leaving Padmé alone. The longer she gazed at it, the worse she felt. All she could think about was where the spy was, who sent her, and how Vader played into all this. Would Obi-Wan and Siri make it safely to Salkende? Where was Al? Was he still alive? Where was Vader?

The stress swirled within her, overwhelming her. Padmé choked back sobs until they escaped her in gasps, and she buried her face in her hand, lost and alone in the chaos around her.

* * *

The cold rain made him shiver, but he wasn't certain if it was because of the weather or the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Obi-Wan glanced around warily into the darkness as the landing ramp to the ship lowered. They were in the lower levels of the city in a spaceport that was open to the elements. It was almost midnight; he and Siri had left the apartment almost six hours ago, retracing their steps, going to dead ends, taking different taxis and buses, and walking to this place. He was exhausted from the effort, but with six hours of ensuring no one was tailing them, he figured whatever was bothering him couldn't be related to himself or Siri; he and his wife had long since either bottled up or released their terror from the incident earlier today. Lt. Erwyna eyed the ship, but her hand was on a holstered blaster pistol. Siri looked at Obi-Wan.

"What is it?" she whispered.

"I have a bad feeling about this," he muttered. His head pounded and felt foggy. He couldn't think straight. He could barely _see_ straight at this point, though whether that was due to stress and exhaustion or the dreary weather was beyond him.

"We're almost out of here," she assured him.

"Not about us," he shook his head. "It's something elsewhere… elusive…"

He was speaking in riddles that even he himself didn't understand. Siri put a hand on his shoulder. "Qui-Gon said the Dark Side is shrouding everything here. He said it's been getting so bad even he's having trouble keeping a clear head. We can't be running around chasing bad feelings."

"Let's go," the Salkenden lieutenant called from the ramp.

Obi-Wan sighed and nodded to his wife. Together the two boarded the shuttle and he watched Imperial Center disappear as the ramp closed behind him.

* * *

A thick heaviness surrounded him. He felt a snore escape his throat. His hands twitched. His eyes were sealed shut from exhaustion. There was darkness everywhere. The gentle pitter patter of the rain against the window helped him drift in and out of slumber until he shifted slightly to get more comfortable.

_Ouch!_

Tarkin's eyes snapped open but he didn't dare move. His neck was _killing_ him. What had happened? Why was his neck sore? Why was he cold? Wait, why was he _sitting_? Shouldn't he… he thought he'd gone to bed…

Oh. That's right.

Slowly raising his head from his chest, Tarkin groaned and rubbed the back of his neck as it nearly creaked in protest. He was going to be sore for days at this point; his entire body felt stiff.

After the senate had adjourned for the day Tarkin had sought out his spy. He'd been in the med bay most of the day (and had marveled at the fact that Palpatine had also been there for almost the same amount of time – the man _never_ showed this much concern for his apprentice), so he was eager to get a report. She had disappointed and astonished him once again, however; the woman was among Intelligence's best operatives – for her to have failed in kidnapping a mere handmaiden indicated that both she and Tarkin had miscalculated the handmaiden's capabilities… and apparently the aide's as well. The spy had informed Tarkin that the handmaiden had somehow known the attack was coming, and the aide was a skilled martial artist. There were far too many unanswered questions in all of this insanity, and Tarkin _needed_ answers. The spy's cover was blown, so he couldn't send her back in. He had to do this through Vader. He'd send the boy to speak to Amidala as soon as he was released. They needed to act quickly before Amidala did anything in retaliation – the _last_ thing Tarkin needed was for the senator to disappear.

With that train of thought Tarkin had gone back to the med bay only to find the boy fast asleep. Instead of waking him and discussing the matter, he decided to leave him alone; Vader had been through enough for a little while. Things would only get worse once he awoke, anyway. So Tarkin had watched him and ensured he'd rested, and then he'd eventually fallen asleep on the chair beside the boy's bed.

He nodded to himself and then moaned again. _Blast_ his neck hurt. Rubbing it once more to ease the pain, Tarkin abruptly realized there was a silhouette of someone in dress robes standing in the dark room. Gasping, he leapt to his feet, automatically reaching for his blaster, when he recognized the emperor's face in the dim light from the window. Getting his wits about him, he immediately went down on one knee, both unnerved and annoyed. Palpatine's manners matched Vader's sometimes – that's probably where the boy got it from. Darth Vader inherited much from his master.

"Majesty," he acknowledged, his head bowed. There was a _pop_ in his neck and he winced.

Palpatine didn't reply. Instead, his attention was focused on the Sith apprentice in the hospital bed. His yellow eyes glittered in the dim light, making Tarkin shudder and look down, despite the pain in his neck, but when he heard the rustling of robes he gazed up once more. The emperor flicked his hand, turning the lights on with the Force. Vader, who had been sleeping relatively peacefully, curled in a tight little ball like always, flinched at the sudden change. His eyes immediately opened, and in the few seconds it took him to orient himself he no doubt sensed the two other people in the room.

The man's eyes settled upon the emperor and he sat up in bed. His color was far better than before, and he didn't even wince as he sat straight. Tarkin looked at his vitals and they were steady. The rest had done him wonders, and Tarkin had little doubt he'd used the Force to augment his healing.

Vader bowed his head. "Master."

His voice was a little rough, but not too bad. He was completely composed; the nap had obviously helped him immensely. Perhaps he would be able to confront Amidala without falling apart now.

"The doctors said you can go," Palpatine said. "It's time for you to complete your mission."

_Complete_ it? What was he talking about? Vader had already killed the Jedi and destroyed their fleet – what more did the man want?

Vader didn't move. He simply awaited his orders as usual.

"I can sense your anger," Palpatine continued, and Tarkin nearly gawked at the man. _Anger_? What anger? Sure, he'd always suspected it was buried deep within the young Sith, but it wasn't as if it had been surfacing lately – apart from being a little unstable, the only time Tarkin saw Vader supposedly get _angry_ was during the interrogation with Mon Mothma. Even then that had seemed more forceful than angry; Vader hadn't gotten upset that she wasn't listening, he'd simply _lost it_ because he was a wreck. What in the blazes was Palpatine going on about? "Feel it. Acknowledge it. _Use_ it. The time has come to end the pain you've received. You will forge yourself from the flames of your hatred, and you will be a true Sith Lord."

Where was he going with this? Darth Vader still remained motionless as he normally would, but Tarkin's mind was buzzing with questions. What mission was he talking about? The grand moff seriously doubted it was about the Jedi, considering what had been said so far. It probably had to do with Amidala, then. Was Palpatine ordering Vader to kill the Salkenden, Éothen? Well, it would be one less headache for Tarkin, he supposed, but _he_ needed the Sith _first_ – he needed the man to confront Amidala and ensure she didn't escape the planet after the fantastic failure this morning.

"You are to kill Senator Amidala."

Tarkin's gaze snapped to the emperor. _What?!_ After _everything_ that man had done to ensure Amidala lived despite her obvious loyalties, after making Darth Vader suffer through emotional manipulation, _now_ Palpatine finally came to his senses and wanted her killed? The man had waited too long; Amidala had already gotten to Vader. The two were _partners_. It seemed like the senator was the one person who could stir something inside Vader, though whether it was simply a physical attraction or something else was still a bit of a mystery to Tarkin. In either case, this wouldn't do at all… right? Vader wouldn't allow for Amidala to die. His loyalty didn't extend _that_ far – his obsession with obedience to his master only reached as far as his own sanity could tolerate; if Palpatine ordered him to kill the one person he might actually have some sort of _favorable_ attachment to (Tarkin would admit that his own relationship with the boy needed a bit of work before he could boast such a thing – it was the entire reason he had to deal with the tiresome roundabout manipulation), then he would refuse, right? This would be the last straw, the final order that would set the man off, the moment that would make Darth Vader prove that he was a Sith apprentice and, in true Sith fashion, would rise up against his master.

Vader was silent.

Tarkin's eyebrows skyrocketed. The man _never_ hesitated in accepting orders. This was massive. Would he argue? Would he outright refuse? The grand moff could imagine the conflict occurring in the young man's mind, the turmoil of choosing between his loyalties. Would he remain loyal to his master or would he choose his newfound interest? If he refused, would Palpatine try to kill him? Would Vader fight back? If he did, Tarkin would be with him every step of the way; they'd be able to cover the nonsense up easily – the boy was still emotionally unstable, the drugs had yet to wear off; any number of excuses could work. Tarkin had enough grand moffs and military officials in his pocket by this point that it would work – the only other addition he needed to his group of allies was Vader.

The Sith Lord still hadn't moved! How long would this tense silence last before one of them tore it apart? How long would it take for Palpatine to realize his mistake?

Tarkin tensed every muscle in his body, awaiting some kind of reaction from one of the Sith in the room. He was suddenly grateful he was armed. Blast it all, this came so suddenly – he'd been expecting a lot more time to plan out this confrontation.

Vader slowly stood, keeping his eyes toward the ground. He bowed again and left.

The heaviness of the room vanished, and Tarkin could breathe again. Was that action an acknowledgement of the order or was it simply Vader's way of ignoring it and getting out without a fuss? He didn't dare follow the apprentice; this the man had to do on his own. He would let the decision be made without him. A plan was already formulating in his mind that would ensure he was the victor in either scenario. He had much work to do.

Tarkin waited for Palpatine to depart, and then he hastily left the med bay.

* * *

Padmé glanced at her chronometer once more. It was almost two in the morning, but she still felt restless. There was no way she'd be sleeping tonight. Qui-Gon had received a signal from Erwyna stating that they had left Imperial Center safely, so at least Obi-Wan and Siri were alright. But what about Almusian? Siri had said they hadn't heard from the man in over a day – could that spy have gotten to him? He was the one getting Kelathik serum for Siri, right? And he was tracking an _Intelligence agent_ – was he missing because he failed his mission or because the spy found him? There were so many unanswered questions, so many unresolved issues that it made her head spin.

She couldn't handle this – she wouldn't tolerate leaving him behind if something was wrong. She had to be certain. Al had to be found; she wouldn't abandon him on pure conjecture alone. She wouldn't do that to anybody, but he was also vital to both the Alliance and her family.

She walked to the veranda. Qui-Gon had said he would be meditating there, but considering the time she wasn't sure if he'd still be awake. Nevertheless, she found him sitting on the floor of the veranda, his eyes closed in concentration. His face was placid, and he seemed unaware of her presence. She was about to clear her throat in acknowledgement when he opened his eyes and smiled at her. She would be unnerved that he knew she was there, but she'd gotten used to that with Vader.

_Vader_. Her heart stung at the thought of him, and she quickly shoved it down; now wasn't the time to think about that. Not yet. "Qui-Gon, I need your help."

"What's the matter?" he asked, standing.

"It's a friend of mine," she explained. "A fellow Rebel. He's missing."

"Almusian?" Qui-Gon asked. When Padmé looked at him in surprise, he said, "Obi-Wan explained the situation to me. He gave me Brek's frequency so I could continue to try and contact him."

"Any luck?" she questioned.

Qui-Gon sighed and shook his head. "I'm afraid not."

Padmé felt her heart sink, and she shifted her weight from one foot to the other in an attempt to release nervous energy. "We can't… surely there's something we can do. Can't we search for him?"

Qui-Gon crossed his arms. His eyes sparkled, and though he still looked serene, his bearing was stern as well. "Your safety is at risk, senator. It's best you remain here under my protection. It's too dangerous to wander the streets."

She bit her lip. She was _not_ giving up on Al. Padmé tried a different avenue, amending her suggestion. "Fine. It's too dangerous for me. But _you_ could look for him."

"My mission is to protect you," he told her. "Not to do search and rescue."

"The Jedi are supposed to protect those in need," Padmé argued, growing slightly annoyed. "I'm not in need right now; it's two in the morning and there's been no activity since over twelve hours ago, and that was an attack on _Siri_, not me. Al, on the other hand, is on a mission that only he can accomplish and might have been attacked by that fake handmaiden. We have no clue where he is or if he's hurt. His mission is _vital_, and you and I are the _only people_ who can help him. I promise I'll stay in the apartment, but _please_, you have to look for him."

The Jedi was silent, debating the matter. He didn't look too happy. Padmé insisted, "You're his only hope, Qui-Gon. You can't abandon him."

There was silence for a few tense seconds, and then Qui-Gon sighed heavily. "This isn't a good idea."

"I'm armed and I'm not going anywhere," Padmé tried to assure him. "No one has attacked me at all the entire time we've been in trouble. I'll be leaving in four hours. It'll be fine. Al's the one who's unprotected."

Again the Jedi sighed, but he closed his eyes and nodded before looking at her firmly. "I'll go, but I'll only search for two hours. Keep your comlink accessible at all times."

Padmé bowed. "Thank you. I will."

Qui-Gon hesitated a moment and then quickly strode past her. Padmé breathed a sigh of relief; Vader had no reason to sabotage anything pertaining to Al (unless he himself had sent the handmaiden), so he wouldn't interfere with this mission. The Jedi would surely succeed, then, right? She didn't know much about Jedi apart from the stories, but supposedly they were the greatest at essentially everything relating to war – fighting, rescuing, protecting, planning, everything. Al was in good hands now that a Jedi Master was searching for him.

A Jedi Master. It was strange to think she had a Jedi looking after her. Why hadn't Bail mentioned him before? There'd never been any situation as desperate as now, obviously, but… well, she supposed it would have done little help to have known the fact earlier. Besides, it was obvious that the Jedi, even those who were strong enough to survive the purges, weren't omnipotent – Vader had surely proven that.

Padmé sighed tiredly and walked to her bedroom. The shoto was still sitting there, the final piece lying beside it. Staring at it tempted her to just finish it already, but it still represented something to her. It was the last memento of her relationship with Vader. Was her time with the Sith really over? Did she have no chance of seeing him again? She'd yet to figure out whether she'd return after the issue of her engagement was settled, but… she wasn't sure she could face him after this. She felt like he at least deserved it, though; they both needed closure. But blast it all, she didn't _want_ closure – they were just finally reaching new levels in their time together, and she'd promised him honesty, and… what a mess.

If that _idiot_ hadn't killed the Jedi this wouldn't have happened, but she shook her head even as she thought that. It wasn't his fault. He'd been brainwashed – this was all _Palpatine's_ fault. Vader just needed some help.

Picking up the final piece and the shoto, she glanced at the location where it needed to go. According to the readout it would activate and work just fine if she fit the last bit in there. She recalled that earlier today (technically yesterday by now) she'd thought of the weapon as a symbol of her transformation, but was there really any transformation that had occurred? She'd always dedicated her life to peace and justice – why was it suddenly so different now? Because she had to choose between Vader and Éothen? Éothen was a sweet and honorable man who cared deeply for his family, who had a passion for life, who held the key to helping the Alliance. Darth Vader was an emotionally repressed man, someone who might or might not ever learn to live like a Human being and get a moral code. He lived by Palpatine's bidding. He brought nothing but trouble, nothing but danger, destruction, and death. But on Naboo he'd been so much more; why couldn't they just be back at Varykino?

Honestly, between the two men there wasn't even a competition. It had nothing to do with Éothen or Vader; it was all about the Alliance and the Empire. Padmé would freely admit now that she was in love with Darth Vader, but she also knew that if she had to choose between him and the Alliance, she'd always choose the Alliance. Always.

Dammit, why couldn't the two just be the same thing?!

If this shoto really represented her loyalty to the Alliance, then it was truly an irony that she had received it from Darth Vader. It made her heart hurt so much she thought she'd just drop dead right there.

Padmé squeezed the hilt and slipped the final piece into place. Holding the weapon reverently, she looked at the activation switch. Vader's lightsaber hadn't been too loud whenever it activated, so she doubted she'd upset any of the neighbors… but would it even work? She'd followed the manual, but she didn't claim to be a mechanic.

Padmé flipped the switch. In a heartbeat the hilt recoiled softly against her as a red blade emitted. It was shorter than Vader's lightsaber, just as he'd said it would be. The hilt grew warmer as she held it longer, but the heat shield she'd installed was doing its job. Padmé marveled at the blade, surprised she'd managed to put it together and proud that she'd succeeded. She'd built this through Vader's guidance. They'd created this blade together.

Deactivating it, Padmé held it close to her as if it were the most precious possession she had. Honestly, it basically was; it was her last reminder of their time together on Naboo, her one physical memento that would always be with her. It was Vader's gift to her.

She placed it in a box and locked it. She had her blaster in case any Imperial showed up, and she wasn't well versed in using a shoto just yet. She briefly wondered if she could tell Obi-Wan and Siri about it. Maybe, but certainly not anytime soon.

Strolling aimlessly back to the living room, she looked out the large windows that led to the balcony. It was too chilly to stand outside, but the rain had at least stopped so she could see a good distance off. The palace shone brightly in the darkness, multiple lights and spotlights around it.

She walked slowly towards the window, mesmerized by the sight of the building. She used to disdain that place so much. For the most part she still did, but now that she looked at it she thought of Vader. Most buildings on Imperial Center were strikingly tall and had curved roofs, and the palace exemplified this – its base structure was a long rectangle with banners waving from the top, but three large circular spires rose a few hundred floors beyond it. The center one was the largest and had the presentation balcony where the emperor would occasionally show up to be seen by the people in the plaza far below. That was no doubt that the throne room was there as well. Many hallways connected the spires, and buttresses were used for both support and decoration.

Padmé couldn't tear her eyes from the palace. What part of the building did he live in? One of the towers? Where was he now? Was he thinking of her as much as she was thinking of him? What would become of them?

The world around her vanished, and though she was looking at the palace, she saw beyond it. She saw her days with Vader on Naboo, she saw her uncertain future… she saw everything. And then she looked away.

* * *

The senatorial apartments at 500 Republica stood tall among other skyscrapers in the city skyline. The penthouse suite had many amenities that made it more vulnerable, including its open den and veranda. It was impossible to tell from this distance whether the lights were on in the den, but it made little difference. Padmé would be awake shortly, no matter what she was doing now. She was there, she was in that apartment.

It was all open. Easy for attack. All it would take would be a starfighter. Maybe even just level the entire building. But no. This had to be subtle. He knew that. He'd have to face her. He _needed_ to face her.

Who was Éothen? Why had she gone to him? What had happened in his absence? She'd said they would be completely honest with each other upon his return. Had that changed? Or would she freely admit that she'd betrayed him?

Traitor. Turncoat. Liar. The words had never held significance to him. They only implied that the aforementioned person wasn't an ally, wasn't trustworthy, but it was all subjective. Some would view him as a traitor for killing Imperials, but he always did it under Master's instructions. Everything he did was under Master's instructions.

Master. Padmé. The governor. He knew. He knew they were all pulling him in different directions, tearing him apart. He wasn't a person, but that didn't mean he was an idiot.

The governor was always there for him, always helping him, guiding him, ensuring he survived. The man served his purpose. He would always rely on Tarkin for help. Always. But what was the governor hiding? When he was younger the governor used to question his actions, ask why he would do something or what his opinion was about Master's orders. He was always testing him. What was he testing him for? It couldn't be anything good. The governor was a trustworthy man, an ally. If, by his own words, he had to trust someone to like them, then he liked the governor. But that didn't mean Tarkin wouldn't try something. Nevertheless, he still blindly followed him, he allowed him to lead him forward with his eyes willingly shut. Whenever life overwhelmed him, whenever his duties grew murky and confusing, whenever there was a doubt in his mind, the governor always guided him back to a path. Not necessarily the right path, but at least _something_ that would allow him to get his bearings. Tarkin had never let him down.

Padmé, though… what was she? She wasn't Human; no normal person could do this to him. She used to just be a target. Nothing more. She was his mark. He had to siphon all the information out of her like blood from a vein. But when she started looking at him differently, with that sparkle in her eyes and that warmth that scorched his soul, with that attitude that he wasn't some object, wasn't some enemy, wasn't some _threat_… he hadn't known what to do. All he'd known was this strange sensation that if she left he'd be empty and cold again. He didn't… that wasn't… it couldn't be healthy. He needed her. She was strong. Resilient. Determined. She would be a perfect ally. What better than to turn an enemy into a friend? That had initially been his plan. Initially.

When had it changed? When had she gone from target to partner to… something more? When had just seeing her brought such overwhelming sensations to him, when had she started to plague his thoughts even after his mission had ended? When had her poisonous words about what he was started to make _sense_?

He was a means to an end. Nothing more. _Nothing more_.

He'd tried to tell her. Force, he'd tried _so hard_. She kept saying stupid words, things that made no logical sense at all. And he kept repelling them, preventing them from reaching him. They _couldn't_ reach him. He wouldn't allow it. His sole purpose was to serve Master. She wouldn't have him think of anything else. He wouldn't. He _wouldn't_.

Love. It was such a terrible thing. It was a _disease_ – it tore through the body, ripped the mind to shreds, left the user a driveling fool. It destroyed one's spirit. It destroyed _everything_. Master hated it. He thought it was pathetic, weak. He couldn't feel love. He had no use for it. None. _None_.

Why did anyone love? Why did anyone feel anything? Why couldn't they all be like him? Why couldn't they just serve Master? The galaxy would be far simpler. He would be too. He felt empty all the time. He felt cold all the time. He felt _nothing_. He _was_ nothing.

"_Why?"_

Why did she ask that? No one had ever asked him _why_ he thought what he did, simply _what_ he thought. The governor had never trespassed his privacy of mind. Why did she? Even Master didn't do that – he _couldn't_. He wouldn't let Master see his weakness.

He shook his head. _I have no weakness._

He figured she had a right to know, though. After everything they'd been through… after he'd been so close to viewing her as more special than anything in the universe… but it wasn't enough. She wasn't enough. Only Master was. He was created to serve Master, anyway, not to train her.

Training. Images of their time on Naboo flashed through his memory. He closed his eyes, eliminating the sight of her apartment from his mind, purging his thoughts of the villa, of the games, the laughter, the silliness, the absurdity of her mannerisms and ideas. He wiped her smile from his mind, but that searing warmth that she exuded remained in him. It made his stomach churn. It made the world spin. It made him sick with fever, with tremors, with _something_ that he didn't know how to define anymore.

In the darkest depths of his being he listened to Padmé's every word. He hung onto what she said as if it were his lifeline. In the darkest depths of his being, where even he didn't venture, he believed her. Because he knew… he knew she was right. But he'd lie to himself. He always had. Most days he believed it, most days he forgot about that darkness within him, most days he forgot the threat that it presented. Whenever he walked he could forget it. That's what those walks were for. They always looked peaceful on the outside, but inside he had a massive war between himself and his inner weakness, his inner enemy, like a dragon that was eating him from the inside out. Those moments were just him; nothing external mattered, nothing else _existed_. They were _just him_. He'd tried to tell her, but she hadn't understood. She never would. No one would. They didn't need to. He wasn't important enough that they should try to figure him out.

He hadn't walked in days. The poison from that dragon's fangs was seeping into him, _she_ was seeping into him. His sanity was crumbling. He stood as still as a statue, trying to stop the onslaught of _whatever_ it was that he knew he wasn't supposed to feel.

"_Why?"_

Why? Why what? Why did he think—_know_ he was nothing more than a tool for Master? Because he _was_, dammit. That's why. He was created to be Master's special weapon, his apprentice, his _everything_. Whenever Master needed something done, he'd do it.

No one taught him that fact. He'd learned it himself. Why else would he have been raised the way he was? Why else would Master mold him through lightsaber wounds and lightning like a weapon was forged from the flame? Why else would the governor only view him for his usefulness? Why else would he have come from someone whose life was snuffed out as soon as she'd done her job, as soon as he'd been born?

He was a means to an end. When his usefulness ended, he'd join his mother. But he didn't think about that – why would he? It was pointless to muse on such matters. The only thing he had to think about was Master's bidding. It was safer that way. It was _better_ that way. Life made sense that way.

So why was he letting his mind wander like this? He should have done the job long ago; he should be finished by now.

The job. His mission.

_Kill Senator Amidala._

Kill Padmé. Kill her. That's all he had to do. He just had to kill her. He'd killed thousands of people, maybe even more than that; he didn't know. He never kept count. This mission was easy. He'd seen her fight, he'd _taught_ her a few tricks.

He'd tried to warn her. Damn it all, he'd tried to _warn_ her – he'd _told_ her, _he'd told her_. This conclusion was inevitable. It always had been. He'd lied to himself _so much_ on Naboo, he'd told himself everything would work out, that she'd somehow survive. It had almost come true – when the governor had suggested she could be a gift for Master, when she'd said they'd be completely honest with each other, he'd almost been so irrational as to _hope_ that she was right, that they'd somehow still be able to be together, that she'd live through the chaos. But now… she'd made her choice. She chose the Rebel Alliance. _She chose._

Éothen would die a painful death someday. He was sure Master wanted the man dead for something; why else would he keep imagining different ways of murdering him? Yes, Éothen would die someday. That disgusting waste of flesh and organs would be a rotting corpse, assuming he was even allowed the dignity of having his body in any sort of recognizable manner by the time he was finished with him. What had he said that had convinced Padmé? What had he done differently? Was it just because he was somehow connected to the Alliance? And he _had_ to be connected to the Alliance – that was the only reason Padmé did _anything_. She'd even manipulated _him_ for the Alliance. It was no wonder people hated politicians so much – to _violate_ someone as much as she had was something even he wasn't sure he could do… or maybe he needed to do it now; he needed to see her crumbled to pieces like he was.

Kill Padmé. He had to kill her. Master ordered it. It had always been inevitable. But he… he…

_You don't want to do it_.

His eyes opened with a jolt. 500 Republica immediately came back into focus. That poison from inside him, the dragon he always fought day in and out during his walks had awoken. Well he wouldn't let it win; even if Padmé echoed its words, it didn't matter. She didn't matter. _He_ didn't matter. _Nothing mattered._ Only Master.

"_Why?"_

He shook his head violently, turning away from the window. He _knew_ why! Storming to his bed he snatched his lightsaber and then froze. She'd held this weapon. Her scent was still on it, her presence in the Force lazily dripped from it like a perfume. He'd cleaned it rigorously, and he scoffed just thinking about it – he may have wiped away her DNA, but her Force signature was still there. No amount of cleaning would remove that. He didn't know why he'd thought it would – as soon as he'd finished in the prison he'd torn the weapon to shreds. He couldn't stand _looking _at it knowing that she'd held it. Everything about her destabilized him, everything about her was proof that the dragon could win, that it could somehow get outside of him and infect others. She'd even tried to interfere with his daily fight against it!

He hadn't walked in days.

He shook his head and threw the lightsaber fiercely. It clanged loudly as it slammed into the wall. He couldn't use that. He'd use a blaster; the Rebels would know the true reason for her death, but the rest of the galaxy wouldn't. If he used a blaster, they could pin the blame on the Rebels. It would swing popular opinion towards the Empire. He knew that. He wasn't an idiot. He knew why Master wanted this done.

_Utilize your anger._

Anger? What was anger? What was anything? Why did Master want him to use emotions, to allow himself to _feel_? He couldn't do that. No, no, he _couldn't_ do that. But he couldn't disobey Master. The conflict was tearing him to pieces, and the dragon was just laughing at him. He wanted to scream. Master said he could feel the anger, but he couldn't feel _anything._ Master didn't know anything!

He closed his eyes, trying to ground himself. He was a means to an end. Nothing more. He shouldn't be having this conflict.

But the entire premise of his mission was to use something that a _weapon_ wouldn't feel!

If he dared… he couldn't, no, no, _no_, he _refused_ to feel. Couldn't. He _couldn't_ feel.

_Stop lying to yourself_, the dragon whispered. _You feel everything._

He drew his breath in sharply, falling to his knees as the onslaught hit him. His mind was bombarded by different sensations, by that same searing heat, but also by such _pain_ and anguish and he couldn't _stand_ it!

_No!_ he argued, burying his face in his hands as he curled up on the floor, ignoring the pain from his wounds. He felt _nothing_. In a heartbeat it was all gone again, the more he focused on killing that dragon, the more he kept repeating his daily mantra, the calmer he became. Gasping for air, he rose once more.

Blaster. He needed a blaster.

Walking erratically towards his nightstand, he sifted through a few drawers. None of them held what he needed; he always used his lightsaber, so he'd never owned a blaster. _Idiot. Why wouldn't you own one? It's not like Master wouldn't expect you to use one for something._

Sighing, he exited his quarters. Maybe the governor would have one he could borrow.

He glanced at the turbolift but opted for the stairs instead. He didn't have time to do his usual stroll, but he could at least get some energy out while fulfilling this mission.

Mission. This was nothing more than a mission.

He reached Tarkin's quarters. The Force was knotted up here like a rung out cloth. The governor was up to something. It didn't matter. It had nothing to do with his mission. He knocked at the door, but after receiving no response, he hacked the lock and entered without permission. The entrance area was dark, as was the rest of the room. The governor was probably asleep.

He searched the living room first. Using the Force he poked and prodded, feeling out for where the governor spent the most time. Anything that didn't resemble a weapon was immediately glossed over as he sifted through the man's private belongings. Finally he stumbled upon a blaster pistol, but it was specialized; probably some gift. That wouldn't do. He'd need something far more generic for the autopsy – Rebels didn't carry specialized weapons.

Eventually he wandered into the governor's room. The man's cool presence soothed the flaming heat inside of him, and he stopped, taking a deep breath and drinking it in. Then he walked to the man's nightstand. Tarkin was unaware, too deeply asleep to notice the movement in his bedchamber. After searching a few drawers, he finally found a standard issue blaster. He took it and left, examining it as he walked.

A year or two ago he'd gone to the shooting range with multiple long ranged weapons to test their capabilities and how to handle them. He recalled how to hold this blaster and what the recoil would be, as well as the damage it could cause at close range.

The turbolift was inevitable now. Entering it reluctantly, he pressed for one of the floors that held a private hangar. Now there was nothing to do but sit and wait. As the lift sped to its destination, he did his best to ignore the millions of sensations he was receiving from the Force. He wasn't sure if Master ever felt them; Master was always so composed. He'd tried to emulate that, but sometimes, especially during his walks, the Force would drown him like he was in a torrential river. Thinking of his duty to Master always grounded him, but when he didn't have much to do he couldn't focus at all. It's why he always tinkered or sparred in his spare time. Then he'd be prepared for anything, and it would just shut the stupid dragon and the Force up for a little while. Every day was a battle. Every day was a victory. Master had said life was war, anyway. Peace was a lie.

He tentatively prodded the Force to see where Master was. He didn't know why he was doing that; he never did that. He didn't care where Master was unless Master wanted him. Otherwise, it wasn't pertinent. _Nothing _he was thinking about right now was pertinent. Besides, he didn't need to feel out for Master; he always carried the man's presence in the back of his mind like a security blanket. They had a training bond, after all.

The lift finally reached the desired floor and he walked swiftly, growing more focused as he went. This mission was simple. He'd killed people before. He could do this. He _would_ do this.

He found a suitable speeder that would blend in with the traffic. It didn't bear any palace markings. It would suffice for the job. Clambering in, he froze once he was situated in the driver's seat.

He was going to kill Padmé. He couldn't kill Padmé. He had to kill Padmé. He trembled and his breath came out in gasps. Maybe he could somehow die before he started the engine. Maybe his usefulness was at an end. He couldn't do this mission. He had to do this mission.

He eyed the blaster temptingly. If he couldn't serve Master, he was worthless; nothing worthless deserved to live. He should just shoot himself. The sudden idea took root, and he was filled with energy. Yes, yes, that would handle the matter _entirely_ – it was obvious he was faulty anyway; he'd failed to get adequate information from Padmé, he'd failed to defeat the Jedi unharmed, he'd failed, he'd _failed_, he was nothing but a _failure._ Why was it that no matter how hard he tried he could never satisfy Master? That's all he wanted to do – he just wanted to please Master.

He shook his head, blinking in surprise. He didn't have wants or desires. _Shut up!_

He grabbed the blaster fiercely. He placed it to his temple. He sat there, panting, waiting to just _pull the trigger_ and get it over with. This would be a good thing, this would _help_ Master; it was better to die than to be a constant disappointment.

_Padmé will still die._

The blaster fell out of his numb fingers. He couldn't win. He was useless both alive and dead. He couldn't win.

The mission. Just focus on the mission. He had to do the mission.

Starting the engine, he slowly flew the speeder out of the hangar. The rain had begun once more, and it was nearly pouring now. He flew slowly, debating the matter further. He shouldn't be debating. There was no debate.

500 Republica stood defiantly before him the entire flight. It grew bigger as he approached it. The veranda for the penthouse apartment tempted him. Its extended landing pad jutted out in a challenge. _Do it. Kill her._

He knew the specs of the apartment, having studied it an hour ago; the veranda had an invisible shield that would fry anything going through it so long as it was activated. He picked up a device he'd pieced together that was designed to short out such defense systems. He could easily just land here. There were no security cameras in the apartment; only in the lift leading to it. It would be better to go this way. Safer. Faster. Activating the device, he saw a brief flash that indicated the energy shield had deteriorated, and he landed the speeder on the pad.

Then he sat there, breathing. Panting. _Dying_.

The apartment reeked of her. Her life presence passed his defenses like water through a sieve. In the Force people always had different sounds, scents, sensations, feelings to them, and hers had never bothered him until their time on Naboo. It was strong as duracrete, but it smelled of roses, and it sounded like a gentle babbling brook. Most of all, though, it was warm. When she was enraged her presence would surge like a waterfall, when she was sad it would be a muted spring, when she was happy it was radiant, when they were together it was _right_.

Nothing about this was right.

He felt her. She was coming. She'd heard him land. So she was still awake.

Something felt off. He had a few seconds before she'd arrive, and he quickly gave himself the usual calming mantra and choked down any distractions. Then he reached out into the Force, filling the apartment with his consciousness. She was the only person there, but there were echoes of other people. Some were seeped into the building like they were part of it: imprints, left behind by those who spent innumerable hours there. There were two: one, steady and strong like a rock, clearer than even Padmé's, filled with sureness and _light_; the other, fiery, loud, sturdy, and searing hot. A handful of other signatures registered in his mind, but he didn't have time to study them before Padmé finally appeared in the veranda entrance.

His breath caught.

She was wearing burgundy trousers, brown boots, and a light brown undershirt with a black collar that was noticeable under a navy blue vest. It was a Naboo pilot's outfit, he realized. She was planning on leaving. She _was_ leaving.

She looked at the speeder confusedly and with some concern. Her hand slowly slipped to her side where a holster was strapped to her leg. It was best to avoid a firefight, so he exited the speeder.

As soon as she saw him her mouth slipped open slightly and her eyes widened. Through the Force his mind was pounded by different sensations that he couldn't identify, and they were making him dizzy and making concentration ridiculously difficult.

"Lord Vader?" she whispered. The hand that had been reaching for a blaster was now relaxed. She gazed at him in astonishment.

His knees went weak. Her voice made his heartrate rise. She seemed to glow amidst the darkness. He shook his head. That was silly. This was all ridiculous. He had to focus. He had a job to do. But the more he looked at her, the less he felt like he could do it.

She was still staring at him. Her brown eyes, the same eyes that haunted him, were looking him over from head to toe. He straightened his knees and took a step towards her, but the veranda shifted as if the entire building were swaying. He stopped and closed his eyes, trying to steady his vitals. He had a job to do. He had a job to do. _He had a job to do._

"What… what are you doing here?" she asked, her voice still barely audible.

She was scared. He could see it in her eyes. He could sense it. He wasn't the best at identifying emotions, but he'd been sure to expose himself to so many people and scenarios when he was younger that he would know what they felt like in the Force. After all, he himself couldn't feel them.

Why was she scared? Was it because of his presence? Was it because she knew the inevitable had finally arrived? Was it because she didn't want to face him?

Just looking at her made his insides squirm. He broke out into a cold sweat, and in an instant he realized he should have already finished the job by now. His window of opportunity was fading fast; she'd grow suspicious after a while. She may even reach for her blaster. After all, she was an enemy; why wouldn't she attack him?

"Milord?" she prompted.

What did she want him to say? What should he say? That he was there to kill her? That probably wouldn't end well. He shouldn't speak at all – he should just finish her off now.

The blaster was in the speeder. He almost whirled around to grab it—he couldn't believe he'd left it in there—but he stopped himself; she would definitely panic if he did that. Again, he didn't want a firefight. This had to be quick and clean. Just a quick and clean kill. Padmé. He just had to kill Padmé. A quick shot to the head would do it. Or the chest. Any of the vital areas. He couldn't shoot her gut—he was living proof that someone could survive an abdominal wound. It had to be her head or chest.

She was still waiting for him to speak. He shouldn't speak. She always won when it came to words. Tonight _he_ had to win. He shouldn't speak. He _shouldn't_.

"Padmé."

_Shavit!_

She smiled and leaned against the entranceway, and he knew he'd lost. Her smile was small, broken, and sad. She looked like how he felt. No—he didn't feel anything. Blast it, he knew he shouldn't have opened his kriffing mouth. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. No, no, not those again. He didn't know what to do with those.

It didn't matter; he wasn't here to console her or do whatever it was people did to make other people feel better. He was here to kill her.

"It's… it's so good to see you," she choked out. "Gods, it's good to see you."

_No, no, please, no, _Force_ no, don't cry, don't be happy to see me._

"Did you just get back?"

Get back? Get back from what? The Jedi. He'd told her was going on a mission, but he hadn't told her what since he didn't trust her. Good move; Force only knows what she would have done if he'd been honest.

He shook his head. No, he didn't just get back. He'd been dealing with his injuries from his own idiocy. He'd been dealing with the shame of leaning on Master for help when he was supposed to be the strong one that Master could always depend upon. He'd been receiving orders to kill her.

His target was right in front of him. If he wasn't going to use a blaster then he should use something else. Focus. There were plenty of vital spots. He could just use the Force to choke her. No, that wouldn't do; internal strangulation would obviously point to him unless he somehow blamed a Jedi since they were popping up out of nowhere.

He felt sick.

"Milord?"

There was that tone, that tone that always baffled him. She used it when she started acting soft and concerned and strange. She used it when she pretended to care about him. He probably looked a little woozy—Force knew he felt like crap.

He shook his head again. He couldn't feel anything.

She took a hesitant step towards him. No, that only made it _worse_—_stay back_. He stepped away from her, but he bumped into one of the pillars. He suddenly felt trapped. She took another step towards him.

"I'm…" she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm happy to see you, but this is really unexpected. It's almost three in the morning. What are you doing here?"

_Tell her_.

He nearly gasped. What?! _No,_ he wouldn't tell her! He slammed down his mental shields so hard half the galaxy probably could have felt it. He shoved the voice out of his mind, he would _kill_ that dragon, he _would_—she represented it. She _was_ that dragon, she was the poison that was tearing him apart.

"I…" he didn't know what to say. He didn't know if he could even say anything. He wasn't _supposed_ to be saying anything. Why had he opened his mouth in the first place?!

She walked closer to him. No, no, _get away._ "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

He started breathing erratically. He couldn't think straight. He couldn't see straight. He couldn't do this. He _couldn't_.

"Why?" he suddenly asked, and he didn't know why he'd said it. No, shut up, _finish the mission_.

Padmé blinked, confused. "Why what?"

He almost laughed. Now she knew how _he _felt. Then he almost screamed. He couldn't feel anything. _You feel nothing, shavit, stop thinking otherwise!_

"You promised honesty." Blast it all, couldn't he just shut his mouth? But no, he couldn't—this was tearing out of him like an activated blade form its hilt. He couldn't stop the words, and everything suddenly hurt _so much_ he almost blacked out. "You said we'd be completely honest with each other when I got back."

Padmé paused. The pain intensified, but something else roared inside of him as well, and he felt his eyes harden. He took a step towards her, eating up her fear. "So why did you choose the Alliance?"

She was still as a statue for a moment, her eyes showing fear, but then she looked desperate and upset and hurt and he couldn't keep glaring at her. She shook her head, and her eyes filled with tears once more. "Vader, I… I can't live with the Empire the way it is. Why can't you see that what's happening in the galaxy is wrong? Why can't you see that I… I want to be with you, but I can't… I can't obey Palpatine. I _can't_. He's wrong. He's sick, cruel, evil… he's a dictator and I… Vader, I _can't_ be an Imperial!"

See? She was the enemy. Traitor. Mark. Prey. He had to kill her. This only confirmed it. He had to do his job. Master told him to do it. He had to obey Master. So why wasn't he doing something?!

"But… that doesn't mean I don't want to be with you," she managed to say with a quivering voice. "I _love_ you."

His heart stopped. What? He… he didn't hear that correctly, right? She… she _loved him_?

She'd lied about that once. She'd suggested on Naboo that she'd loved him. He'd spat in her face for it; it was a weakness. He'd believed her deception, and she'd quickly turned the tables on him. So this was a lie too, right? But no, he could sense her sincerity, and suddenly he didn't have the same reaction he'd had all those weeks ago.

No, no, _no, no_—he felt it, he felt his defenses crumbling, he felt the dragon roaring and tearing through his mind, his heart, his soul. He couldn't stop the pain, he couldn't stop anything. He leaned against the pillar, winded, and nearly slid down to the floor. Why was she telling him this _now_ when he had to _kill_ her and—and—no, he couldn't do this, he couldn't!

Padmé noticed his distress and rushed over to him. He pressed himself further into the pillar to avoid her touch, to make sure she didn't tear down that last defense, but she placed her hands on his arms and he fell apart. He nearly collapsed on her as he was overwhelmed by so many different sensations that he knew he wasn't supposed to have, so many sensations that he didn't even recognize.

She slipped to the ground with him, pulling him into a hug. She squeezed him so tightly he could barely breathe, but it… it felt so _good_, and he knew he wasn't supposed to feel anything, and he wanted to _scream_ so much. He tensed every muscle in his body, he tried to fight whatever was bursting from within him, and he kept repeating in his mind that he was a means to an end, that he couldn't feel anything, but every time he did he kept hearing her words in his mind.

"I'm sorry," she whispered as she held him. "I'm so, so sorry, Vader. I love you. I love you _so much_. But I can't be an Imperial. I _can't_."

He closed his eyes. He couldn't breathe. Everything was tingling and hurting and tearing him to pieces. He pushed her away, gasping. She was denying everything that he was. She was saying she couldn't obey Master. His entire _existence_ revolved around obeying Master.

But she _loved_ him. What was he supposed to say to that? What was he supposed to do?

_Be honest in return._

Her touch, her look, her scent, her presence… it unlocked him. It broke free the dams, it released the dragon, it let all his secrets spill forth. He couldn't deny it. He couldn't stop it. He felt everything. He _felt _it. He pulled her towards him and kissed her. The first time they'd done so he hadn't known what to do, how to stop her, why he was reacting to it in such a manner. But now he understood. Now he acknowledged it. Now he _reveled_ in it. She was startled at first, but then he felt her drink him in, and he did so in return. He wanted to stay like this forever, but some urgent need to speak made him pull away long enough for them to just _breathe_ but still be close enough to touch.

_Be honest with her._

"I love you too," he panted, and as he looked at her face, her _beautiful_ face, he almost fell apart. In that moment, he captured her appearance so he could forever hold it in his mind. This was destabilizing. This was insane. This was amazing. This was hell.

This was _wrong_.

His hand slipped down along her side until it reached her thigh. She moved towards him in response, desire in her eyes, but he was reaching for something else. He'd be honest with her. He'd tell her something he'd never told anyone. He'd reveal his weakness. It was his reason for living. It was his reason for being what he was. It was _everything_.

"I love you," he repeated. She had to hear those words. She had to know he said them. But then he added the weakness that defined him, the weakness that he would never admit to anyone, the weakness that drove him to continue. "But I loved him first."

His fingers tightened around her blaster, and he pulled the trigger.

A loud sound emitted, breaking the moment, and Padmé recoiled from the hit, gasping. She stared at him in horror and shock, and then her gaze lowered to her abdomen. It was bleeding already, but most of the blood had been cauterized. Smoke emitted from the wound. He smelled it, and he couldn't stand it. He stood as she crumpled to the ground, coughing. The red life giving liquid escaped her lips.

He took a deep breath. He closed his eyes. He had to focus. The mission was over. It was all over.

He felt _sick_.

Slowly walking away from her, he kept his eyes on his speeder. He refused to look back. He'd told her. He felt like he'd released the disease. But at the same time this was a victory, right? The dragon had poisoned her. He simply kept it in check as usual. But it felt different. He felt changed. He'd never… he'd never be the same again.

He didn't know which was worse—that he'd told her or that he'd shot her. She wouldn't understand what he'd said. She wouldn't. He felt all the emptier for it. She deserved to know. It was the least he could do. But he'd already told her enough. He'd told her everything she'd needed to know. He'd said he loved her. So long as she died knowing that… it was fine.

Nothing was fine.

But it was true. He did love him first. He would always love Master. After all, he was his father.

Love. Such a disease, such a weakness, such a beauty, such a curse. He didn't want to feel love. So he told himself over and over he was Master's tool, he was his means to an end, and as he flew back to the palace, he slipped back into his carefully organized lie and convinced himself that he was nothing. The dragon recoiled within him and fell asleep, and he was Darth Vader again. Whatever else he was remained with Padmé, slowly dying on that veranda.

* * *

"_Today we mourn the loss of one of the brightest jewels in the galaxy."_

A long procession of darkly clad people followed an open coffin. The streets of Theed were packed with mourners.

"_Senator Padmé Amidala of Naboo is being laid rest today after being brutally murdered by Rebel dissidents."_

Flanking the coffin were the deceased's two handmaidens. They wore black robes with large hoods hiding their faces. One trembled with tears. The other trembled with rage.

"_Her body was found by one of her faithful handmaidens in the early morning hours of last Natunda."_

Immediately behind the coffin was the deceased's family. Her father, Ruwee, walked somberly, his eyes downcast. His face was lined and he looked like he'd aged a decade over the past few days. Jobal, the deceased's mother, walked beside him, silently crying and dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. Behind the parents were their remaining younglings, Sola and Obi-Wan. Sola walked with her husband and held her little daughter, Ryoo, by the hand. Her other hand was tightly squeezing her husband's as she bit her lip to prevent the sobs from escaping. Obi-Wan looked stoic, strong, and empty all at once. His eyes were fixed upon his sister's body. Distinguished guests walked behind the family: the current Queen of Naboo, many nobles, and even the senator from the Tsograda Sector was there along with a few of his attendants, including a Togruta male.

"_She will be remembered as the young, beautiful, and intelligent senator who was loved by so many."_

As was tradition on Naboo, her body was cremated. The ceremony took place in the Funeral Temple on the edge of the city. Her ashes were tossed into the river that flowed under the bridge connecting the Funeral Temple to the Livet Tower. One by one, the mourners left the bridge. First the nobles, then the queen, then the Tsograda delegates except for one, and then her sister and parents. Only a Togruta, a Human, a handmaiden, and the deceased's brother remained. They said nothing. They simply watched the water continue to fall over the cliff side. Eventually, the Togruta closed his eyes, sighed heavily, bowed to the fallen, and departed. The Human eyed the two remaining mourners, but he too left after closing his eyes and releasing the loss. But the brother and the handmaiden remained. They didn't speak. They didn't move. They didn't cry, or show any emotion. They simply held each other's hand and watched, their hearts nothing more than a pile of ash.

* * *

He stood quietly as the aides attended to him, tying a sash, adjusting part of his cloak, placing the circlet on his head, or brushing dust off his shoulder. His face was neutral, as it almost always was when he wasn't on political assignment. Shadows covered his eyes, making them glow brightly with an intensity that could pierce into someone's soul, and yet these same eyes wouldn't care what they saw either way. He held himself erect, with as much dignity as his station required, but while it seemed like nothing more than the most casual gesture to him, as if he always held himself in such a manner, something about it seemed false.

Of course it was false. But today he didn't look like the strong, stoic, and resilient Shmi Skywalker as she was being prepared for her last audience with the emperor. Today, Tarkin didn't know what Darth Vader looked like.

He hadn't seen the man since Palpatine had tasked him with finishing Amidala off, and that had been almost a week ago. Vader had vanished, and though Tarkin had been concerned, the emperor didn't seem to care. But now that today was the day of the funeral, and it was playing all over HoloNet, the emperor requested an audience.

Once the aides finished he looked himself over in the mirror for exactly two minutes as he always did. Then he turned and headed for the door. Tarkin walked two steps behind him as protocol dictated.

They were silent as they headed to the throne room. Officers saluted and servants bowed as he passed them, but he paid them no mind. Once they reached the throne room, the Red Guard immediately let them inside and announced their presence to the emperor.

"Darth Vader and Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin, sire."

Vader stopped where he was supposed to, and Tarkin did so as well. The grand moff genuflected, awaiting his orders.

Silence filled the room.

Slightly confused, Tarkin glanced up to see why the emperor was suddenly mute. Instead, he saw Darth Vader still standing. The man was supposed to be on one knee. What was he doing? Tarkin looked at the emperor. Palpatine didn't seem surprised or angry. Instead, he looked… intrigued. He didn't move. Nobody moved.

This was certainly a new development. Tarkin pondered whether the man would kneel at all. Eventually the stillness lasted for too long, and the faceoff between Vader and the emperor intensified to the point where even _Tarkin_ could sense the tension. Palpatine shifted forward in the throne and narrowed his eyes slightly, and slowly, Vader descended onto his knees. A second later, he bowed his head silently.

Tarkin wasn't sure what he'd just witnessed, but he knew it held deep significance to the other two occupants in the room. He shuddered and looked down. Everything was different now since that fateful night. Now wasn't the time to think about it, though; now he had to focus on what the emperor wanted. He knew Vader would focus on that as well. It's what the boy always did.

He lived to serve his master.

"_Love is a prison. It leaves you with everything… and nothing. And it always takes pieces of you away from yourself… until there's nothing left of you. Nothing."_

_End Part 1_

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**To quote Bugs Bunny, "Well what did you expect from an opera, a happy ending?"  
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**Okay, okay, before you kill me, let's just get something out in the open: I am a massive sucker for happy endings. So don't expect part 2 to end quite in the same manner. Also, be sure to read the story very carefully - I dropped a few hints in this chapter that ought to cheer you up if you can find them. ;)  
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**I want to thank you all so very much for your reviews. Really, they mean the world to me; I always get so happy when I see them. I'm sorry I couldn't reply to anonymous reviews, but know that you guys are awesome and I appreciate the feedback! Speaking of feedback, let me know what you thought of this chapter and the entire story! (part 1, at least) What do you think worked, what needed improvement, favorite character, whether they seemed realistic, etc. What did you think of finally getting Vader's POV? Also, what did you think of the Vadmé relationship? I'm not that good at romance, so I'm not sure. Let me know! :)**

**Fun fact time!**

**1\. This was originally going to be the ending to the story. A while ago, someone asked how long the story would be, and I'd said about 30 chapters. I was intending on ending it here and writing the rest as a sequel, but I felt like it left too many plots unresolved, so I opted to make it two parts of the same story instead.**

**2\. This story's plot was initially _ridiculously_ different. So the backstory to all of this craziness is that about seven or eight years ago I asked some faithful reviewers what they'd like to see as a oneshot. One reviewer, ilovenat1995 (shout out to you if you're still on this site!), asked for a romance between Vader and Padmé. For the life of me I didn't know what to write; I wasn't good at romance (still not sure I've gotten much better lol) and I had very little interest in it, so the request just sat around in a word document. Then, in 2012, I read a story called _Shadow of a Name_ by Yesac (amazing story, by the way, even though it's sadly incomplete - you should totally check it out) and I loved the idea that Vader was actually part of the royal Imperial family, and then the next thing I knew, _Naboo Rose_ finally got a plot! It wasn't this one, though; originally Padmé, Obi, and Siri were attacked by rogue Jedi who wanted to attract the Empire's attention by taking Imperial hostages, and Vader was sent to rescue them. They all ended up stranded and romance happened. Obi and Siri weren't married, so then I had to worry about getting them together, and -GASP- Vader had a POV from the onset of the story! It got tedious and I didn't like it, so then it sat around for another few years until this story finally popped into my head! It's amazing how roundabout a story's origins can be, lol.  
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**3\. Another author shout out here: in ch. 12 Padmé talks about her favorite pastry store, which is owned by a woman named Nilbau. The lady and her pastry store is based off of a character in ruth baulding's _Out of the Blue_, a oneshot featuring Anakin and Obi-Wan (because obviously I can't get enough of those two). It's a wonderful story, so do check it out!**

**There are so many other fun facts, but I'll save them for another time lest the author's notes becomes longer than the actual chapter. Be sure to check on the "NOTES" section on my profile and a poll that I posted for info about this story and others. Please review and let me know what you think of the story!  
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**Thank you all so much for your feedback! :)**


	31. Aftermath

**Hey all! Thank you all so much for the feedback on the last chapter and part 1! I wish I could reply to all the anonymous reviews individually, ugh, but the only way to do that would be the author's notes and that would take up a ton of space, so here's a great big general thank you to everybody! :) **

**Sorry for the wait; I had to sort out part 2 in my mind. The first few chapters are planned, but this is all I have written so far. In either case, I hope you enjoy the update.  
**

* * *

_Imperial Center glittered like jewelry in the dull night. The fog had temporarily lifted, but now it was descending into the city once more, pelting the skyscrapers with rain. The damp chill sank through one's skin and into one's bones, and it clasped one's heart and almost seemed to suffocate it. In a penthouse apartment high in the skyline, the rain started to wet the ground of an open veranda. Typically the shield around the landing pad area would prevent this from happening, but the shield had been forcibly disabled. The wind picked up, whipping the white curtains that hung from the pillars. One pillar close to the landing pad had a crimson pool of liquid that began to dull in color as the water mixed with it. The pool led to a bloody trail, smeared into the smooth polished tile floor. The trail led indoors, where Senator Padmé Amidala was dragging herself across the floor, paler than the white curtains in her veranda. _

_Letting out a moan of pain and a sob that had nothing to do with her wound, she reached for her comlink. When she activated it, though, she could barely speak, and she received no reply. Lying in a crumpled bleeding heap, Padmé tried again, finally gasping, "Qui-Gon—"_

_The other end was silent. Sobbing once more, Padmé clambered further into her apartment, reaching her bedroom. Her goal was to get to the refresher where a med pack lay patiently awaiting her, though what it could actually do to help was beyond her comprehension. As she reached her arm out and grasped anything available, she froze from the pain and shock and once more let out a handful of sobs before coughing fiercely, spitting up some blood. Her right hand clawed desperately, grabbing the blanket on her bed and tearing it from the furniture. The blanket fell to the ground uselessly and with a crash a duffel bag and a box fell as well. The contents of the bag spilled everywhere, and the senator glanced at the box dully for a second and then immediately recognized it. This made her cry all the more._

_The room began to spin. Her abdomen was on fire. Her heart was in shreds. She was running out of time._

"_Obi-Wan…" she sobbed pleadingly as if he could hear her, as if she were four years old again and lost in the woods of her mountainous home, as if Obi-Wan would come out of nowhere and rescue her like he had back then. But no one came. There was only the sound of her own grief, of her heaving coughs that brought forth more blood. There was only the warmth staining her abdomen and the cold metal of the blaster that had shot her sitting by that empty pillar on the veranda…_

_Reaching for some flimsiplast, Padmé grabbed the box and pulled it towards her. She had no energy left to drag her entire body to the refresher. She tried to prop herself up against the bed but fell with a yell of pain. Gripping the flimsiplast fiercely, she began to write, 'Éothen, get this to my brother.' However, her world started to spin, and she grew lightheaded. The pain started to dull strangely, and she could only write 'Éothen' on the flimsiplast before it stuck firmly to the box and she crumpled to the floor, weakly whispering the name of her Jedi protector over the comlink one last time._

* * *

The Galaxies Opera House was filled to the brim tonight. It was an anticipated opening event for one of his favorite ballets, Squid Lake. Though many laws denied non-Humans a handful of rights, he'd always allowed the Mon Calamari Ballet Company to perform without any sort of restriction. They executed everything with such grace, such precision, and such _passion_.

Emperor Palpatine, Dark Lord of the Sith, smiled and leaned back in his seat. He had his private box all to himself, but he was awaiting company. It had been seven days since Amidala's death and he was still enjoying the aftermath. The funeral, broadcasted all over HoloNet three days ago, had been sensational, filled with longer-than-necessary eulogies and speeches and dramatic sobs of woe from her family. It had been delicious; he'd had to work quite hard to not smile as he'd made a speech to the public concerning the alarming and outrageous attack on the senator. He was rather proud of his eulogy, too – he hadn't attended the funeral personally (he'd been sorely tempted to, just to see the looks on her family's faces, and it would have been such a wonderful opportunity for his apprentice as well, but the boy wasn't ready), and so he'd sent an underling in his stead with the speech. It was filled with the typical drivel and it incited the people's just rage against the horrific Rebel Alliance, the terrorists who had committed the grisly act.

After the funeral, Palpatine had summoned his apprentice, along with Tarkin. His main reason for bringing the grand moff into the matter was simply for practicality's sake; his apprentice, Darth Vader, had spent the four days between Amidala's murder and funeral ravaging the underbelly of Imperial Center. The Force had cried out with rage, with instability, with so much death that Palpatine had shuddered with pleasure; Vader was going on a killing rampage on the denizens of the underworld, and the repercussions through the Force added to the Darkness, swallowing their lives whole. The fierce burning anger within his apprentice had come and gone in quick bursts, though, and it had been like an unstable volcano that had no rhyme or reason to its eruption. As such, though Palpatine enjoyed the boy's murderous mood greatly, he'd insisted on having Tarkin nearby for the audience to ensure Vader was stable enough to follow the given orders; Palpatine had sent him on a tour with Death Squadron to handle a small uprising in the Outer Rim. He'd figured it would be milder than the last time Vader had been sent off to battle, and it would still serve its purpose in centering him. He also figured he'd let Vader do a flyby of Wild Space to satisfy the boy since he suspected the Jedi enclave was there, but that wasn't a priority at the moment.

He still recalled that audience vividly. Vader and Tarkin had entered the throne room and the grand moff had immediately genuflected. Though Vader would always do the same, he hadn't done so that time. He'd remained standing. He'd stared at his master, his eyes sharp and filled with such _vehemence_ and yearning all at once. The look had demanded attention, had practically screamed _look what I've done for you. Show me something in return._ After years of unending devotion, years of dedicating his entire existence to his master, Darth Vader was beginning to grow indignant. He was beginning to grow resentful. Angry. _Enraged_.

It had been wonderful. But at the same time… it had been… unexpectedly odd.

Unlocking Vader's emotions had been one of the main goals of Palpatine's little mock opera between Amidala and his apprentice. He'd succeeded. But it was… curious that he didn't like having all that hatred aimed at _him_. It was expected, of course, and was a part of the vast and rich tradition of the Sith dynasty; all apprentices loathed their masters and craved their power. Vader still had no ambition, but Palpatine had grown accustomed to that over the years. He wasn't sure he wanted the model Sith apprentice in that regard, though – Vader's power could be unleashed through his emotions, but that didn't mean Palpatine wanted it unleashed on _him_. He needed to redirect that anger to where it rightfully belonged. He was still certain Vader's loyalty was unquestionable, but if that rage festered long enough, circumstances could change in an undesirable manner.

Vader's loyalty. It was so odd to think that Palpatine had finally figured out the boy's motivations. After all these years the Sith Master had been convinced Vader's reason for obedience was simply as emotionless as the boy himself: he'd been obedient because he was raised to be obedient. Nothing more. Palpatine had long since realized it had been more than that, but he'd never been able to decipher what it was until lately. He was quite astonished at the result.

Love. The boy _loved_ him, and just like his mother had done everything in her power for her precious son, Vader did everything in his power for his precious father. The boy really had inherited too much from his mother. But was it too much? Love was… love was a weakness, it was true, but in this case, it was an extremely exploitable weakness that Palpatine had no desire in eradicating from his apprentice. He just… hadn't been expecting it.

In either case, ensuring the boy's _other_ emotions weren't aimed at his master was part of his purpose in inviting Darth Vader to the ballet tonight. The other… well he had to ensure his apprentice wasn't descending into any sort of instability that would make him useless. That was the last thing the emperor needed, after all. He had to ensure Vader was still able to work.

And that was the _only_ reason he had any concern for the boy's mental state. _Absolutely_ the only reason.

Then he sensed it. The Darkness inside of him shifted hungrily and licked its lips as the air filled with soul devouring disdain. The ballet vanished in a tidal wave of loathing and such _emptiness_, as if a black hole had appeared in the opera house and was sucking up the entire planet. The Force gravitated towards this black hole, swirling around it and then tearing away from it in pulsating waves. Palpatine closed his eyes and drank in the power that flowed from his apprentice. It was such a satisfying notion to _at last_ sense the boy's emotions come forth.

The room seemed to shift as if the air itself were bending away from his apprentice as the boy entered. The environment grew so cold Palpatine felt it in his bones, but he was accustomed to the coldness of the Dark Side. This, however, wasn't Vader's emotions coming forth, but him trying to shove them down once more. Palpatine turned to look at the boy as he approached. He wondered if perhaps Vader would once again show disrespect, but the boy only hesitated for a millisecond to bow, and even then the hesitation was no doubt due to his internal war.

Palpatine motioned to the seat beside him, and Vader eyed it for a moment, the Force flickering with confusion, before he sat. The Sith Master let silence hang between them, returning his gaze to the ballet. A few of the dancers leapt from one suspended water bubble to another with a flourish, and the water particles that were disrupted were held still for a few seconds before recollecting into the bubbles. The music swelled as the main female lead appeared, and the audience applauded approvingly.

The Force rippled with uncertainty and uneasiness. Impatience, anger, and worry stretched out and latched around Palpatine's mind, lungs, throat, heart, gut, anything it could claw into. He glanced once again at his apprentice to see the boy shifting restlessly, looking a little paler than usual. He drank in the anxiety and decided to amuse himself. "Give a smile for the HoloNet reporters, Lord Vader. They're all around us, you know."

A smile! Asking Darth Vader to smile had to be the funniest thing he'd asked anyone to do in years. The Sith apprentice glanced at him, his tumultuous emotions silenced temporarily by dull bewilderment. Vader's blue eyes examined his master. Those eyes… it was intriguing and strange at the same time to look at them. The boy had gotten them from his father, and they held the same kind of cold intensity to them. It was like looking into the mirror of his younger self, but Palpatine had never had the emotional repression Vader utilized. In either case, the apprentice was still trying to figure something out, but he eventually furrowed his brow slightly and gazed over at the audience, his eyes searching out the aforementioned reporters. Palpatine didn't have to look far to notice a few craning their necks to see who had entered the emperor's private box. For all of his expertise in the military, after all, Darth Vader had yet to really make any public appearances apart from debriefings, and even then HoloNet had never caught him on camera.

Vader eventually locked eyes with his master and then once more looked at the reporters. The corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly and then he immediately either gave up on the endeavor or thought he'd done the job adequately enough. He looked to Palpatine, his face returning to its usual calm expression.

The amusement wavered a little. The boy would learn to truly smile someday when Palpatine had taught him how to enjoy the suffering of others as he did… when the boy finally learned how to enjoy _anything_.

"I heard you handled the dissident uprising well," he remarked, finally getting to the point.

Vader continued to gaze at him intently, awaiting orders, but through the Force Palpatine sensed pride and relief swell within the boy. The apprentice trembled a little in response, his fingers tightening on the armrests as he tried to bottle everything up as usual. _No, no, foolish boy, don't do that._

The audience applauded once again at some well executed technique. Palpatine took Vader's clenched fist into his own hand and rested it on his armrest. The move surprised both of them, but the emperor recovered first. "I have some news for you, my apprentice; the Chommell Sector has elected a new senator. I would like for you to investigate him. You may work with Intelligence as needed, of course."

Vader's stiff grip tightened even more and he roughly pulled his hand away from his master. Then he took a deep breath as if to calm himself from the surge of pain that made him react in such a manner, and he bowed his head, too caught up in the chaos inside of him to reply out loud. Honestly the job Palpatine was assigning him was something Intelligence could easily handle on its own, but Palpatine wanted to keep that wound open so he could ensure it healed the way he wanted it to.

"I can sense your anger, Lord Vader," he noted, and his apprentice stiffened. "It would be wise to realize who is truly responsible for your situation." He received no reply. He didn't expect one, but he let his previous statement hang in the air for a while before he continued. "Senator Amidala betrayed you and the Empire. She betrayed _me_. Everything you're enduring is a consequence of her decision. _Embrace_ it, and hold onto it. Remember her foolishness whenever you enter battle, recall her deception whenever you must manipulate an enemy. _Unleash_ your emotions."

Palpatine felt his breath get punched out of him as Vader shook his head fiercely and the Force sent out a pressure wave that was almost noticeable to those who weren't attuned to it. The lights flickered just a hair, and a few droplets from the suspended water leaked to the floor. Hm. Perhaps this wasn't the best place to tell the boy to do this.

Sighing, the emperor leaned back in his seat. "Enjoy the ballet, my apprentice."

Returning his attention to the show in front of him, Palpatine was about to join the applause over a well executed maneuver when he sensed Vader's tumultuous emotions once more. Glancing at his apprentice, he saw the boy shifting uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes glazed as he was lost in thought. Judging by the anguish and the brief image of a veranda in his mind's eye, the emperor assumed the boy was reliving the night he murdered Amidala. He was tempted to leave the boy be and simply let him brood on the matter, and he even enjoyed feeling the apprentice's pitiful attempts to reel himself in. For a good part of the show that was what the emperor did, but eventually it began to grate on his nerves, and he wasn't quite sure why; this kind of torture from anyone else would be entertaining. Perhaps it was simply because he'd told Vader to enjoy the ballet and _not_ think about that; it was spoiling Palpatine's own enjoyment of the show, after all.

He tried directing the boy's mind elsewhere. "Watch the lead, Lord Vader; he's about to seal the fate of the female protagonist."

The young Sith apprentice's gaze fell upon the person in question and he sat still briefly. _Finally_. Sometimes dealing with the boy's problems was like having to babysit a youngling, and it was beginning to grow tiresome.

For a good portion of the climax Vader and Palpatine both watched the ballet in content silence, but eventually the boy's restlessness returned. Looking briefly at his apprentice, Palpatine asked, "When was the last time you walked?"

Darth Vader had many different rituals that usually helped him cope with his emotions, and Palpatine knew that his morning walk was the most important one. It typically served as a good gauge as to how he was handling matters.

"Yesterday, Master."

The Sith Master nodded suspiciously. He had a feeling Vader wasn't being entirely honest; the boy had probably walked, but it might not have held its usual helpfulness. He also noted that the boy hadn't walked today, and he'd had no reason to skip it. Still, he wasn't going to guide Vader through this like a toddler; he would wait and see how his apprentice handled the matter on his own. Palpatine had given him enough help between bringing him here and sending him on a mission to focus him. Now he would leave him and let him either swim in the torrents of his inner conflict or drown in them.

Palpatine was going to let Vader remain for the rest of the show, but when the boy once more began shifting uncomfortably in his seat, the man finally grew tired of it. Waving his hand irritably, the emperor returned his attention to the ballet as he dismissed Vader, finally putting the boy out of his mind for the night.

* * *

_The Drunken Dewback Cantina was nice and warm compared to the chilly, humid temperature outside. The room seemed to swim in the heat, the image shifting as if he were underwater. He wasn't quite sure if that was because of the smells and sights or if it was simply his wound. In either case, he directed his attention down to his data pad once more. _

_He'd been slipping in and out of consciousness for the past few days, mainly due to the concussion he'd received after slamming his head into the duracrete. His arms dealer friend had ensured he hadn't died, but that was about it; the man was busy with his own work. He'd basically had to take care of himself._

_Well it didn't matter. He was better now, for the most part. Besides, he'd had Okima'yak hack into the security feeds of the sector that held his interest, and he'd _finally_ gotten the visual contact that he'd wanted._

"_Got you," he muttered with a fierce smile as he watched the Intelligence agent walk calmly through a crowd._

"_Almusian Brek?"_

_Al jumped and slammed the data pad onto the table. He looked up, his hand reaching for his blaster, and he saw a tall sinewy Human male with a large nose, broad shoulders, long greying hair tied away from his face, and kind blue eyes. The man held up his hands to pacify him. "It's all right. Obi-Wan and Siri sent me. They gave me your comm. frequency but you never answered. You have everyone very worried."_

_He was still suspicious. "Who are you?"_

"_I'm the sage friend Senator Organa called."_

_Al felt electricity shoot through his body. This man was a _Jedi_?! Well… stang. He hadn't been expecting that. This was incredibly weird and amazing all at once. Relief flooded him, and he finally moved his hand away from his blaster. "It's good to hear you got here in one piece. Sorry I had everybody worried, but I had a bit of a run-in with some not-so-pleasant people."_

"_I can see that," the Jedi replied, nodding towards Al's head. Al winced. He'd forgotten he'd chipped one of his cranial horns when he'd fallen, and that probably was quite noticeable to everyone else. _He_ was certainly aware of it; his horn was continuously throbbing, and stemming the bleeding had taken a while. "When was this run-in? Why haven't you answered your comlink since then?"_

_Al sighed. "It was a few days ago, but I was… a little out of it since then. Today's the first day I've been up and around, but my, uh… buddy destroyed my comlink. Said it was better that way so nobody could trace me or him while I recovered."_

_The Jedi raised an eyebrow. "Your buddy?"_

"_Long story," Al shook his head and then winced as his temples throbbed slightly in response. "Point is I've finally found the agent I was looking for."_

"_The one who chased you?"_

"_No, I don't know who she was," Al replied. "I've been looking for _this_ guy since the final recess. If you could help me track him down, I'm sure your, uh, persuasiveness could help me make my point to him."_

_The Jedi's brow furrowed a little, and his muscles tensed slightly. He crossed his arms. "I can't help you with that, I'm afraid. I _should_ be looking after one of your friends, but she insisted I find you. Is there anywhere safe I can take you so you can rest and recover more fully?"_

_Siri had insisted he find Al? That was sweet, but strange; Siri herself would have just looked for him, with Obi-Wan no doubt following her and griping about how it was probably one her brasher and less thought out plans. "Is everything okay back on the home front…?"_

"_Siri was attacked." He immediately explained, sitting across from Al. "This morning. She's fine, and she and Obi-Wan have safely left Coruscant. It was Padmé who sent me."_

_The smuggler gaped at him. Siri had been _attacked_?! What the hell had led to _that_?! Everybody had been worrying about _Padmé_ for krif's sake! Oh _shavit_… "The baby? Is the baby…?"_

"_As I said, she is fine," the Jedi reiterated. "The youngling is as well."_

_Al felt himself sag with relief, and he gripped the table for support. Then he tensed as the realization hit him. "Wait, Siri was attacked, and Padmé's just… on her own right now?"_

_The Jedi sighed. "She was quite insistent. You look like you still need to recover a bit, so I can get you somewhere safe, but apart from that I must return to the senator."_

_Al felt a little disappointed that he wouldn't have a Jedi assisting him with the agent, but at the same time he absolutely agreed that the man needed to get back to Padmé. He certainly wasn't going to go hide in some hovel like he had been for the past few days, though… he supposed if the Jedi could escort him to his ship he could monitor the agent from there and find out where the guy lived. Reluctantly, Al said, "If you could get me to my ship, I'd appreciate it. Intelligence is kind of hunting for me, and… I'm a little unsure on my feet right now."_

_The Jedi glanced at his chronometer. "How far is your ship?" Al gave him directions to the area where he'd landed the _Invariant Beauty_, and the Jedi smiled and stood. "Then we should be on our way."_

_Al nodded, slipping out of the booth and grabbing his data pad. The two exited the cantina silently, and Al stumbled a little as the change in temperature left him a little dizzy and nauseous. He felt a steadying hand on his shoulder, and he noticed the Jedi was watching him with some concern. Shaking his head, he told the man, "I'm fine."_

_The Jedi took small, slow steps so Al could keep up, and their pace ensured that his world didn't spin _too_ much, but after what felt like an eternity, they turned into an alley and the Jedi paused. Al glanced at him and saw his expression had changed from its usual calm demeanor. His brow was furrowed, his eyes sharp and alert, and his body was tense with anticipation. "What's the matter?"_

_The Jedi reached for his comlink as if to call someone in a hurry and then he froze and immediately activated his lightsaber, shouting, "Down!" Al flinched, backing away until he hit the alley wall and then the word registered and he slipped down to the ground just as blaster fire rang through the alley, which was immediately deflected by the man's lightsaber. Al jumped, startled, and grabbed his blaster, looking for a place to use for cover. Grabbing some garbage and piling it up, he looked around frantically and quickly caught sight of at least half a dozen people aiming their weapons towards him and the Jedi. They _had_ to be with that female agent who had attacked him – there was no way this was a gang and there would be no other reason for a group of people to attack them._

_Al groaned as he felt his headache intensify, but he still managed to knock a few Imperials down. The Jedi took care of the rest, carefully deflecting their fire back at them and not getting close enough to take them out with his blade. As soon as the men were down, he deactivated his blade and grabbed Al by the arm, running out of the alley. The smuggler complied without a fuss; the Imperials might have back-up nearby, after all. However, the running was making his world spin even more, and he nearly fell over as they took a sharp turn down another alley. The Jedi quickly steadied him and then pulled him in another direction, and Al hated himself for being so useless._

_Eventually Al figured they'd outrun their adversary, but the Jedi once again froze, and it started all over again. This time Al was prepared and immediately started to fire in the direction the Jedi turned; this was actually amusing and helpful all at once, having a bad-guy detector right beside him._

_His mood sobered quickly when he almost took a blaster bolt to the shoulder. Okay, he should probably save the jokes for later. It was actually rather odd; normally Al _panicked_ when he had Imperials chasing him. He supposed it was the concussion._

_Another round of killing Imperials left Al a little exhausted, but the Jedi looked even more wary of something. Glancing at him nervously, he asked, "What is it? More Imps coming?"_

_The Jedi was silent for a moment and then he shook his head. "They're gone. But…"_

_Al waited for a few seconds, growing steadily more concerned as the Jedi remained silent. Eventually, the Jedi said, "Follow me. Quickly!"_

_The Jedi immediately ran in the _opposite_ direction of Al's ship, causing the smuggler to hasten after him, stammering questions that couldn't quite reach his lips since he quickly became winded. The Jedi occasionally paused to help Al catch up, but he barely wasted any time on the matter. Al didn't _want_ him to; if he sensed some kind of danger or emergency, he needed to worry about _that_, not _him_._

_The two ran for a while, and Al started to recognize the scenery. They were heading _up_, and the area resembled Padmé's part of town. _

_Al had a _really_ bad feeling about this._

_The Jedi started to pick up his pace, and he rushed ahead. When he turned to help Al keep up, the smuggler quickly shook his head, ignoring the ensuing dizziness. "Just go—if you're going where I think you're going I can get there on my own!"_

_He nodded and ran, disappearing into the night. Al finally stopped, leaning against the wall and catching his breath. He sincerely hoped that whatever had the Jedi upset didn't involve Padmé, but considering where they were, he had a sinking suspicion it did. This couldn't be good._

_A wave of nausea overcame Al temporarily and he bent forward, fighting it. Slowly, he started to make his way towards 500 Republica. After what felt like an eternity, during which time he basically thought about nothing but trying to ensure he didn't pass out, Al _finally_ reached the apartment._

_And then he froze in place._

_500 Republica was abuzz with activity. Police speeders were everywhere, people were peeking out of their apartments and balconies to figure out what was happening, and, most notably, there were some Intelligence agents there. Slinking into the shadows, Al looked around frantically, both searching for the Jedi and the center of the activity. He continued looking up to see more speeders until he finally saw where they were grouping. The veranda was barely visible in the cloudy sky, but he recognized it nonetheless. Padmé's apartment. They were all going to Padmé's apartment._

"_No…" he muttered, and then he jumped when the Jedi seemingly materialized alongside him in the alley. "Did you—?"_

_The man shook his head. "They were here when I arrived."_

"_What do we do?" Al asked worriedly._

_The Jedi sighed heavily, his eyes dull and his face dark with pain and sadness. "There's nothing we can do now. I already listened to the reports being given; this is a crime scene. The officers are saying there's been a murder."_

_Al felt his heart sink, and he finally let the nausea take over. Nearly collapsing, he leaned over and vomited. The Jedi held him steady with strong hands, and eventually, when he was finished, he felt the man pull him further into the alley._

"_There's somewhere we need to go," he told him. "If I can get you to your ship, do you think you can pilot us there?"_

_Al gasped for air, but he nodded nonetheless. This was a nightmare. He couldn't believe it. How could Padmé…? She was… oh _shavit_. This was a genuine nightmare._

_He didn't even want to think about how this would hit Obi-Wan and Siri._

"Almusian?"

Al jumped, startled out of his musings when he heard his name. Turning, he saw the Jedi that had helped him, Qui-Gon Jinn, standing in the distance. The two were in a small clearing by a babbling brook that was adjacent to the training grounds for the Jedi enclave. Ghanu'jivo, the moon where the enclave was located, consisted mainly of forested mountains with a temperate climate. There were a few tropical islands, but they were mostly uninhabited. In fact, that's how the Jedi had found the moon: completely uninhabited. It had been the perfect place for them to hide, particularly since it was in Wild Space.

It was strange being here. Al hadn't seen or heard anything about the Jedi since the Clone Wars. He felt like he'd gone back in time, yet he felt like he was amongst people who had even more to lose than the Alliance. In a sense, they really were in greater danger, and he felt almost suicidal being here with them, but the Jedi were strong and could defend themselves… for the most part. He shuddered as he thought about what would happen if someone like Darth Vader arrived with an armada.

Turning his attention to Qui-Gon, Al acknowledged him. "Yes?"

"I wasn't expecting you out here," the Jedi noted. "Are you alright?"

Al sighed. "I… haven't really been alright since Padmé's death. I just… I feel like we should have busted in there and _done_ something; I don't know what, though. Like if we'd interfered with the Imps' work she'd still somehow be alive."

Qui-Gon paused a moment and his gaze softened. "It hurts to lose the ones you care for, but you cannot linger on her death. Pondering _what if_ situations that can never come to pass will only cloud your judgment."

It was beyond bizarre getting such guidance – back in the day it used to be a joke; whenever someone would give sage advice to someone else, the person would always laugh and accuse the other of being a Jedi. Al had done so many times to fellow criminals. To _actually_ be the recipient of advice from a Jedi… well, he didn't know how to deal with it. He just shrugged and offered a smile in return.

Honestly, his _real_ reason for being out here was to get some fresh air and speak to Obi-Wan and Siri. Qui-Gon had directed him to Ghanu'jivo on that fateful night over a week ago, and the Jedi had led him to the enclave and handed him over to the healers. While Al had rested, Qui-Gon had made contact with Obi-Wan and Siri, but Al was fairly certain they'd already heard of what had happened through HoloNet – the news had broken pretty quickly. The fact that the Empire had pegged it on the Rebels made Al's blood boil… and it scared him. To think they could just fabricate such a _lie_ and the entire galaxy just _ate it up_… Palpatine didn't even have to try to get the idiots of the galaxy to listen to him. Did he _ever_ have to try?

He heard rustling leaves, and he noted that Qui-Gon had already turned to face whoever was arriving. Two figures appeared in the shade, and once they entered the clearing Al recognized them as Obi-Wan and Siri. The two looked as if they'd aged a decade over the past seven days. They looked weary, but they still radiated strength. It was odd seeing them in Jedi attire; they almost looked foreign.

When Siri saw Al she smiled and rushed over to him, giving him a hug. "How's your head?"

"Fine now," Al replied, a little winded by the hold. It had only been three days since their arrival on Ghanu'jivo, but the couple had been training rigorously, and Siri's arm strength had already increased substantially. "How's training?"

Siri pulled away, looking slightly annoyed, but she shrugged it off. "So far so good."

Al glanced at Obi-Wan, who remained in the entrance of the clearing. He looked far calmer than Al had ever seen him, but he also looked… remote. It was almost as if there was an invisible barrier between them. "You holding up, Obi-Wan?"

The man smiled, rubbing his growing beard. "We're all managing. I'm glad to see you're better."

"Glad to be _feeling_ better," Al remarked truthfully before getting to the point. "Anyway, I've been looking for you two. I had to tell you something."

"What's wrong?" Siri asked, her brow furrowing.

Al hesitated a moment. Siri's and Obi-Wan's temperaments had grown more extreme over the past few days; Obi-Wan had become more unflappable, and Siri had become more protective. She would probably flip her lid when he told her. "I'm… going back to Imperial Center."

As predicted, Siri's eyebrows rose sharply. However, she didn't immediately tear him into pieces. She tried a different approach, speaking to him in a condescending manner as her muscles tensed. "Al… you _do_ remember that you're a wanted man by _Imperial Intelligence_, right?"

Al sighed. He wasn't sure whether this approach was better or worse. He figured it was Siri attempting to show that famous _Jedi calm_. "I remember. But I… I can't _not_ go back. I found out where the agent lives, so now's my chance to get to him."

"You're_ still_ trying to find that operative?" Obi-Wan asked, crossing his arms and watching Al sternly.

He tried to plead his case. "Look, I know that Kelathik isn't a problem for you two anymore, but I can't just _let this go_." Glancing at Qui-Gon guiltily, he faced his friends once more and said, "_I_ was the reason Padmé was unprotected. I can't let her… her death be in vain. I have to find this guy. Besides, the Alliance needs all the help it can get, and if I can blackmail him and maybe get an inside man in Intelligence, that would be a _huge_ benefit."

He felt his chest tighten. He hadn't spoken about Padmé's death or his guilt over it, so it was… _uncomfortable_ to bring it up for the first time with her family.

There was silence for what felt like an hour, and it looked like Qui-Gon was about to ease his worries, but Obi-Wan spoke first. "Al, it wasn't your fault. I'm fairly certain you didn't plan on being attacked."

Al had to laugh at that. "No, I hadn't… and I don't plan on that happening now, either. But I have to do this."

Siri looked like she wanted to argue, but instead she grabbed Al firmly by the upper arms and looked him in the eye. "You'd better come back in one piece or so help me I'll go to Imperial Center and tear the entire infrastructure down myself."

"I believe it," the smuggler muttered, a little unnerved by the conviction in her eyes. He was relieved when her expression softened and she smiled, releasing him. Then he saw her grow concerned and it was his turn to smile. "I'll be fine, Siri. I promise."

"Somebody else said that," she sighed, looking away. "Take care of yourself."

Al looked at Siri and then Obi-Wan. He wasn't quite sure how to say goodbye without it feeling so, for lack of a better word, _final_. He wasn't particularly happy about returning to the heart of enemy territory, but he knew he had to do this. Sighing, he placed his hand on Siri's shoulder, gave her another reassuring smile and then walked towards the path that led back to the main enclave and the landing pads. He paused when he reached Obi-Wan. "I'll see you soon, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan was tense, but he offered a small smile and nodded. "I would say don't run into trouble, but that's a moot point considering your mission… so just don't get yourself killed. Can you manage that?"

Al laughed. "I hope so."

His friend's smile faltered a little, but his tone was still eerily calm when he said, "Be safe."

"May the Force be with you," Qui-Gon bowed slightly in a farewell gesture.

Blast, that really _did_ feel final. Al gave a shaky smile to the Jedi Master and then nodded to Obi-Wan and Siri one more time before departing.

Obi-Wan watched him go, his mind filled with so many scenarios of what could go wrong. He knew he wasn't supposed to linger on such situations, but at the moment he couldn't really help it. It was just _too soon_ after… he sighed. He should be able to say it—he had to _accept_ it—but he didn't think he would be able to for quite some time. It was already bad enough that they'd left Naboo on bad terms with his family; he'd essentially broken ties with them forever. Nothing was right anymore.

Through the Force he felt Al's presence grow dimmer as he walked farther away from them. Taking a calming breath, he faced Siri and Qui-Gon once more.

"We completed the other exercises," he told their teacher, pushing the issue of Al's safety aside. There was nothing more he could do about that, so he just let it go – he supposed that meant he released it to the Force, but he wasn't quite sure he'd been managing to do that yet.

Qui-Gon nodded. "Good. The only remaining matter for today, then, is to meditate."

Obi-Wan glanced at Siri automatically; of all the teachings they had learned over the past three days, meditation was the one she liked the _least_. To her it was a waste of time; quieting one's mind to simply feel the Force didn't make sense to her. She could feel it all the time; why sit around and just… do nothing? To Obi-Wan, however, it was a blessing; he _needed_ the quiet, the stillness, the sense that life still went on after his sister's death. It _hurt_, but it helped so much, too. His world had stopped the day she'd died; coming to the enclave had reminded him that the galaxy still needed him. It gave him purpose. Things still seemed to be moving too fast, and when they meditated it was the only time everything finally _slowed down_.

Unfortunately, it also brought up bad memories. The last time they'd meditated Obi-Wan had painstakingly relived the initial moments after he and Siri had learned about Padmé's death. The two had just arrived on Salkende, and the warlord herself had met with them and relayed the news. Obi-Wan and Siri had already known something was wrong; they'd felt it on the way, and they'd been trying to call Padmé the instant they exited hyperspace. The news had… stunned them. It had been like waking from a nightmare only to realize that it was actually reality. Adelig had offered for them to stay on Salkende as long as they needed, but Obi-Wan had immediately said they needed to go back to Imperial Center, at which point Qui-Gon had contacted them. He'd told them of the commotion at Padmé's apartment, and Obi-Wan and Siri debated whether the Empire would even give Padmé's body to their family. Going to Naboo had been the next best option, both to maintain the status quo publicly and to console the family. Honestly it had all been a numb blur after that. In either case, the last meditative session didn't end well after replaying that memory.

As they sat in the clearing and closed their eyes, Obi-Wan tried to push all thought out of his mind. He simply listened to the babbling brook and felt the sun warm his skin. He relaxed his muscles, sore from the exercises he'd been doing all day, and he listened intently as the Force began to whisper to him. He felt the familiar presence of his wife, and, now that he had some training, he felt the tiny life growing within her. It was his favorite part of entering meditation, and he smiled. Eventually he sank deeper into the Force, slipping easily into it, unaware of his wife shifting uncomfortably as she struggled to join him. Qui-Gon's calming, steady presence guided him. He recalled the man's instructions on what to do.

_Clear your mind of all thoughts. Submerge yourself deeply into the Force. Then focus your attention on the goal of the meditation._

What _was_ the goal today? Qui-Gon normally gave little prompts, images or suggestions in his mind, but he could never quite translate them. It felt more like a strange sensation that he couldn't really pinpoint, or sometimes it startled him out of his meditation entirely. His mind apparently was quite open to perusal by Force users, leaving him uncomfortable, and he'd been trying his best to learn how to create mental shields from such intrusions. Qui-Gon had been helping him with that as well; the man had been invaluable to both Obi-Wan and Siri. He found himself feeling at ease in the Jedi Master's presence; Qui-Gon was like a steady rock amidst the torrential storm of Obi-Wan's life.

A brief image of Naboo passed through his thoughts, and Obi-Wan flinched. This was something that had been happening for most of their meditative sessions: Qui-Gon insisted that they learn to release their loss to the Force, and that meant they had to face it. The couple had been avoiding the matter of Padmé's fate in their own ways; Siri had put all her effort into training while Obi-Wan had expounded all his energy on simply _not_ falling apart. Siri distracted herself while Obi-Wan built an internal fortress. Somehow they both got by, and when one faltered the other helped. It had been a good system, but they both knew it wouldn't last.

Qui-Gon sent another prompting image, and a memory came forth unbeckoned.

_The house was silent except for the quiet sobs emitting from his mother. Sola had long since cried all the tears she could possibly cry. Ryoo still didn't quite understand, so she sat in the corner quietly, looking around the room with scared eyes. Darred sat by his wife, his hand on her shoulder. His father had been standing by the window gazing out into the yard ever since they'd gotten home from the funeral. Her body had only been cremated a few hours ago. The house felt so hollow, so _empty_._

_Siri took a deep breath and broke the silence. "At least she died doing her duty."_

_The dynamic of the room changed in a heartbeat. Obi-Wan looked at Siri, shocked, wondering why she would make such a remark. Sola, however, nearly exploded in anger. "Her _duty_?! Is that all you care about?! Is that all _any _of you three cared about?! Look what her _duty_ did to her! Why did you ever introduce Padmé to the Rebels?!"_

_Obi-Wan opened his mouth to diffuse the tense situation, but Siri interrupted him. "We did it because it was the right thing to do! We're actually _accomplishing_ something instead of staying home and pretending life's fine while the Empire continues to kill innocent people!"_

_Obi-Wan didn't know what to say or do. This situation was quickly spiraling out of control, and both women's words were tearing into him._

"_Her death is _your_ fault!" Sola yelled, shooting to her feet._

"_Sola—" their mother tried to appease her, but neither Sola nor Siri would listen to anyone._

"_No, her death is _all_ of your fault," Siri suddenly hissed back with vehemence, her face stormy. Obi-Wan gaped at her; what was she saying?! This made no sense, this came out of _nowhere_ – Siri had been angry at the situation, but just a few seconds ago she had shown no indication of any of this pent up rage against the family. "Every single person who sits on their asteroids and does _nothing_ has her blood on their hands. Seeing as all of you do _just that_, then you're far more responsible for her death than Obi-Wan and me."_

_His parents stared in horror and anger for a moment before suddenly siding with Sola. Everything fell apart from there, and by the end of it Obi-Wan was defending his wife from baseless accusations, Ryoo was crying, and Darred finally suggested they all just leave the house and calm down. Obi-Wan and Siri had complied, but unlike the other members of the family, they never returned home after they departed._

The meditation ended abruptly as Obi-Wan felt the pain of the argument grasp at his heart. He had a distinct feeling that argument would be the last time he'd ever see his family. He had no reason to go back to them, honestly; now that he was fully involved with the Alliance it would only get them hurt by association, and he was fairly certain they were ready to disown both him and Siri after that fiasco, anyway. He still held a little resentment towards Siri for starting the fight, but he knew she'd simply been lashing out. They all had been. But he couldn't focus on anything after reliving that memory, and he _definitely_ didn't want to think about Padmé's loss after just remembering that he'd lost the rest of his family as well.

Siri still had her eyes closed, and her brow was furrowed deeply in concentration. Qui-Gon looked as peaceful as ever, and Obi-Wan sighed quietly, trying to reenter the meditation when Siri suddenly opened her eyes and stood.

"You know, we can sort out the whole funeral thing without your prompting," she remarked in a subdued voice.

"You must learn to let go of your attachment to her," Qui-Gon explained as he flawlessly emerged from meditation. "You both must learn to let go. Attachment is a path to the Dark Side."

"How is _loving someone_ a path to being _evil_?" Siri snapped, suddenly full of emotion.

"Love itself is not the problem," Qui-Gon shook his head. "It's the desire to not _lose_ the ones you love. The desire to hold on, the _obsession_ over a person or place or thing. _That_ is attachment."

"So we have to _forget_ Padmé ever existed? Now that she's dead she doesn't matter anymore?" Siri rebutted. Before Qui-Gon could reply, she said, "This is ridiculous. I'm going back to the main compound."

Obi-Wan was tempted to call after her, but he just let her go. He wasn't sure which side to pick, honestly; he understood what Qui-Gon was saying, but he also understood Siri's sentiment. The Jedi seemed to move on from their losses _awfully_ quickly; it was almost inhuman. He didn't know how anybody could be that unattached to anything or anyone. It was no wonder they took initiates in as younglings; it _had_ to be impossible to live the perfect Jedi life after living a normal one. Pushing the musings aside, he looked apologetically at Qui-Gon, but the Jedi only looked slightly exasperated.

"I'll check on her," he said, heading towards the compound.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon called after him. Obi-Wan turned and looked at him questioningly. "Do not lose yourself in your attempt to be strong for others. Siri is at least diffusing her emotions in the only way she knows how; bottling them up is far more dangerous."

He felt his chest tighten slightly, but he offered a reassuring smile. He'd been improving on his usual calm façade, especially after he'd learned how to latch onto the Force for strength. He tipped his head with poise, almost as if he were the Padawan he would have been if the Empire had never come to be. "I understand, Master."

With that he sensed out his wife and found her in the woods off the trail to the compound. She was pacing back and forth, her arms crossed tightly. Once he'd found her, though, he didn't know what to say or do. He didn't have the clout or experience to echo Qui-Gon's words, but he didn't really have any other argument. He didn't have to say anything, though; Siri sensed him and sighed heavily.

"I'm sorry, Obi," she muttered, leaning against a tree.

"It's fine," he finally replied, walking towards her.

Siri barked out an empty laugh. "No, it's not. None of this is fine. I got you practically _excommunicated_ from your family, and I haven't been a huge help lately…"

Obi-Wan felt that same twinge of anger at her mentioning the incident, but he shoved it down with the simple logical argument that nobody could have helped the fallout that had occurred.

"I just…" she continued. "I wanted to make sure they were safe. It was a convenient way to do it, and I was kind of pissed off anyway… I didn't _quite_ mean to sound as harsh as I did."

Obi-Wan looked at her curiously. "You did that on _purpose_?"

"If the Empire saw that you'd separated from your family, they wouldn't be important anymore. They'd be safe." His wife looked at him, her face flushed and her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She hadn't cried at all throughout everything that had happened, and he wanted to hit himself for realizing she was finally just letting herself fall apart. He _also_ wanted to tell her off for not letting him in on her little plan until _now,_ though.

"You could have told me that before all hell broke loose, you know," he finally sighed.

Siri let out a broken chuckle and shook her head, unable to speak. Obi-Wan walked over and held her, and the two slid down the tree to sit on the grass as Siri's sobs echoed around them.

* * *

It was a warm breezy evening, so the balcony door was open to let in some night air. It entered the large living room, sweeping past the two chairs in the corner and making some flimsiplast rustle a bit. In the center of the room, furnished with a center table, two comfortable chairs, and a couch, Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin sat perusing a data pad saturated with information. Most of it talked about his oversector, which was at a record low for Rebel activity due to the recent events. He also noted with some interest that there was a sudden increase in people enlisting in the military; Amidala had been a public symbol of youth in the senate, and whether she had intended it or not, she had become a bit of a celebrity amongst casual HoloNet viewers. Her fate had upset many loyal Imperial citizens, and the fact that the Rebels were supposedly responsible for it had incited the people's wrath.

A small smile of amusement played at the governor's lips as he thought of the senator, but then he pushed his mind to other matters. He wouldn't let himself enjoy that victory until he was no longer on Imperial Center, and therefore no longer in Palpatine's domain.

After recent events, there had been a few distinct changes in the Chommell Sector. Representative Naberrie and his wife resigned and disappeared after the funeral. Tarkin wasn't surprised; there was a rumor that there had been a falling out between the representative and his family, so it was likely there had been a disagreement over his and Amidala's involvement in the Alliance. Intelligence had yet to act on anything, and Tarkin supposed they wouldn't really do much to the family since it was highly unlikely that they would know anything; also, since there had been an argument it was equally unlikely that Naberrie would have any contact with his family at this point, so they couldn't really be used as bait. It didn't matter; the Alliance was basically in pieces anyway, and Salkende had been quiet, so they were no longer a threat.

One note in particular caught Tarkin's interest as he leaned further into the cushions of his sofa. His spy had sent probes to search for the Rebel who had been in contact with the Naberrie family. The probes had located the man at a cantina in the lower levels, and the new aide had been with him. In response, the spy had programmed the droids to call an attack squad; she could authorize such a maneuver since the Rebel had injured her, so he was a threat to Intelligence. However, they had lost contact with the squad, and when Intelligence had found their bodies and pieced together what little information they could based on surveillance, it looked like one of the Rebels had been armed with a lightsaber; a _Jedi_ had been on Imperial Center. It was highly unlikely that either party was still on the planet after the Naberrie clan left, which was frustrating. Tarkin couldn't believe that a Jedi had managed to infiltrate the heart of the Empire. How had he managed to get onto the planet without being discovered? Which person was the Jedi? The aide or the spy? Considering how the aide had put up a fight with Tarkin's spy, it was likely that he was the Jedi. This complicated matters, but at the same time it didn't. The Jedi hadn't interfered with anything important, and he was likely gone now, though Intelligence was making a _very_ thorough investigation to ensure that.

Shaking his head, the grand moff sighed and plopped the data pad on the couch beside him. The most irritating information of all, of course, was that he _still _hadn't been in any kind of meaningful contact with Darth Vader since before the boy's assignment to kill Amidala. He'd seen Vader a few days ago when they'd both been summoned to the throne room, but they hadn't spoken, and Palpatine had sent Vader running off to the Outer Rim to deal with some petty uprising that a task force could have handled. The emperor was again wasting resources, it seemed, though in this case it might have been an attempt to steady the nearly shattered Sith apprentice.

Reports indicated that Vader had just returned tonight, and Tarkin was ready to pounce on the opportunity, but the emperor had yet again interfered by calling the young Sith to the ballet. It was probably to receive a report, but it was irksome nonetheless; he was chomping at the bit to finally get the boy under his own control. Vader was quickly becoming a hot topic amongst the powerful members of society after he'd defeated the Jedi, and the last thing Tarkin needed was competition. He needed to act quickly. The time was ripe; the Rebels weren't a concern anymore, so internal threats were quickly making themselves known since people were no longer distracted by the Alliance.

Growing restless just thinking about it, the grand moff stood, straightened his tunic, and exited his quarters. He took a quick lift ride to Vader's floor and paused in front of the boy's door. It was unlikely that Vader was home yet, but the grand moff could wait for him inside; he had the access codes to the apartment, anyway. After a moment's hesitation, Tarkin unlocked the door and entered the apartment, flicking the lights on.

While Tarkin's apartment had a small foyer that led directly into the living room, Vader's apartment began as a perpendicular hallway. To the left was the kitchen and breakfast room, both of which were rarely used, and to the right was a marble staircase that led up to the bedroom, training room, and office while continuing past the stairs led to the den. His boots clicked on the polished tile floor as Tarkin entered the den, glancing around. Vader's apartment was always pristine; the two couches facing each other on the left didn't have anything on them and looked like they hadn't been used, and the table between them was barren apart from a decorative piece. To the right of the room was another sofa facing the wall, where an inset wall-sized shelf set was laden with data chips, code cylinders, and basically anything that Vader wasn't using at the current moment. A HoloNet receiver sat in the center of it. Two of the walls were covered with windows, giving a panoramic view of the city, and a large balcony was also attached.

The apartment looked disused. It was expected since Vader had been gone for a few days, but it seemed as if he hadn't been there in weeks. Looking left at the two sofas facing each other, Tarkin saw the standalone full sized mirror that Vader often used every morning to ensure he was presentable for the day. He recalled the boy staring at the mirror as the HoloNet receiver behind him loudly babbled endlessly about Amidala's funeral. Looking at the space between that area and the large couch facing the wall on the right, Tarkin recalled when Vader had been sitting there with his lightsaber in pieces. Honestly, that had probably been the last time Vader had really been in this apartment: just before he left for the Jedi fleet.

The gentle hissing sound of a door opening caught his attention, and Tarkin turned around to face the hallway once more. He saw Darth Vader enter, looking tired. The Sith Lord didn't seem to notice the grand moff, who cleared his throat to ensure he didn't startle him. It was odd; Vader always sensed Tarkin, so he felt almost silly announcing his presence to the man.

The Sith apprentice glanced in Tarkin's direction and he slowly walked towards him, waiting expectantly for an explanation.

"I presume your mission went well," Tarkin began, examining him. His face looked thin, he had dark circles under his eyes, and he stood stiffly. This wasn't the calm and powerful Sith Lord he was used to seeing, but honestly, lately _this_ was the boy's common appearance.

Vader nodded.

"Good," the grand moff remarked carelessly, getting to the important point. "You and I have much to discuss about your political training, milord. The emperor has authorized that I teach you what I know so your next interaction with senators might yield better results."

He knew the remark would sting, but the point had to be made. Vader didn't even flinch, but he looked even more tired. The grand moff wasn't really going to wait for an acknowledgement since the most he would probably get would be another acquiescent nod, but the Sith Lord spoke. "Leave."

Leave? Oh no, he wasn't leaving yet. Palpatine had been hogging all of Vader's free time, and Tarkin was just as entitled to the Sith as the emperor was. The boy _owed_ him that much after everything he'd done for him, and it was time he started making up for it. It was time Tarkin started utilizing the Empire's most powerful weapon, and it was time both the grand moff and the apprentice freed themselves of the emperor. "Milord, we should plan accordingly. I want to meet with you tomorrow, and—"

"I said _get out_!" Vader suddenly yelled, his eyes flashing.

Tarkin stared at the man, dumbfounded and just a tad nervous. The Sith had never yelled at him. Never. Raising his hands slightly to appease the apprentice, Tarkin offered a small bow and left the apartment, returning to his own residence. He blew out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and slowly sank into one of his sofas once more.

This whole ordeal had taken far more of a toll on Vader than Tarkin had realized, though he really shouldn't be surprised, and he was silently cursing himself for that. Still, he couldn't just let the idiot _brood_ about it – they had _work_ to do. He was shaken enough to not push the matter, though; he didn't like being at the receiving end of Vader's power and wrath. His _wrath_ – blast, this really was starting to get a little out of hand. Obviously the boy had been hiding those emotions for whatever reason, but now they were appearing and it was almost as if Vader himself didn't know how to deal with them. That was likely the case, but Tarkin wasn't entirely sure. He didn't _need_ this right now – he didn't need Vader turning on him. It wasn't supposed to be like that.

Sighing heavily, Tarkin stood and paced his apartment. When he passed his door, he noticed movement on the small view screen that allowed him to see outside his quarters. Pausing, he looked more closely and saw that Vader was standing at the doorway and looked like he was about to knock. Tarkin hesitated, not really wanting to face the apprentice after his outburst, but he saw the genuine concern and growing panic on the boy's face. Vader also hesitated, his hand hovering just in front of the door, and then he shook his head, closed his eyes, and stepped away. Had he come to _apologize_? No wonder he was pausing; to apologize would show weakness, and Tarkin knew the boy wouldn't do that. Turning away from the door, Darth Vader headed back to the lift, slowly at first, but then steadily gaining purpose and increasing his pace.

Even more dumbfounded, Tarkin stood still, pondering the matter. He was touched and surprised that Vader had even bothered attempting to apologize. He supposed he should be grateful too; it meant the man didn't view him as an enemy. That was the _last_ thing he needed, after all.

Blasted Palpatine. None of this would even be an issue if he hadn't ordered Vader to kill Amidala. It was ironic that this now annoyed Tarkin considering he'd been pressing for Vader to do the deed for quite some time.

The grand moff turned away from the door, slowly making his way to his bedchamber, when he paused. He really should check on Vader, but he wasn't quite sure what to do. The man had wanted to apologize, so that indicated he regretted his outburst, but there really wasn't much to say. Besides, he might be more inclined to listen to Tarkin if the two didn't reconcile until tomorrow. Still, he looked unhealthy, and Tarkin had a sinking suspicion he wouldn't get the rest he so obviously needed. Anyway, if he spoke to the man he might find out what Palpatine had wanted at the ballet, and that could be useful.

Turning around, Tarkin briskly exited his apartment and headed to Vader's quarters once more. He knocked, but he received no reply. Was Vader asleep? He hesitated for a moment, but then he entered without permission.

A sound came from upstairs, and Tarkin immediately recognized it. Retching. Someone was getting ill. His stomach immediately knotted, and he felt his upper lip curl in distaste; Tarkin could handle a lot of things, but a sick person was not one of them. He stepped backwards towards the door, but then he shook his head. If that idiot was sick he should probably check on him.

Slowly walking up the spiral stairs with dread, Tarkin shuddered as he heard the boy retch again. How long had he been sick? Was he even ill at all, or was this due to his emotional and mental state? The latter seemed more likely, and as Tarkin came to that conclusion he hastened his steps.

Once he reached the upper floor, Tarkin turned left, heading towards the large bedroom. A small training room was accessible just beside it on the right wall, but Tarkin walked by it without a second glance. The bedroom was empty, but the sound of vomiting was coming from the adjoining refresher. Bracing himself, Tarkin walked towards the fresher, peeking in.

Darth Vader was sitting on the floor, his torso draped over the toilet as he gasped for air between retches. As the grand moff watched him heave and cough again, he felt queasy himself, not wanting to see or hear this. Still, the sight also moved him with a little pity, though he was reticent to get near the boy at the moment.

Eventually, Vader's coughs subsided and he simply sat there, panting. Tarkin pulled out a handkerchief and walked to him, kneeling beside him. He offered the handkerchief, which Vader took wordlessly. The boy was paler than before, and he was trembling. The lights flickered, and Tarkin looked at them uncertainly before glancing once more at the Sith apprentice. The conclusion he came to left him feeling nervous.

"You can't control it," he said softly, and Vader shuddered, giving him the answer he needed.

This was _not_ his day. Taking a steadying breath, Tarkin stood, ignoring the slight stiffness in his joints, and he backed out of the fresher, glancing around. Walking to the bed, he pulled the thick comforter out a little bit and fluffed the pillows before glancing into the fresher once more. Vader had backed away from the toilet and was now curled in a ball on the floor, clutching the handkerchief tightly. His eyes were squeezed shut, and his breathing was erratic. He wasn't sick. He was falling apart.

Slowly, the grand moff reentered the refresher, flushed the toilet (_without_ looking at the contents, thankfully), and knelt down by the boy, pulling at his arm. "Come on, milord."

He couldn't lift the boy; he wasn't strong enough to handle his weight. He needed him to get up on his own. Vader obeyed, albeit slowly, and he stood. Tarkin guided him towards his bed and watched as the Sith sat on the exposed mattress. Folding his arms, the grand moff gave him a stern look, one he hadn't utilized since Vader was a youngling. "I'll see you in the morning in the dining hall. You and I are going out tomorrow, and I'll help you with this problem of yours. Just get some rest."

Vader swallowed and nodded, not looking him in the eye. He glanced down at the handkerchief, as if he wanted to return it, and Tarkin hastily held his hand up to stop him. "Keep it." As if he wanted that thing back now after the Sith had wiped his filthy mouth on it.

Sighing, Tarkin walked towards the exit and paused in the doorway, his hand on the light switch. Vader noticed his scrutiny and sighed, kicking off his boots and removing his utility belt, plopping it on the nightstand. The Sith curled up on the bed, pulling the comforter around him tightly. His eyes locked with Tarkin's. They were bloodshot, desperately tired, and scared. The boy was _scared_. He was being bombarded by these emotions that he'd apparently repressed and he didn't know what to do.

The grand moff nodded firmly to him, as if that would somehow indicate that they'd get through this. And they _would_ get through this; he'd help the boy get his head on straight, and together they'd finish off the emperor. After that everything would be far more orderly than it was now.

For a millisecond he wondered if he should tell the boy about his plans, about his actions as of late, but… no. Neither party was ready for that. Still, he was going to be up late trying to sort this new mess out.

Tarkin turned off the light and left the apartment.


	32. Outing

**Sorry for the delay, life's been crazy. Apologies in advance for typos.**

* * *

Imperial Center was radiant. It was strange, considering all Al had ever seen of the place lately were the dull, cloudy days of the wet season. It seemed like the dry season was finally arriving, which was great. The warm air was comfortable, and a breeze blew against his face. A part of him wished it was still dull and cloudy, so he at least _felt_ more hidden than this (and so he wouldn't look like some sensitive person who had to wear a hood to avoid the sunlight). He'd been sticking to the lower levels and he'd been avoiding security cameras and probe droids, but he still felt so _exposed_ now that he was back.

Creeping around the edge of a building, Al finally saw the turbolift that would take him to the proper level. Blowing out a calming breath, he pulled his hood further down over his face and walked as calmly as possible to the lift. A few others piled in with him and they were all silent as they rose to the upper levels. After a few minutes they arrived, and Al hastily blended in with the crowds. Pulling out a small data pad he activated it and glossed over all the security feeds Okima'yak had provided for him. He caught sight of the agent leaving his apartment complex and Al hastened in that direction. It was finally time to meet this guy and prove that Padmé hadn't died in vain.

The walk wasn't too far, and before he knew it Al finally had a visual of his target. The man was small in stature and his loose clothes revealed little of his muscular build. He had pale skin, freckles, shocking red hair that was cropped close to his head, and a prominent nose. He shouldered his bag with a small bounce in his step and walked briskly.

Al followed him from a distance, wondering if he would be able to avoid the man's detection; Intelligence agents were experts at tailing people, after all, so he assumed they also were _quite_ aware of when they themselves were being tailed. Five minutes of following the man, however, quickly revealed that this guy either was _letting_ Al do this or he just _didn't know_ he was there at all. Was this guy new or something? He suddenly recalled Obi-Wan mentioning on Nar Shaddaa that the guy had spoken with a Coruscanti accent and had revealed his affiliation with Intelligence. Was he just a bad agent or was something else going on? Maybe that had been an operation on Nar Shaddaa instead of an illegal dealing? But then why wasn't the guy noticing that Al was behind him?

Eventually Al saw his opportunity. The agent was heading towards a metro stop, but he had to cross a bridge connecting two elevated walkways. Beside the bridge, the large building that the walkway was attached to split, leaving a gaping street that was darkened by the towering skyscrapers around it. Al hastened his pace and caught up to the man just before he wandered too far from the street. "Oki Heuk?"

The man froze. The name Al had used was his pseudonym that he'd gone by on Nar Shaddaa. If he had any brains at all, it wasn't his real name, which meant calling him that would immediately tell him Al's affiliation with him. Al's hand was on his blaster, hidden by his cloak, but the man didn't pick a fight. Instead, he backed into the darkened street as the smuggler had hoped.

"What do you want?" he hissed. "We already made our—wait, you're not the dealer. Who are you?"

"I might be a friend, depending on what you say," Al smiled, his hand still firmly on his blaster. He was sure to keep his hood low over his face, however; he figured an agent might know that he was wanted, after all. He was walking a fine line right now, as the churning in his stomach was reminding him constantly. "How's the Kelathik? I figure it wasn't for you unless the Empire's come up with some scientific miracle I haven't heard about."

The agent looked around wildly, his eyes wide with panic. So Nar Shaddaa _hadn't_ been a mission. Good. This would make bribing him easier, assuming Al lived long enough to get to that point. He really didn't like this arrangement too much, but he had to do it. Still, this guy looked more nervous than Al felt; why did something not quite feel right?

"Why are you here? What do you want?" he asked in a soft voice.

"I want an even exchange," Al replied carefully. "My friend changed her mind about your payment. She doesn't want just _words_, she wants _results_. She delivered her end of the bargain. Now you need to deliver yours. Unless you want your employer to find out, of course."

He was taking a big risk associating himself with the dealer considering he'd never met the woman, but he figured it was unlikely this guy would get in contact with her anyway. The agent paled and took a few steps back. "No, don't—don't tell them. I… we'd agreed on the payment!"

"Yeah, and she changed her mind," Al repeated. His grip on his weapon tightened in anticipation; if this guy got too jumpy he might try to attack him. "She wants information."

"I-information?"

"Where are the Rebels? What does the Empire know about them?" Al asked, taking a menacing step closer to the man.

His eyes widened further. "I—I don't know, I—please, don't tell Intelligence, I'll—I'll do anything, but I—"

"Then tell me what I want to know!" Al interrupted him with a hiss, both to sound intimidating and to shut the guy up; if he got too loud they'd attract attention, and that was the _last_ thing Al wanted.

"I don't know!" he shook his head fervently. "Please, I—my name's not—I'm not with—please, I don't know anything!"

Al grabbed him by the arm and dragged him further down the street, finding a suitable alley and shoving him into it, finally pulling out his weapon. The man flinched and plastered himself against the wall, holding his hands up. This guy _couldn't_ be Intelligence, not with the way he was acting. "Who are you? _Really_?"

"Odeki Rubar," he immediately said in a quivering tone. "I… I do work for Intelligence, but I'm not an operative… I'm just maintenance. I work on the droids that they use in their main facility. Please, _please_, don't tell them about the Kelathik!"

What? He… he was _maintenance_? Al had wasted _days_ on a _dead end_? Frustration surged through him, and he uncharacteristically smacked the man's temple with the butt of his weapon. "You are _not_ getting out of it that easily! You're still getting me my information!"

Odeki yelped at the hit and slid to the ground, holding his temple. He looked at Al fearfully, and as much as the smuggler wanted to beat the hell out of him for all the trouble he'd inadvertently caused, he just couldn't. This guy wasn't an evil Intelligence agent; he was just a dope lost in the insanity of the Empire.

But _damn it_, this was _not_ the result he'd wanted!

Blowing out a _very_ irritated sigh, Al asked, "Who's the Kelathik for? Your wife?"

The man nodded.

"What does she do?"

"She…" he trailed off worriedly, rubbing his temple. "She works with the Science Bureau. That's all I'm telling you! You… you can kill me if you want, but you won't hurt her!"

Al stared at him long and hard for a few seconds and then finally holstered his weapon. "I'm not going to kill you. Look, I… I can help you. Both of you. You need more Kelathik, right?"

He couldn't believe he was asking this. He couldn't believe the conversation had come to this. He'd risked his hide to come back here, Padmé had died because of this mission, and in the end it all boiled down to this. But he couldn't _not_ offer to help; Al was jaded, he could be sardonic, and he tended to be emotionally distant from a lot of people's problems, but he wasn't _entirely_ heartless. It was one of the reasons he hated being in his line of work; no, he couldn't save everyone, and yes, even if he did help somebody another sod would take that person's place, but he _despised_ adding to the problem, and that's what people in his profession did. They just _added_ to everything that was wrong. Sure, smugglers could get important commodities to those in need, but most of the time criminals only compounded upon the misery; smugglers more often trafficked slaves, drugs, and weapons than anything else, and Al _hated_ it. He refused to be a part of that. He refused to make things _worse_ in the galaxy. So here he was, offering to help the person he was supposed to be threatening. By the stars he was hopeless. And worthless.

"H-help me?" Odeki repeated, looking at him confusedly and hopefully. "But… no, no we don't need more Kelathik; my wife's a biochemist. She can synthesize more now that she has a sample. Who are you?"

He was quickly losing any upper ground he had in this conversation, and that _really_ wasn't good. "Who I am doesn't matter. What matters is keeping your secret."

The man grew worried again. "Please, don't hurt my wife!"

"Your wife's in more danger from the Empire than she is from me," Al noted, trying to turn the tables back in his favor. "She needs to leave."

"Leave?"

"Yes, _leave_," Al emphasized. "Even if she keeps using Kelathik while she's pregnant, that won't stop them from finding out when the baby's born. Kelathik can be lethal in high doses; the only reason it's okay during pregnancy is because the dosage is so small and the mother's blood dilutes what little is there, so neither mom nor baby gets hurt. If you put that stuff directly into the kid, you'll kill him, and they do a midichlorian test on all newborns."

Odeki shook his head. "We're traveling. She's having the baby in the—"

"It doesn't matter where you guys decide to have the kid, it's not going to end well," Al interrupted. "A security bill that passed before the recess said that all Imperial territory has to have these tests now, not just the Core Worlds. The only other place you could find a respectable hospital would be in Hutt territory, and even then I'm really stretching the term _respectable_. Do you want your kid born in a Hutt hospital?"

"Where do you suggest I go? Why are you here?" Odeki asked.

"I'm here because we both need help." Al explained. "You need somewhere safe, somewhere to live where you won't be constantly worrying about your youngling. I need information. We can work together."

"You were _threatening _me two minutes ago!"

"I thought you were an agent," Al replied irritably. "Seeing as you're not, I don't really consider you a threat, unless _you_ change my mind. In either case, I can get your wife somewhere safe."

"Wha—no, we can't just _disappear_," Odeki stated, horrified. "The Empire would brand us traitors!"

"You're _already_ traitors," Al whispered, crouching down to look him in the eye. "The very fact that you've kept the baby alive and gotten Kelathik is enough for them to execute you."

The man gulped, unable to say anything.

Al sighed, gathering his thoughts. "Just… hear me out. You're maintenance for the droids in Intelligence's main compound, right? Sabotage the droids to get information. It doesn't even have to be much; just enough so I know how much _they_ know about the Rebels. You do that for me, and I can take your wife somewhere safe. When the time comes for her to have her baby, you can join her."

"You're a _Rebel_." Somehow, the man managed to look even more nervous.

_Great deduction, genius. _"Glad you figured it out. Want a medal?"

"But you people are terrorists!" he blurted out.

"We're the ones who have been _wronged_ by the Empire," Al corrected him firmly. "Just like your youngling."

This made the man pause, but he still looked uncertain. "How do I know you can even help?"

Al shrugged. "You don't. But you also don't know if I'll tell the Empire you're using Kelathik. I'd take my chances with a smuggler rather than an Empire with a track record for killing people for no rhyme or reason."

Odeki looked terrified and conflicted. He bit his lip, staring at the ground and balling his fists. Al wouldn't put him too much on the spot, he supposed, but he wasn't going to be so soft on the guy that he'd let himself get trampled. "Talk to your wife, Rubar. We can meet here tomorrow morning, same time, when you come to your decision. But _don't_ do anything stupid; I've got my eye on you, and you don't know when I might just stroll over to your workplace and let the truth slip out."

After that, he motioned for the man to leave, and Odeki hastily leapt to his feet and shuffled out of the alley, continuously glancing at the smuggler. Al leaned against the wall, groaning. This wasn't how he'd hoped it would come to pass, but at least he had _something_ to work with. Pulling out his data pad, he watched Odeki trot across the bridge. The guy really wasn't good at hiding his anxiety, was he? For his sake, Al hoped the man pulled himself together by the time he reached Intelligence. In either case, he'd be keeping a close eye on him.

In the Palace District, a time zone away from Almusian, Tarkin made his way down to the large dining hall.

The weather was amazing today, and it was perfect for the outing the grand moff had reluctantly planned. He recalled back during the Clone Wars when the meteorologists had started the wet season program; they'd been forced to do so when they'd received budget cuts due to wartime expenditures. There was no way they could control the weather as much to give year-round perfect, sunny skies, and the inhabitants had treated the change like the apocalypse. That seemed like an eternity ago now.

Entering, the grand moff caught sight of Darth Vader. The Sith typically had breakfast down here; he never really bothered calling servants to bring up his food, and he rarely cooked unless he was on some mission where it was required. As Tarkin approached him, he noted that the apprentice was merely picking at his food instead of eating it. He supposed it was probably due to his queasiness from last night, though he'd assumed the boy would have been feeling better by now.

Sitting across from the young Sith, he pondered how he would broach the subject. An outing was a pointless venture unless it had to do with a mission, and though Tarkin had a reason for dragging Vader across the district, it certainly wouldn't seem to have a point to the boy himself. Of course, Tarkin _could_ just state that it was to get the idiot's head on straight, but that would indicate that Vader was showing obvious weakness, and the grand moff wasn't quite sure how he would react to that. Vader had almost always gone to Tarkin when he'd had a problem, so the man assumed that the Sith wasn't uncomfortable with showing weaknesses to the grand moff, but somehow it didn't seem like a good idea to actually _voice_ that observation. Vader had never specifically said anything to that effect, and it seemed that in order to maintain the status quo, it should remain that way.

So how in the blazes was he going to explain this? He didn't exactly enjoy the idea of taking the Sith on an outing. Honestly, Tarkin himself had better things to do, such as actually using Vader for something _important_, but he supposed since Darth Vader was his main weapon and the boy was at the breaking point, he needed to piece him together before he could do anything with him. Still, Tarkin was an _introvert_; the idea of spending the entire day with the Sith Lord just… _socializing_… wasn't particularly enthralling. Nevertheless, he had to do what he had to do.

This had better be worth it.

Darth Vader glanced at him, waiting expectantly. The apprentice no doubt was wondering what Tarkin had planned; after all, he'd told the boy last night that they'd be going out. Tarkin didn't really explain much immediately, though; some servants brought breakfast to him and he chose to eat instead of speak. After watching him take a few bites, Vader eventually returned his attention to his own food. Now that they were sitting across from each other and he wasn't under Vader's scrutiny, Tarkin sized up the young Sith Lord. His color was better today, though he still looked tired. He probably hadn't slept too well, but Tarkin didn't have the energy to ask. This day was going to be draining enough.

Eventually the grand moff finished his breakfast and then took a deep breath. "Meet me at the palace entrance after your walk."

"I have a mission," Vader replied immediately.

Tarkin looked at him curiously. He knew the man always chose Palpatine's orders over his own, but he hadn't mentioned this issue last night when Tarkin had said they were going out tomorrow. Was he just avoiding the matter, then? That was… different, though typically the boy didn't have any issues to avoid in the first place, so Tarkin supposed he shouldn't be too surprised.

"What's your mission?" he asked.

"I… have to investigate the new senator for the Chommell Sector."

Tarkin tensed his jaw slightly. Surely the emperor saw the kind of turmoil Vader was in; was it wise to do this? It seemed that the Sith Master was enjoying Vader's pain a little too much; this kind of move was something Tarkin would do to an _enemy_. He was beginning to debate whether he should find a way to get Vader off Imperial Center and away from the emperor. In either case, the mission wouldn't interfere with today's objective. "All you have to do is tell Intelligence to handle the matter, and you know that. Or did the emperor come up with some new stipulation?"

Vader shook his head, but his eyes were stormy. He wasn't keen on this outing. _Neither am I_, Tarkin thought dully, but he'd do what was necessary. "Then it's settled. Meet me after your walk."

"I have to spar," he argued calmly, still picking at his food.

Tarkin debated the matter. Would sparring help more than what he had planned? It might, but he was fairly certain the man was using sparring as a way to _avoid_ the problem rather than face it. "You had no qualms last night, milord, and my order still stands."

He didn't actually have any authority over Vader, but he used his seniority in this case.

The Sith Lord sighed, lowering his utensil to his plate. He nodded in acquiescence and then stood and left. The grand moff watched him go before returning to his own quarters. Vader's walks typically took about thirty minutes to an hour depending upon his agenda for the day, so he had some time to prepare. Sitting on one of his sofas, he sighed heavily and rubbed his face with his hands, steeling himself for the long day. It would have some uses, but he wasn't sure how he would explain it to the young Sith.

Their first destination was a park; it was almost ridiculous to think about, but the Palace District Park was one of the most exclusive places on all of Imperial Center. It would give them both privacy and allow Tarkin to dig up some bad memories without anyone witnessing or getting hurt. Besides, it was the first nice day in weeks. After the park Tarkin knew he'd need time to recuperate from the ordeal, so he'd planned on going to a museum where he could enjoy himself and just let the sulking Sith follow him like a shadow. Perhaps he could come up with some silly training assignment to occupy the boy's mind while he was there. Once they were finished at the museum they'd get lunch, and by then, perhaps, Vader might have had enough time to get his head on straight for the evening.

Tarkin always had many invitations to different events due to his status, but one in particular had caught his attention: a _charity_ (more like an embezzlement scandal waiting to happen) had a gala ball this evening. All the wealthiest of Imperial Center were associated with it in order to appear as if they actually cared about anything apart from themselves, and since the organization was spread across many worlds, the elite of most of the Empire had been invited. Typically Tarkin would find such an event tiresome and certainly not worth his time or notice, but in this case, it would be a good test for Vader. He could introduce the boy as a relative of some sort, have Vader operate covertly, and watch how he fared. If a distant unimportant relative of his made a few social mishaps, people might speak ill of the boy's breeding, but it wouldn't cause too much damage, particularly since Tarkin ensured the family name was spoken with reverence and fear. However, if _Darth Vader_ messed up, it would make him an immediate target for the vultures of the aristocracy. It was _far_ better for Vader to be undercover on this mission. Tarkin would watch him closely, as would his agent.

Leaning his head back on his sofa and closing his eyes, Tarkin enjoyed the quiet the sound dampeners provided before finally standing. It was time to get to work.

When he reached the entrance to the palace, he saw that Vader was already there waiting. The apprentice was pacing between pillars, but he quickly noticed the grand moff's approach. Offering a nod of acknowledgement, he awaited Tarkin's lead. The grand moff glanced at his chronometer; it had barely been ten minutes. He wondered if the boy had even walked at all, but he didn't bother asking. They'd have enough confrontations once they reached the park, and perhaps the Sith would be able to get his morning walk in while they were there.

Leading the way, Tarkin walked down the large stairs heading to the plaza just outside the palace. Casually passing some guards who were patrolling, he tossed a brief glance back to ensure Vader was following him. When he saw that was the case, he increased his pace and briskly headed out of the plaza towards an elevated walkway. Eventually the two finally reached their destination. Pausing, Tarkin expected some kind of question from Vader once the man realized where they were, and, as predicted, the Sith raised an eyebrow in his direction.

"We need to talk," Tarkin said pointedly. "This setting will suffice."

Vader glanced back at the palace before looking at him once more. He suspected the boy was wondering why he hadn't just spoken his peace in the dining hall, but, surprisingly, the Sith didn't argue. Instead he faced the entrance, awaiting Tarkin's lead.

The park entrance was a relatively small and innocuous doorway in one of the large skyscrapers. Once the two passed through (after Tarkin showed his pass to the guard; this park was exclusive for a reason: only residents of the Palace District were allowed to enter), the air cleared considerably and he heard birdsong. The indoor area of the building was gutted in favor of large bio-domes with holographic skies. The entrance bio-dome had most of the garden mazes that held Tarkin's interest. It was a relatively moderate forest climate. It reminded him of his home territory back on Eriadu.

It was odd now that he thought about it, though; he was fairly certain that in all of his nineteen years, Darth Vader had never set foot in this place. Sweeping the thought aside, the grand moff headed towards one the larger mazes. It began with stone stairs leading to a circular gravel entranceway with a large fountain. Bushes rimmed the edge and arched over entrances, and ivy hung loosely like curtains. He turned to face the apprentice. "I brought you out here so we could discuss matters frankly, milord. I assume you'll cooperate."

Darth Vader watched him with sharp, keen eyes, and the Sith tipped his head forward in acquiescence. It seemed this outing was a useful diversion for him; he was spending more time figuring out Tarkin's motives than thinking about anything that would disturb his emotional balance. That wasn't the point, though; the point was to sort out the problem, not bury it.

Stepping towards the center arched entranceway, Tarkin motioned for Vader to walk alongside him. The Sith did so a little stiffly. The grand moff allowed them to walk in peace for a few minutes, only listening to the crunching of the gravel beneath their boots and the continuous birdsong. He searched for the right way to broach the subject, and decided to latch on to Vader's new mission. "Did you inform Intelligence about the new Chommell senator?"

Vader faltered in his step for a heartbeat before continuing. He placed his hands behind his back, and Tarkin noted how he started to wring them immediately. His jaw set tightly. He offered a stiff nod.

He hadn't expected the man to reply, and he'd expected the question to spark a reaction, so he took this in stride. Tarkin knew that when one had a conversation with Darth Vader, one had to always lead the topic. There was no small talk with this Sith Lord, and there was most certainly no dancing around the subject. Still, he would take this slowly, breaking his usual protocol in conversation with the man. "I'm surprised they managed to get a replacement so quickly. Queen Jamillia must have already had several candidates lined up in case anything happened to her dear senator. I can't imagine why she would have such contingency plans. Do you think the queen might be involved in the Rebel plot?"

The Sith was taking steadily smaller steps, and he tightened the iron grip on his hands. "I think the queen wanted to prevent Imperial interference in the next senatorial election."

An adequate answer, and a likely possibility. The man was at least still thinking clearly, but now it was time to face the issue. "You're probably right. I suppose she wasn't aware of Senator Amidala's treachery. A pity she couldn't live much longer; she would have made a wonderful gift for the emperor. Still—"

"Enough," Vader interrupted sharply, stopping. He caught himself off guard with the quick outburst more so than the grand moff, and he took several deep breaths. He looked like he was about to center himself, but his composure slipped, his brow furrowed, and he took hasty steps forward, passing Tarkin entirely. The grand moff walked to catch up with him.

"You can't keep avoiding this," Tarkin finally said. When the Sith didn't make any remark, Tarkin stepped into his direct path. "Your turmoil over her fate has been putting everything in jeopardy, milord. You have to learn to control these emotions."

Something flared in the Sith's eyes, and he took a step towards Tarkin, towering over him for a moment. "_I have no emotions_, governor. You will _not_ speak of such things."

Tarkin felt a chill run down his spine, but he still stood up to the young apprentice. In fact, he had to bark out an amused snort. "Saying you don't have emotions is like saying the senate is a pristine establishment of saints. If you supposedly don't have emotions, then what, pray tell, has been happening to you over the past eight days?"

The Sith's mouth twitched, and his eyes grew even stormier. They almost looked yellowish for a second, and Tarkin was reminded strikingly of the emperor.

Well, then. Perhaps he should back down a bit… but _only_ a bit. "Milord, I only mean to help you. You cannot keep brooding and letting… _whatever_ is wrong… interfere with your work, your health, your _life_."

In a heartbeat the anger was gone. Uncertainty fell upon his features, and he backed away from the grand moff, breathing erratically. "I… I _don't know_ what's wrong. I can't… I…"

He grew silent, facing away. Tarkin waited patiently merely for Vader's sake; he knew the boy wouldn't keep talking about it unless he was forced to, but he'd let him try to regain his own composure first. He only gave the boy a minute. "What is going on, milord?"

"_I don't know!"_ Vader yelled, whirling around. His eyes truly were yellow now, but in the blink of an eye they were blue again, and filled with fear. "I close my eyes and I see her. Her blood's everywhere I look. She's a traitor. Master told me to kill her. I killed her. I killed her, I killed her…"

His voice died, and he looked at the ground. He looked like he was so lost, but in another mood swing he was suddenly angry again, marching over to Tarkin. "You should have left me alone, you should have let me _spar_—I need more training, I need to—I don't—Master ordered her death, she—she _chose_ it, she was so _stupid_, and I—I did the right thing, the _right_ thing—she's _gone_, it's _done_, she's _supposed_ to be gone—_why the hell are we out here_?!"

He had to admit, though Tarkin never cowered, it was… unnerving to have a completely destabilized trained killer yelling at him. Taking a calming breath, he stepped slightly away from the Sith Lord, giving them both some space to breathe. "We're here for this very reason, milord. Yell if you like, but get it _out_ – bottling it in is what's doing this to you. The senator was an attractive woman; it makes sense that you'd be… slightly attached to her. She was intelligent, feisty… she would have been a good match."

Again, Vader's anger vanished, but this time he looked at Tarkin with astonishment. The grand moff dully wondered if he should tally how many times the boy had a mood swing; he was fairly certain he'd exceed a hundred before their walk was finished. That aside, the conversation had turned in a direction that he hadn't been expecting, but its outcome was a crucial moment if he chose to continue this train of thought; he had to indicate that he liked Amidala as much as Vader, and this somehow was a miscalculation on Palpatine's part. If the emperor had Vader kill someone he was fond of and another person reinforced Vader's deepest doubts in his master, it might start tipping the scale in Tarkin's favor.

"Just imagine if she were still here," Tarkin continued carefully. "What a double agent she would have been. It's a shame the emperor made such a… miscalculation."

He could see the cogs turning in the young Sith's mind. Vader fidgeted, uneasy and enthralled all at once, looking queasy and excited and giddy and nervous. Tarkin had never before suggested that Palpatine made mistakes; it was borderline treason most days with as many plots as there were to overthrow the man. Not that any of the other plots mattered; there hadn't been any other serious internal threat to the throne since Palpatine had Vader kill Grand Moff Ketyr and his entire family two years ago. That incident had sealed into many upstarts' minds the realization that the Sith was not to be trifled with. Of course, Tarkin knew far better how to play this game than most, and he had the key player right in front of him.

"M… M-Master doesn't miscalculate," Vader argued feebly, his resolve quickly failing him. Tarkin had hit the right spot.

"The man has been on the throne for a very long time," Tarkin acknowledged. "That is proof of his power. But it can also lead to complacency, and that dulls the mind, milord. You can never rest easy when you hold the Empire in your hands."

The air was thick with tension, and even the birds seemed to grow silent in anticipation of what would happen next. The two faced each other, one strong and full of power, the other fracturing under uncertainty. The stand-off ended abruptly when Darth Vader shook his head sharply. "Master knows what to do. He created this Empire. You don't get to question him. What he says is what you do."

"Milord, you aren't a boy anymore," Tarkin noted with some sincerity. In many respects the Sith was still a youngling who had been thrown into affairs far before he should have, but those affairs demanded a _man_, not a child. Vader had risen to the challenge brilliantly in all ways but one, and this final problem – his apparent lack of any kind of emotional development – was what they now had to overcome.

Tarkin had to be careful with this train of thought, though; Vader's blind loyalty would serve his purposes perfectly, but he had to ensure he removed all ties to Palpatine first. In order to do that, he had to give the boy insight, and somehow he had to balance that with not making Vader _too_ uppity. "When a teacher tells a youngling to do something, the youngling complies because the teacher said so. When someone tells a _man_ to do something, he _chooses_ to comply or not based on his own principles. You are a _Sith Lord_; your principles are based upon the facts of life that all reasonable people understand: power is everything. Emperor Palpatine holds the power, but if he does not keep vigilant, he will lose it, and he's already making mistakes."

Vader's uneasiness grew, and his brow furrowed. His body grew tenser than before. He said nothing.

"Tell me, milord: what do you think of Amidala's death?"

"Master wanted her dead. I killed her." He replied quickly and sharply.

"I know the _facts_, Lord Vader," Tarkin crossed his arms, not backing down. "I want to know your _opinion _on the matter."

The Sith swayed unevenly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. After a few seconds he started to move again, unable to stay still. He brushed past Tarkin, who didn't miss a beat and strode alongside him. The Sith led them through several paths, turning sharply and stochastically, leaving the grand moff slightly dizzy.

After a few minutes of this, the Sith stopped abruptly, breathing heavily. "I've no opinion on the matter. I do as Master commands."

"You're burying the problem again, milord," Tarkin noted. "That will only hamper your ability to do your duty."

"Then what do you suggest?!" Vader whirled on him, his eyes yellow once again. "What do you _want_, governor?"

"I only want you to be well again," the grand moff answered delicately, keeping his face composed. "I'm asking your opinion so you can simply let it out. If you do so, it will help. You can trust me, milord."

Something he said clicked within the Sith Lord's mind, and he calmed immediately. "I trust you."

Tarkin smiled. "Then tell me."

Vader's eyes flickered from the grand moff to anywhere else, and he shook his head. "I don't know."

Tarkin held back a sigh of annoyance. "You can't describe anything?" When the Sith remained silent, he asked, "How long did it take for you to kill her? When did you follow your orders?"

"I…" Vader hesitated, looking at his feet. His hands fiddled with his tunic. "I… waited a few hours."

"Normally you fulfill his orders immediately," Tarkin noted pointedly. "Why did you delay?"

"I don't know."

"Milord," Tarkin stepped towards him, making Vader look him in the eye. "You _know_."

Vader took a step away from him, panic steadily growing in his eyes. "I… no. I have no wants, nothing. I have _nothing_."

"People who have nothing often want _something_," Tarkin noted, adding, "Force knows you deserve it."

"D-deserve?" The word seemed almost foreign to the apprentice.

"The senator seemed to think so," Tarkin said, his smile returning. Yes, this was the bait that she'd used on the boy. It seemed to be working splendidly for him as well. "As I recall, you said she thought you were worth the effort. I suppose she thought you… _deserved_ her notice."

Vader almost latched onto the concept, but then something grew in him, and he balled his fists, storming by the governor. "She made her choice."

Intrigued, Tarkin followed him. "Her choice?"

"She chose Éothen."

"You killed her out of jealousy?"

"I killed her because Master told me to." Vader snapped, stopping. "Those were my orders. Kill her. I killed her. _I killed her_—what _more_ do you want me to say?!"

"I want you to say why it bothers you," Tarkin answered firmly.

Before the Sith Lord could speak, another sound pierced the air. Both men jumped, glancing around, and Tarkin eventually recognized the noise just as the thing producing it came into view. A little girl was wandering around, her red pudgy face covered in tears as she wailed. Amidst the slobbering sobs the grand moff could make out that the girl was crying for her parents, who she'd apparently lost in the maze. Irritation coursed through him; of all the blasted interruptions, it had to be a pathetic _youngling_ squealing? He had neither patience nor tolerance for younglings; it was one of the main reasons he'd been fairly distant to Vader before he'd become interesting.

The distraction served Vader's purposes well, considering he took the opportunity to turn away and compose himself. Tarkin saw the cracked pieces of his usual façade come back into place, and in less than a minute he was the cold, heartless Lord of the Sith the Empire knew him to be. The governor grew even more frustrated, particularly as the girl waddled closer to them.

Just as Tarkin was going to speak to the brat, Vader opened his mouth first. He'd done a remarkable job of finally calming himself, and if it hadn't been for their previous conversation the grand moff wouldn't be any the wiser about his emotional problems. "If you're attempting to get your parents' attention, you should widen your search radius."

Exasperation flooded the grand moff. Honestly, if there was one person even _less_ equipped to deal with younglings, it was Darth Vader. As it was, the girl didn't heed his advice anyway, still screaming as loudly as possible. Tarkin was debating how best to shut her up and find her parents so they could resume their conversation when he felt the hairs on his body stand on edge. A crackling sound emitted from beside him, and when he glanced he saw Vader holding some electricity in his hands, ready to strike. The grand moff grew alarmed and immediately grabbed the man's wrist. "Milord, no."

Vader looked at him curiously. "She's not listening. She should be punished."

Several images of a bloody, broken boy flashed through Tarkin's mind before he hastily shoved them down. "_Killing_ her does not let her learn the lesson."

"She won't die." Vader noted. Before Tarkin could argue further the man realized something and the electricity vanished. "I understand. People are delicate."

Tarkin ignored the remark and focused on the girl. The sooner he could get rid of her the better. "Where did you last see your parents, youngling?"

The girl tried to answer but was sobbing too much to do so. Attempting to hide his irritation, Tarkin instead turned it into a learning opportunity. Facing the Sith apprentice, he motioned to the girl. "Let this be a lesson, milord. Pacify her _without_ harming her."

At the very least, this would be entertaining. More importantly, it would give Tarkin time to strategize on the conversation to come.

Darth Vader glanced at the girl before looking curiously back at Tarkin. Eventually he sighed and stepped towards her, towering over her. "Stop crying."

Now, where should he start once the brat was gone? He'd have to attack more directly, but he had to be careful. His main goal was to ensure Vader could function again, that he could get rid of the flashbacks he'd apparently been having. Tarkin recalled briefly back in the Clone Wars that he'd once passed a briefing room filled with soldiers suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, and a counselor had been in there talking to them. Group therapy sessions were the best the Republic could offer, and even then they were rare. What was it that the counselor had been saying? Tarkin honestly couldn't remember; he hadn't been particularly interested in the conversation at the time.

"I said _stop crying_."

Well, if he couldn't remember what the counselor had said then he'd have to try another approach. Had he himself ever had a traumatic incident where he'd received unwelcome flashbacks? Tarkin honestly couldn't recall any sort of scenario; even when he'd been held prisoner back in the war it hadn't left him too scarred. If he ever had some sort of unbidden thought he'd quickly let his current duties sweep it away. He just never let anything _bother_ him that much; he was never invested in anything or anyone but himself, after all.

"I—I-I w-want my m-mommy-y-y!"

"Simply stating that isn't going to bring her. You have to search for her."

He supposed he could just try to mentally beat the flashbacks out of the boy. It didn't make sense to tell him to simply think about his current duty instead, however, because honestly, his current mission _revolved_ around the senator. Apart from that, he had nothing else to do, nothing else to occupy his mind.

"I—want—my—mommy!"

"I _just said_—"

"MOMMY! DADDY!"

Perhaps _that_ was what Tarkin could do for him, then. He'd wanted Vader to face the matter fully, but it seemed that doing so might cause physical harm to people, most notably Tarkin himself. The possibility of this evening was both an opportunity and a concern, then; Vader might take to the task well, using it as a distraction, or he might falter…

_Thud_.

Tarkin blinked, focusing once more and looking to his right where Vader had been talking to the girl. The young Sith stood over the girl, who was lying prone on the ground. Alarm spiked through him, and he took a hasty step forward until he saw the girl's back rise and fall. He looked at Vader. "What the blazes did you do?"

"I pacified her," Vader replied, glancing at Tarkin calmly. "She's unharmed."

Turning, the Sith Lord walked in another direction. Tarkin looked between him and the unconscious girl and sighed heavily, scooping the youngling into his arms. "We can't just leave her here, milord. We have to find her parents."

The apprentice flicked his wrist sharply and the girl awoke with a scream, making Tarkin jump and almost drop her. When he looked up to ask the Sith why the blazes he'd startled her awake, the man was gone.

* * *

The day was a relatively sunny one, bringing warmth to the air around him. Birds chirped in the distance, and the sound of a small waterfall cascading down different levels of a cliff side made itself known whenever the birds were silent. The large circular building that served as the main council chamber was a little stuffy, but open windows provided a breeze that brought some relief. Twelve chairs faced the center of the circle, but only two of them were occupied as Qui-Gon entered the room.

Jedi Masters Shaak Ti and Mace Windu stood when he approached. The three were the only remaining Masters from the Order before the Republic fell, and though Qui-Gon refused to sit on the new Council, he still spoke often with them.

"What's the situation with the Imperial fleet?" Qui-Gon asked.

"They left Wild Space; they weren't anywhere near us," Mace replied, and though the news was good, his expression was stony. He didn't think this was a reprieve, and he didn't like the situation. Qui-Gon didn't either; long ranged scanners had picked up on a large fleet lingering in Wild Space a few days ago, and though Mace had just said the fleet had left, it seemed only a matter of time before the Empire discovered the enclave.

"Have we looked at the possibility of new locations?" Qui-Gon asked, regarding Shaak Ti. Mace had unofficially become the head of their military forces and consequently his main focus was solely external. Shaak, on the other hand, had been tasked with caring for all the Jedi in the enclave and overseeing their training. There were only roughly a couple hundred people here, which seemed miniscule in comparison to what their numbers used to be, but it was still a decent amount, and it kept her quite busy.

"The Council is to decide on that later today," she replied. "It's likely we'll send out several Master/Padawan teams to find a suitable place, but we don't want to attract too much attention."

Qui-Gon sighed. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. The Jedi were supposed to have eliminated Darth Vader and proceeded to Coruscant in the chaos that would have ensued. That plan had fallen to pieces after Rahm's and Galen's deaths. So what were they going to do? "And the Rebels?"

"You say they've found a planet for their base?" Mace reiterated Qui-Gon's earlier report, which he had obtained from Almusian the day of the smuggler's departure. "We can't join them immediately, unfortunately. First we have to assess the threat that the Empire presents to us personally, and we have to ensure the safety of the enclave. Then we can go to Hoth." He paused for a moment before adding, "Consequently, we have to reassess the situation with Darth Vader."

"Is it wise to be attacking him so soon after our loss?" Shaak questioned with concern.

"We don't have much time to waste," Mace replied. "His forces took a hit after that battle. If we wait too long, Death Squadron will be fully operational once more, and at this point we don't have the resources to handle that. I can't risk my fleet; it's the only one we have left, apart from a couple of salvaged frigates that serve as orbital protection for the enclave."

"Would it be prudent to even face his entire fleet at this point, then?" Qui-Gon asked. "Our window of opportunity is quickly closing, and now we have to worry about the possibility of the Empire discovering the enclave."

"I understand that," Mace sighed, gazing outside the windows. His frustration rippled through the Force briefly, interrupting the calm aura that blanketed the enclave, but he released it into the Force with a small nod of his head. "The Rebel Alliance took an enormous hit, and we're down one fleet. This would usually be the time to rebuild and heal, but they're still coming after us. They won't relent, and we've already made our presence known. Palpatine won't wait for us to grow strong once more. We have to act now; we have to face Vader."

"How?"

Mace turned and looked at Qui-Gon. "I understand that your new initiates have dealt with him. We don't even have a visual ID on the man, Qui-Gon; gather what you can from them."

"They weren't trained when they interacted with him," Qui-Gon reminded him. "They'll only be able to tell us the superficial details."

"Perhaps a meditative session can help us all view their memories of him," Shaak suggested.

Qui-Gon sighed, shaking his head. "I don't think that will work for some time. Obi-Wan is taking to meditation rather well, but Siri is fighting it. She will come around, but it'll take time, and neither is skilled enough to handle sharing memories with us."

"Then you'll have to find out the old fashioned way," Mace pressed on relentlessly. "Ask them for what they know about Vader. We'll have to formulate a new strategy on how to eliminate him, and their information will be beneficial to that plan."

Qui-Gon bowed. "Yes, Master."

Leaving the building, Qui-Gon squinted slightly against the sunlight and pondered the matter. He'd wondered if he would run into Vader on Coruscant, but that hadn't been the case, and he still wasn't sure if what he'd been sensing on that planet was purely Palpatine's doing or a conglomeration of everything that had gone wrong over the years. The Dark Side had clouded his mind so thoroughly while there that he hadn't even sensed the danger Amidala had been in until it was too late. Sighing, he released that particular frustration and loss into the Force; feeling guilty over her death wouldn't bring her back, and it wouldn't help anyone now.

Qui-Gon enveloped himself in the Light Side's warm embrace and took a deep breath, sensing out Obi-Wan and Siri. It was still a little strange to train them now and just look at how much they'd grown since the last time he'd seen them. Their connection to each other was very strong, a bond forged through love, the union of marriage, and through their sensitivity to the Force. In terms of their other abilities, however, they still had a great amount of work to do. Siri was catching on rather quickly to lightsaber combat (at least what little he would allow her to learn – Qui-Gon had been quite adamant that she would go _slowly_ with her lightsaber training due to her pregnancy), and Obi-Wan's strength seemed to be in creating a connection to the Force. They both listened to Jedi teachings and tried to assimilate them, though each had their own quarrels with the matter. Despite all the hurdles they had to overcome, however, they were doing quite well for only having trained barely a week.

Of course, though they opened themselves up to Qui-Gon readily, he could indeed sense that they knew more than they were letting on. He wasn't sure why they would withhold information, but he suspected it was more of a matter of attachment to those involved in the secrets than any actual mistrust towards him. Still, he wasn't sure what they could tell him about Darth Vader that the Jedi couldn't find out through other means apart from a visual ID.

The couple sat near a training stage where some other initiates were practicing with training droids. Siri watched the initiates deflect blaster bolts while Obi-Wan read information from a data pad out loud. As Qui-Gon drew closer he heard the words that were so familiar to him they were ingrained into his soul.

"There is no emotion; there is peace. There is no ignorance; there is knowledge. There is no passion; there is serenity. There is no chaos; there is harmony. There is no death; there is the Force."

"Hm," Siri pondered the matter as Qui-Gon silently approached. "No passion? I take it the Jedi aren't much into partying, then?"

"You'd be surprised," Qui-Gon intoned, startling the two slightly. "It depends on the Jedi."

Obi-Wan and Siri stood and bowed respectfully, to which Qui-Gon nodded in return. Then he said, "The Jedi Code is central to all of our teachings, principles, actions, and beliefs. If you have any questions about it, now is the time to ask."

Siri shrugged. "It's pretty straightforward, honestly."

Obi-Wan, however, gazed thoughtfully into the distance and then looked Qui-Gon in the eye. "Do the Sith have a code?"

"Yes," Qui-Gon replied, pleased with Obi-Wan's curiosity. "Their teachings are opposite to ours. Peace is a lie to them; only passion matters. Their greatest concern is to gain power."

The two looked elsewhere, contemplating the matter in their own ways. Qui-Gon used this as a good opportunity to talk about Vader. "You've met a Sith, you know."

"Vader." Siri spoke the word with contempt, and the Force rippled sharply as she was filled with a fiery hatred for the man.

"Be mindful of your emotions," Qui-Gon warned her gently. "Darth Vader has done many despicable things, but giving in to your anger will only make you similar to him."

"You'd probably be pretty hard pressed to find someone who _doesn't_ hate him, even here," Siri argued in an even tone, her brow furrowed slightly. "Surely you don't feel _nothing_ about the guy."

"The Sith are only out for themselves, and they bring death and destruction to the galaxy. I stand against them," Qui-Gon acknowledged. "But I do not hate them. Letting your emotions guide your decisions leads you down a dark path, one that often leads to anguish and pain."

The Force shuddered sharply, as if it had been pulled back and released and was vibrating in response to the violent action. Obi-Wan shifted slightly in his place, looking uncomfortable and miserable. Qui-Gon folded his arms, studying the young man. Obviously his words had brought forth this reaction; he supposed Obi-Wan was recalling some incident that mirrored the statement. He wouldn't press the matter for now; Obi-Wan seemed agitated enough, and Qui-Gon had to get to the point. He would discuss this particular incident later, perhaps this evening after dinner.

"Know that Darth Vader must be defeated," Qui-Gon finally said. "But do not let hatred consume you. What did he do that garnered such strong feelings from you?"

"His track record isn't exactly the best," Siri said, suddenly closing herself off from the conversation. Through the Force she couldn't hide anything, but Qui-Gon wouldn't enter her mind; he respected her privacy, and she'd sense he was perusing her thoughts. But what was she keeping from him?

"I need you to tell me everything you know about Vader," he told them. "After all, there is no ignorance; there is knowledge. We have to know our enemy before we can face him."

"He's unflappable," Obi-Wan said, his gaze locking on to Qui-Gon. "Nothing can get to him. If the Jedi mantra is about having no emotion, then I'd almost call him a Jedi if it weren't for his actions. But you can't sense the kind of peace from him that you sense here. He's… cold. And manipulative."

This last statement garnered a reaction from Siri, who quickly glanced at Obi-Wan with a sharp gaze. Some unspoken dialogue occurred between the two and the Force rippled once again, and Obi-Wan grew silent. Qui-Gon watched them closely, but he only asked, "What does he look like?"

Siri described him, and as she did so, Obi-Wan slowly walked away from the conversation, sitting off in the distance and focusing on the data pad. He stretched out his hand, focusing on summoning it to him, and the pad trembled a little before lazily floating a few centimeters off the ground. It hovered in place before finally plopping stubbornly into the grass once more, and Obi-Wan sighed irritably. Qui-Gon watched this, but he paid keen attention to Siri, creating a mental picture of the man they would have to face. It was an odd image to make; apparently he didn't have any defining marks to indicate his prestige or status as a Sith apprentice, which added all the more to his mystique – after all, Darth Vader was the strangest Sith anyone had ever heard of. He was ruthless to be sure, but he never did anything outside of his tasks. He did nothing more than what was necessary. It was too ordered, too pristine, too organized. There was no chaos to it, no sadistic pleasure, no _passion_. Vader seemed more like a warped Jedi than an actual Sith, and Siri and Obi-Wan's brief description of him only seemed to add to that. Qui-Gon was interested in meeting this man; he entertained a brief hope that he would be assigned to the team that would engage him.

After Siri finished, Qui-Gon thanked her and glanced briefly at Obi-Wan. Siri ended the conversation there, bowing and saying she and her husband really needed to review the Code, adding that they'd be pretty pathetic Jedi if they couldn't memorize their core beliefs. It was a quick and obvious avoidance of the topic, but they'd provided enough information, so he would bring it up later instead of press the matter now.

Once the Jedi Master left, Siri scooped up the data pad that Obi-Wan had been trying to summon and walked over to him. As she tossed it to her husband, he remarked, "Why did you want me to avoid mentioning that?"

Siri sighed heavily. Obi-Wan had been on the verge of telling Qui-Gon about Vader's manipulation of Padmé, but she'd stopped him. "It's not like that's pertinent to anything anymore."

It was true; Padmé's romantic feelings for Vader didn't matter anymore. She'd been in love with him, but nothing had happened apart from that fact itself. Siri saw no reason to speak ill of the … the… of her _sister-in-law_, particularly since she was still convinced it was one of Padmé's stupidest decisions. It was possible that it led to her downfall as well, though that was probably a mystery that would frustratingly never be solved; Intelligence had been all over the scene when Padmé was found, so the general consensus was that an agent had done the dirty deed. Still, Siri and Obi-Wan both suspected Vader had something to do with it, even if it was just giving the order.

When she was found _murdered_. _Murdered_. Padmé was—Siri shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut, shoving the world shattering fact out of her mind.

"I suppose," Obi-Wan muttered, snapping her out of her internal crisis. He glanced at the data pad once more. "But it isn't wise to keep secrets from him."

"Do you really want the Jedi and the Rebel Alliance to remember Padmé as the woman who is—_was _so hormone driven and idiotic that she fell in love with the Empire's evilest enforcer?" Siri remarked, throwing him a slightly accusatory look. "Do you really want them to think of her as just one more moron who thought she could _fix_ somebody?"

"Padmé could make foolish mistakes, but she was never _hormone driven_ and you know it," Obi-Wan replied somewhat defensively.

"Obi, what else could have caused that? I'm _still_ baffled about it."

Obi-Wan was silent, and for once Siri couldn't read him. He looked concerned, but he was hiding some suspicion even from her. Before she could say anything, he cleared his throat and said, "Come on, let's get back to figuring out the Code."

Siri sighed, watching the other initiates train as her husband read the words once again. Her hand wandered to her abdomen and she touched the Force just enough to sense the baby's presence. With a soft smile, she closed her eyes and calmed herself, pushing the concerns over Padmé and Vader out of her mind. The enclave felt like a strange safe haven from everything, including her own worries. The baby was safe here, her husband was safe here, they were training to become Jedi, and Al would return soon. He _would_.

Even the issue of the Rebels seemed so distant, particularly with the calming presence of so many Jedi defiantly pushing the darkness away. Siri had never really understood what they meant by the Dark Side until she'd come here; it had been like entering a warm, welcoming home after being blind and freezing in a storm for so long.

"There is no emotion; there is peace."

Yes, yes, no emotion. Siri could get behind that – at least she could _try_ to. She would be the first person to admit that she had a temper, but she could try to curb it. Still, even she needed a release, so she hoped the Jedi had a better alternative to getting angry than just _meditating_.

Obi-Wan shifted in place, lowering the data pad to his lap. "If there's no emotion… then is there no love as well?"

Siri looked at him, a little startled. "I should think not. Besides… besides, Qui-Gon had said yesterday that loving is fine, it's just attachment that's a problem."

"Attachment," he muttered, glancing at a small brook that cut through the training grounds. "It's a thin line between loving and attachment, then, isn't it?"

"We can balance it just fine, Obi," Siri smiled, leaning over and kissing him reassuringly.

Obi-Wan received the kiss tenderly, and he smiled in return when she pulled away. Stars it was good to just see him _smile _again – Obi-Wan had never been an overtly emotional man, but she hadn't seen him show any sort of sign of relief, contentment, or happiness since that horrific day. She'd had little relief herself, but here she felt safe, and she was always at home when Obi-Wan was around, so she'd started to shake the shock and rage off of her. Of course that left the pain as well, but she had _him_ and the Jedi and their training, and just the sheer _distance_ between Ghanu'jivo and all the hell occurring in the galaxy. It was enough to let her not worry about it constantly, to not _remember_ it… but then her mind found other ways to occupy itself; she'd been up practically all night thinking about Al, but she knew he'd be safe. He _had_ to be safe.

Obi-Wan's eyes briefly looked somewhere beyond Siri, and then they twinkled with dry amusement. "Careful, dear; I think you're scandalizing the locals."

Siri looked and saw a few initiates watching in horror at such a display of affection and she had to laugh. "Sensitive little things, aren't they?"

"Naïve," Obi-Wan corrected with gentle humor.

Siri gazed back at her husband once more and she placed her hand on his thigh to get his attention. When their eyes locked, she gave him a reassuring smile. "Obi… you're okay, right? I mean, I got to let it out yesterday… if you want to talk…"

Obi-Wan rarely showed his inner turmoil to anyone, but after they'd married he'd been far more trusting and open to Siri. The past few days, however, he'd been acting as if the years of helping each other through their weakest, darkest points hadn't even happened; he used the same politeness, poise, and control around her that he used with anyone else. Sure, he was more affectionate with her, but he hadn't been _open_. It wasn't upsetting her, but it _was_ worrying her – he had to have a release, and she was sick of leaning on him constantly. She wanted to help him.

Obi-Wan swallowed. One of his cheeks tightened slightly, and his eyebrow twitched - telltale signs that he wanted to say _something_, but for the life of her, Siri couldn't figure out what it was. She could normally read him better than this; it seemed that he was learning proper Jedi decorum, but he was learning how to shut even _her_ out, not just strangers. Before she could say anything, he picked up the data pad once more. "Yes, let's talk about this Code, shall we? After all, it says there is no ignorance, and heaven knows we have a lot to learn about the Jedi Order."

Siri was far too stubborn and knew her husband too well to let him slip out of it that easily. "Yeah, sure, let's talk about the Code. Does it mention how you're not supposed to lie to those you trust? Or how you're not supposed to keep secrets from them?"

"I'm fairly certain the Code doesn't mention that specifically," Obi-Wan replied dully, stiffening slightly and turning his attention towards the pad. "But we can look it up."

"_Obi-Wan."_

"There is _no_ emotion, Siri." Obi-Wan said firmly, his eyes closing tightly. "There is _peace_."

_Let it go_. Siri sighed heavily, relenting. Fine. She wouldn't push the matter. For now. "Yeah, and there's no something else, too… passion, I think?"

"Yes."

"There is no passion; there is wide-eyed naïveté and a lack of spunk and life altogether."

"_Siri."_ Slight exasperation, but tinged with amusement. Good.

"Forgive me, oh mighty Padawan," Siri bowed to him in an exaggerated fashion. "There is serenity. And then a whole bunch of other stuff that I can't remember."

Obi-Wan sighed heavily. "We have a lot to learn."

* * *

Tarkin was often too busy planning and maintaining things to really look over his life in general, but sometimes in moments of sheer frustration and exasperation he would wonder how in all his years of military and political prestige he'd end up in the most absurd situations. Wandering around the park, hopelessly lost – in the maze he'd _specifically chosen_ to guide Vader – with a _screaming_ _youngling_ just happened to be one of those absurd situations, and his patience was running thin _very _quickly. Honestly, the only reason Tarkin was a married man was because his wife held political power and riches necessary to further his position – he was _not_ a family man, and he was most certainly not a _fatherly_ man. He had no tolerance for younglings – they were chaotic, noisy, needy, and just _impossible_ to deal with. That's what sitters were for, or, even better, _droids_.

Besides, he already had a youngling to look after, and _that_ one wasn't nearly as irritating. And he actually served a useful purpose.

After what felt like an eternity, the grand moff ran into a frantic looking mother and was happily relieved of his slobbering, noisy burden. As soon as he got away from the brat's wailing, he grabbed his comlink and called Vader, who subsequently didn't answer. Tarkin allowed himself an uncustomary growl of annoyance since he was alone, and he proceeded to search the maze for the next hour and a half before finally running into the Sith apprentice.

Vader was sitting at the edge of the maze, having found the exit. He gazed off into the distance, lost in thought as he observed some waterfalls in another part of the bio-dome. Tarkin crossed his arms irritably. "I called you several times, Lord Vader."

The young Sith either didn't hear him or was ignoring him. In either case, he looked dazed, as if something about the waterfalls put him under some sort of spell and he was completely lost in thought.

Tarkin cleared his throat. _"Milord."_

Vader jumped slightly, startled out of his musings, and he stood. He offered a tip of his head to the grand moff, saying nothing.

"What have you been doing for the past few hours?" Tarkin demanded, making his displeasure at Vader's actions quite evident.

"Walking," he answered, and Tarkin felt his irritation diffuse a little. Was he actually doing his usual morning routine? If that was the case, then he should be more stable than he was before… so why had he not noticed Tarkin's approach?

The grand moff's musings were interrupted when he felt his stomach grumble in protest. Sighing heavily, he checked his chronometer and wasn't surprised to see that it was already midday. Bidding the Sith Lord follow him, the grand moff exited the maze and walked around its perimeter, not keen on getting lost once again. The two trudged along in silence, one too exhausted to bring anything up while Force only knew what was going on in the other's mind. In either case, from what little observation Tarkin was making, it seemed that Darth Vader wasn't as distracted as he had been. Instead he just seemed out of it entirely; he paid attention to nothing at all, which was in contrast to his earlier behavior where anything and everything seemed to bother him.

Tarkin recalled where their conversation had been interrupted, but he waited for them to get some food before he brought anything else up. The grand moff was tempted to take Vader to the Crystal City, but despite the exclusivity and privacy of the booths, they still had to walk by everyone there to reach that point. Tarkin had no intention of making a spectacle of Darth Vader until he was convinced the man could handle it; the gala tonight would be enough of a trial.

The two headed into the safety of the palace, and Vader visibly relaxed as soon as they passed the threshold. Without having to prompt him the Sith Lord headed straight for the dining hall, and they sat together. Servants were already prepared for the lunch crowd and brought out the usual delicacies, though it was a special treat for Tarkin since he normally took lunch near the senate or his office at the naval base.

As Tarkin pondered how best to reopen their previous conversation, Vader suddenly spoke. "Governor, why do people hug each other?"

Tarkin blinked. What sort of random question was that? This _had_ to do with the senator. "Typically it's to show affection."

"Is affection reassuring?"

"It can be," the governor replied, leaning back in his seat and studying the Sith apprentice carefully. Where was he going with this?

"Is it only done on Naboo?"

"People all over the galaxy give hugs, milord," Tarkin said, feeling extremely odd and silly saying such a thing at any time, let alone while they sat in the palace.

"But not here."

Was he trying to talk about the emperor? "It's unprofessional."

"It's a sign of weakness." Vader immediately surmised. He stared sternly at his food and stabbed unnecessarily hard at some meat.

"Yes," Tarkin acknowledged slowly.

The Sith was unnervingly quiet after that, so Tarkin decided to turn the bizarre conversation in his favor. "Speaking of weaknesses, we still have to handle your issues with your recent mission."

"The senator… the senator was weak." Vader said before Tarkin could continue. "M… The emperor wanted her dead. It's done. My mission is complete. I've no need to dwell on it."

Tarkin watched him suspiciously. Either that time alone in the maze had done him wonders or he was lying. Honestly, either was a possibility at this point; Vader typically had little reason or concern to lie about anything to Tarkin, but it made sense that he would hide something he would view as a weakness… but it was also likely (though probably not _as_ likely) that, with the time alone, he'd not only done his usual rituals but also pondered more on Tarkin's words and finally reached some resolution. But what about Tarkin's suggestions about Palpatine's weakness? He wouldn't bring it up now; such things required time and calculation, not sloppy impatience, but he had to bring it up again soon to ensure it stuck in the young Sith's mind, particularly as Tarkin's plans progressed.

Well, in either case, if the man seemed ready, it was time to put him to the test… and time to _finally_ start their training. Tarkin could plant more seeds into Vader's mind this evening. "I'm glad you've sorted it out, then. If that's settled, we have to get to more important matters, namely your training. The emperor wishes for me to teach you how to better manipulate your foes and how to handle those who would manipulate you in return. To that effect, you're joining me at a gala tonight. I'll send you information about it in a few hours. The most powerful and prestigious members of Imperial society will be there, so be prepared. I will accompany you, and an associate of mine will serve as your escort."

The idea of a training mission made Vader straighten, and his cold blue eyes brightened. He took a deep breath and nodded, rising. Tarkin didn't bother pointing out that he'd barely eaten; that issue could be rectified at the gala. Now it was just time to return to his quarters and recharge; he could handle his usual duties all day long, he could even juggle dealing with tiresome senators, blast, he could even tolerate being head of the military and having to constantly be in contact with Intelligence and the navy and the army – but dealing with an emotionally unstable Darth Vader for just a few hours was more exhausting than all of those tasks combined. As such, he drank up the solitude, finishing his food and returning to his apartment.

Tarkin didn't realize how tired he actually was until he passed out on his sofa. When he finally started awake he immediately looked at his chronometer and discovered that he'd been out for about four hours. The gala would start shortly, and he had to meet up with his spy before then. Standing, he gave himself a minute to just breathe, relax, and enjoy the silence before he hastened to his room and dressed in formal attire. Tarkin didn't have to dress excessively; he simply wore his formal military uniform, which was a white tunic that almost reached his knees, white pants, black tall boots, and gold epaulets on his shoulders. He gauged the weather outside by testing the air on his balcony and figured it was prudent to grab a robe, so he completed the ensemble with a black cloak lined with gold cloth on the inside. Clipping the cloak closed at his neck, he contacted his spy and set off to meet her at the Crystal City; they had more than just the gala to discuss.

When he arrived he was quickly shone to a private booth and his spy arrived shortly after. She was dressed casually, waiting for him to assign her an identity. Before he concerned himself with that, however, he immediately asked, "How are affairs on Eriadu?"

"Quiet and under control, sir," she replied immediately.

Tarkin nodded. Good. That's how they needed to stay until it was the right time. "Now, about the gala, Lord Vader will know you are Intelligence, but everyone else… we will keep them unaware. You may choose your identity as it pleases you, so long as you and Lord Vader can agree on your cover stories."

"Will Lord Vader be inventing his own identity, or will that be at your discretion, sir?" she asked.

"Lord Vader will be a distant cousin of mine," Tarkin explained dismissively. His family was large enough that it was plausible; the Tarkin name had considerable clout and size on Eriadu. "He recently arrived on Imperial Center and I figured I'd let him accompany me to the gala so he can experience the… delights of high society."

"Perhaps it would be best if I accompanied as his wife," the spy suggested, tilting her head to the side. "It would avoid the flirtatious nonsense associated with the youth of high society, sir."

Tarkin almost laughed at the idea of _anyone_ assuming Vader would flirt with anybody. Then he shuddered at the thought of Vader having a spouse – Force forbid the emperor thought of furthering the family line anytime soon… though that would be inevitable, he supposed. Even Tarkin had that duty, though he barely spent enough time with his wife to do so; he hadn't seen the woman in almost two years.

"Very well," he finally acknowledged. "I will send the basic information to Lord Vader and give you his comm. frequency; you two can collaborate on the details. I'll send time and coordinates so we can meet before we leave."

The spy nodded and stood, saluting him before departing. Tarkin sighed, leaning back in the booth. Tonight was going to be interesting – at best it would be enlightening for Vader, at worst… well, hopefully at worst it would be _extremely_ entertaining.

* * *

**I was actually going to include the gala in this chapter but things got way too long so I figured this was a good spot to cut it off. I hope you all can bear with me - the pacing will be slow at first, mainly because I figured both the readers and (especially) the characters needed a breather after the insanity of chapter 30, but also because since this is the start of part 2 I'm building up for what's to come. Don't worry, things will go bonkers very shortly.**

**Since I'm not sure when the next update will be, here's a little semi-sneak peek into the next chapter: Al finally finishes his mission, Vader Tarkin &amp; spy go to the gala and hijinks ensue, Obi meets Mace Windu, Éothen &amp; crew reappear, things get messy for one of our intrepid Sithies, and Tarkin makes a decision that causes quite the cascade of events!**

**Fun fact: Odeki's alias, Oki, is a shout out to ruth baulding's _The Hatchling_; if you love Obi-Wan centric stories, you will _adore_ that fic. **


	33. Murders, Mysteries, and Cover Ups

**Thank you all so much for the reviews! And GALAXY, I keep forgetting to answer your question, sorry - I don't mind taking requests once in a while, but I don't make any guarantees on writing them within any reasonable amount of time, lol. Remember that it took me _years_ to write this story, which had started out as a oneshot request.**

**Sorry for any typos; I started writing this and just couldn't stop, but now I'm exhausted, lol, so I barely edited it. Enjoy! :)**

* * *

The city lights made the buildings glow, though none as brightly as the palace itself. The air was humid and warm, and a slight breeze brought some relief. Tarkin crossed his arms, waiting at one of the palace's many hangars. He was rather worn out from his day with Vader, so he really didn't dedicate his time to thinking about how to manipulate the gala to his favor. Instead, he rested against the wall, gazing out at the city and letting himself just not think about anything in particular. His mind eventually wandered to the incident of the Jedi in the lower levels; Intelligence still was showing no sign of the Jedi apart from the feed that indicated a Jedi might have been in the alley where the strike team attacked. Tarkin was still unnerved that a Jedi had managed to get to Imperial Center, and that it had most likely been the aide his spy had fought. It was no wonder she'd had a hard time.

Tarkin heard the door to the hangar open and he stood straight, turning to face the entrance. Darth Vader and his spy were walking towards him, both dressed in formal attire for the event. Vader wore a black shirt under a black sleeveless tunic that reached his knees, black pants and shoes, and a long dark cape that flowed all the way to the floor. As was typical for Core World formal attire, he also wore gloves. Tarkin dully wondered if the man ever wore anything apart from black, but he pushed the thought aside. His spy wore a green strapless gown encrusted with silver jewels in the bodice. She wore a green choker, which had silk attached to it, flowing down and around her like a cape, and white elbow length gloves. Her long straight black hair was in a bun, and her small eyes immediately locked onto the grand moff as they approached. Both bowed to Tarkin, one from the waist and the other from the neck.

"I see you two have made your arrangements," Tarkin said, noting the defining mark on their foreheads; both Vader and his spy had painted the same calligraphy in High Galactic, as was tradition for married couples on Eriadu. The mark was small, but noticeable enough; the calligraphy was intricate and resembled a circle with a line through it. The word, barely legible due to its miniscule size, was _rruthia_, which was High Galactic for _union_. All married individuals on Eriadu typically wore the mark, especially for formal events, but Tarkin often forewent the tradition since he rarely saw his wife and those outside of his planet wouldn't understand the ritual, anyway. For a couple fresh from Eriadu, however, it would be automatic to wear the mark; the two had put enough consideration into their cover stories, then. Good.

"We're quite excited to go, dear cousin," his spy replied, smiling cheerfully. Tarkin marveled at the woman's ability to slip into an alias. When he directed his attention to Vader, he saw the young Sith glance at his "wife" and look to the grand moff expectantly, silently asking if they were going to leave now.

"Yes, you seem to be," Tarkin remarked dryly, raising an eyebrow at Vader. The boy needed to get into his role now, not at the gala.

Vader looked hesitantly at the spy once more and then his eyes locked with Tarkin's, almost pleadingly. He didn't like this. Tarkin hardened his gaze. He didn't care.

The young Sith's eyes flashed and then his face grew unreadable. He took a deep breath and nodded. "We're ready when you are, cousin."

The grand moff immediately recognized that Vader had changed his accent to match Palpatine's and his own. He hadn't heard the boy speak in a Coruscanti accent in a few years, so it was almost jarring to hear it. It used to be the boy's native accent, but when he was a teenager (blast, he was _still_ a teenager) he'd switched to a general Basic accent – it allowed him more flexibility in conversations with others since they wouldn't automatically know where he was from; anyone who learned Basic as a second language spoke with a general accent, and even those whose native tongue was Basic would often have it as well. A Coruscanti accent, on the other hand, denoted good breeding and education, and it was often used with different variations by the natives of a handful of Core Worlds, especially Imperial Center.

Tarkin looked at his spy, and she offered a miniscule nod; she'd take care of Vader so Tarkin wouldn't have to babysit him. The grand moff then nodded and motioned towards a shuttle that had been waiting for them. The three boarded and sat, facing each other. The shuttle then departed, heading towards the gala. Tarkin examined his 'relatives' once more; his spy watched the city lights, her face steadily softening in quiet amazement, like any other newcomer. Vader, on the other hand, sat with his eyes closed, and his muscles relaxed save for the occasional twitch of his hands. The grand moff decided not to say anything; it wouldn't surprise anyone if Vader and his wife seemed distant from each other, so he wouldn't insist on any sort of behavioral change unless Vader grew too stand offish. He just hoped the Sith apprentice could maintain the façade of someone fresh from Eriadu; most members of Tarkin's family had some degree of military and political training, so it should be a relatively easy role for Vader to fill, but he was also a young aristocrat, so there were certain expectations he'd have to fulfill, especially at a social event. Vader had never been one for small talk, and in situations like this, it was _all about_ the small talk and what someone could infuse into it. This night was a lesson on subtlety; hopefully the boy would catch on to it.

The gala was being held near the Senate District in some expensive venue that Tarkin had never been to. The landing pad was relatively large, and as the three disembarked Tarkin glanced around the area. Golden and blue carpeting led from the pad to a cavernous hallway flanked by curved pillars leading outdoors. After walking in the windy hallway for some time, they climbed a spiral staircase, which led to a large foyer filled with intricate paintings, floating chandeliers, a plethora of flora flanking the walls, and burly security guards standing at the opposite end of the room, allowing a line of guests in after they ensured the guests were on the invitation list. Tarkin heard music playing in the room beyond the foyer and he took the lead, watching as the couple followed behind him. Vader held his left hand out to his side just below shoulder height, palm facing the floor. The spy rested her gloved hand atop his, as was customary for couples in the Core Worlds – most physical contact, certainly amongst strangers, was frowned upon in upper circles, a habit that trickled down to most citizens of Imperial Center due to its high population density; familiarity, therefore, was often deduced simply by how two people physically interacted with one another. Since Vader and Tarkin's spy were technically married for this cover story, the two were allowed to touch, though it was in a stiffly formal manner due to the setting. Tarkin had a suspicion that Vader was secretly grateful for that.

The grand moff presented his invitation to the guards and indicated that Vader and his spy were relatives and his guests. The guards examined the couple, and one of them stepped forward in a slightly threatening manner, simply to show his superiority. His spy, who he quickly learned was named Mya Tarkin (since she introduced herself that way) for this mission, shrank closer to her husband, nervous. Her husband, however, stood tall and even stiffened at the threatening gesture, narrowing his eyes in a warning. Tarkin prayed the boy would keep it together; these guards were simply grunts and were sizing him up. He _didn't_ need to make himself a threat in this scenario.

After a few tense seconds the guards allowed them to pass, though Vader's eyes burned through the one who had approached him. Tarkin released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and they finally reached the event. The gala was taking place in a large ballroom. Monumental semicircular windows lined both walls, providing a panoramic view of the city. Tables were scattered throughout most of the room, though there was space reserved for a dance floor and a stage with a band at the far end of the room. Tarkin immediately recognized many senators and a handful of military officials who he'd 'befriended' over the past few weeks. One, Grand Admiral Ran, saw the grand moff and approached him with a broad smile. The man was in charge of several systems' worth of fleets in the western Outer Rim, which had been quite the hotspot for Rebel activity before the Alliance had been trampled into nothingness. As such, the man commanded many fleets and was a force to be reckoned with… and he was in Tarkin's pocket. Most importantly, though, he had been recently promoted and therefore had never met Darth Vader.

"Grand Moff Tarkin," he acknowledged with a simple nod, being of equal rank. "I didn't expect to see you here this evening."

"I surprised myself," Tarkin replied with a nod in return. "I figured I could show my cousin the best Imperial Center has to offer. May I present to you Nydo Tarkin and his wife, Mya."

Vader and his spy stepped forward slightly and bowed from the waist, showing due respect to a superior. The grand admiral smiled and tipped his head in acknowledgement. "Well, more Tarkins grace Imperial Center. I'm pleased to meet anyone who is part of that esteemed family. Is this your first time here?"

Tarkin's spy allowed Vader a few seconds to answer, and the boy rose to the challenge. Softening his face, Vader said, "Yes."

And that was it.

"It's a beautiful city," the spy quickly added with a smile. "I've never seen such amazing architecture – and such a vast skyline!"

"It really does take your breath away," the grand admiral acknowledged politely. Tarkin glared at Vader outside of the grand admiral's view, urging him to act kriffing _normal_.

The boy noticed his scrutiny and piped in. "How are affairs in your sector, grand admiral?"

The officer shrugged. "Quiet, thankfully. With the Alliance destroyed there isn't much for me to worry about anymore. But military affairs are boring for a night such as this. Tell me, Nydo: what do you do?"

Oh, _this_ would be interesting.

"I command the Besh Company of the Eriadu militia." Vader answered automatically, adding, "Military affairs are never boring."

"Ah, a fellow officer," the grand admiral acknowledged, obviously pleased with the news. "Any family that raises its members in the military is obviously a good, strong family. I'm constantly impressed by the Tarkin clan. What's your rank?"

"Captain."

"So where's my salute, captain?" Ran asked wryly, clearly enjoying his superiority over Vader.

The Sith Lord hesitated for an instant before offering the salute automatically. "Sorry, sir."

"You're excused, captain," Ran replied cheerfully. "I'm sure the city's overwhelming you, as it is. Eriadu isn't much compared to Imperial Center."

An awkward pause followed. Vader didn't take the bait, watching the grand admiral. Tarkin bit his tongue in an attempt to prevent himself from groaning.

"I take it you're a native to this city, then?" his spy asked, rescuing them all from the sudden halt in the conversation.

"Yes," Ran nodded. "I've lived here all my life. Best city in the galaxy."

"It certainly seems to be," she acknowledged and then looked at Vader. "Don't you think so, dear?"

Vader looked at the spy and nodded.

_Speak_, _idiot_. Tarkin nearly hissed through his clenched teeth, but he was fairly certain the boy somehow heard him… or sensed his frustration.

"Yes, it's… useful." He remarked.

"Useful?" Ran repeated politely, questioning him further.

Tarkin clasped his hands behind his back, trying to make his smile _not_ look strained.

"Yes, useful," Vader said slightly louder, as if Ran had only repeated it because he hadn't heard him.

"You'll have to forgive him; he hasn't been exposed to much outside of military encampments," Tarkin finally stepped in. "His wife has seen more travel than he."

Ran chuckled. "I see. Well, I hope you all enjoy the gala. It was a pleasure to meet you."

Vader and Tarkin's spy bowed and Tarkin nodded as the man left. Then he turned to the Sith apprentice. "Milord, you have to _act normal_. That _includes_ small talk."

"What's the objective of this mission?" Vader asked softly. "What am I trying to glean from these people?"

"You're trying to convince them that you are who I say you are," Tarkin answered, exasperated. "If you can manage _that_, I'll consider it a miracle."

Vader let out a small sigh through his nose, clearly growing frustrated. "They expect pointless, inane chatter from me. I don't do that."

"You're correct; _you_ don't do small talk," Tarkin noted pointedly. "But my cousin _does_."

Vader's lip curled slightly in distaste before his face grew unreadable again. Tarkin, too exhausted from dealing with the man all day, didn't bother helping him any further. Instead, he motioned to his spy. "Ask _your wife_ about blending in. I'm going to get some refreshments and mingle on my own."

At that, the grand moff left, relieved to _not_ have to babysit the Sith Lord… though his stomach still churned with anxiety. Vader had better do what he was supposed to.

* * *

The air was chilly, and the wind tore through his robes and straight to his bones. The trees rustled in the breeze, and the babbling brook was the only other sound apart from a gentle hiss of nighttime insects.

Another breeze, harsher than before, made him shiver, and he squeezed his eyes closed, tightening his grip on his knees as he sat cross legged on the grass. Obi-Wan had been training with Siri earlier when she'd finally called it a night, exhausted. They hadn't done their evening meditation yet, but Siri had been too tired to bother, and Obi-Wan was _still_ trying to do it. Without Qui-Gon's guidance, he had a hard time entering meditation. He could sense everything around him, but he couldn't _focus_ on it; whenever he tried, it would slip between his fingers like water. The Force was ever flowing, and Obi-Wan was just lost in the midst of it, trying to grasp something that he still didn't understand.

Sighing heavily, Obi-Wan stood and walked towards the brook. It was after midnight; most of the initiates were asleep. The training grounds were abandoned. As Obi-Wan sat beside the brook and gazed into the flowing water, he tried to figure out how he was supposed to do this. How he was supposed to do _any_ of it. The longer he stayed on Ghanu'jivo, the stranger he felt. He felt safe with the Jedi, yet he felt cut off from the galaxy. He liked being isolated from the galaxy, yet he knew he couldn't run from all the problems he'd left behind. He wanted to rejoin the Rebels, yet he couldn't face the reality of who wouldn't be there. He missed his family, yet he knew they were safer away from him. He loved feeling the Force around him, yet he hated combat training. He loved that he and Siri could connect in deeper ways, yet he worried about her all the more whenever he saw her pick up a training saber. He loved his wife, yet he couldn't be attached to her. He was scared he wouldn't find the balance between love and attachment.

He was just scared in general. And he knew he shouldn't be.

_There is no emotion; there is peace._ He shouldn't be afraid. He should just do what he had to do and let everything else take care of itself, let the _Force_ take care of it. _Do or do not. There is no try._ That was another popular teaching among the Jedi, apparently, and it dug into him, demanding perfection. You either succeeded or you failed. Or perhaps he should look at it in another manner altogether.

"There is no emotion," he whispered to himself, dipping his fingertips into the brook as he contemplated the words. They were so simple, but they meant _so much_; to not have emotion… to not allow oneself to feel anything… it was a massive commitment they were undertaking, and they'd just thrown themselves into it so quickly. Padmé had barely been gone for a week and they were already on Ghanu'jivo casting their old lives away and donning Jedi robes. He wasn't sure if it was the right decision, but he wasn't really sure there was a better one. He wasn't even sure if he regretted it.

He wasn't sure of anything anymore.

At least Qui-Gon was helpful and reassuring. The man's calming presence soothed Obi-Wan's rattled nerves, and his maverick nature appealed to Siri, so they all got along well. Qui-Gon was largely responsible for their relatively smooth transition into their training.

_No emotion… there is no emotion…_ those words were _bugging_ him, nagging at something in the back of his mind, some distant memory that he couldn't quite grasp. It had bothered him earlier when Qui-Gon had asked about Darth Vader. Obi-Wan had hesitated, he'd allowed Siri to dictate what would and wouldn't be said, but he still wasn't sure if she'd been right. Padmé's feelings for Darth Vader may have been a blight on her good judgment, but they had to _signify_ something; simply saying Darth Vader was manipulative didn't describe it enough, didn't emphasize just _how_ influential he could be.

Wait.

"_Darth Vader was raised to think he was nothing more than a tool for the emperor. He has no opinion of himself, and I don't mean he thinks little of himself or prioritizes differently, I mean he _literally _has no opinion of himself. Everything he does is because he's ordered to do so."_

"_No one can hide behind that excuse, Padmé, and you know it. Is a soldier exempt from all his sins if he just claims he was _ordered_ to do it?"_

"_Of course not, but a soldier isn't _raised_ a soldier – he enlists or is drafted, but he's got a sense of self, of _identity_, before he becomes a soldier. Vader _doesn't have that_ – he was _raised_ a soldier, he was _raised_ to follow orders."_

Obi-Wan bolted to his feet. The conversation was vivid in his mind now, as if he were back in Padmé's office talking to her. Oh, his chest _ached_ just seeing her face in his mind, but her words burned into him even more. He'd given them some thought before now, but the chaos of their circumstances had pushed them out of his mind. He had to tell Qui-Gon.

Closing his eyes, Obi-Wan tried to sense out the man. He could find his wife easily, but finding others was another matter entirely. The Force was still evading him; in combat training one had to simply listen and react, and he could do that just fine (even better than Siri, actually), but actively _searching_ the Force was another matter entirely. Warm lives hummed in his consciousness, and he smelled, tasted, heard, and saw different sensations as he prodded through all of them. Blurred images, odd stray thoughts… he couldn't sort any of it out. Sighing, he opened his eyes, temporarily giving up and trying a different approach. Perhaps some of the Council members would still be awake.

Heading towards the Council building, which stood in the center of the entire enclave, Obi-Wan tried to sort out the conversation in his mind. He'd pointed out to Padmé that Éothen had also been raised a soldier and had turned out quite differently, but now that he pondered on it more, he supposed Éothen's only saving grace was who had raised him. But then who raised Vader? Who would convince a child that he was nothing more than a tool? Vader must have been taken from his parents, or perhaps entered into some brutal military training program when he was young. No, that didn't seem right… Darth Vader was a Sith Lord, and the more Obi-Wan learned about both Jedi and Sith, the more he realized that the man had to have gotten his training from _somewhere_. If he really thought about it, Palpatine was the most likely suspect; though no Jedi had explicitly stated the emperor was a Sith Lord, they all spoke of him as if his very name were synonymous with evil. Obi-Wan shuddered; no wonder he'd felt awful around the man.

Obi-Wan reached the Council building and entered with a hasty knock. As soon as he entered he sensed someone ahead, but he didn't know who. He approached slowly, clearing his throat to get the person's attention. A dark skinned Human male sat in the center, meditating. As soon as Obi-Wan realized this and hesitated, the man opened his eyes, gazing at him intently. Obi-Wan felt slightly nervous under the piercing stare, but he shrugged it off and bowed. "Master."

"Step forward," the Jedi ordered quietly. "Do you need something, Padawan?"

"It's about Darth Vader," Obi-Wan explained, and the Jedi stood slowly, giving him his full attention. The man examined him oddly, as if he were looking at something beyond him or perhaps even within him. It was a little unsettling, but it wasn't threatening. "I may have more information than I provided earlier."

"You're one of the new initiates Qui-Gon brought in," the man surmised.

Obi-Wan flushed slightly, embarrassed that he hadn't introduce himself. "Yes. My name is Obi-Wan… Obi-Wan Kenobi."

It was still so strange to say his actual surname, but he and Siri had both decided it was safer than using the Naberrie name. Another separation from his old life, he supposed with some sadness.

"I am Mace Windu, head of the Jedi Council," he introduced himself, and Obi-Wan grew slightly alarmed that he'd somehow run into the head of the entire enclave. "Tell me what you know, Obi-Wan."

Centering himself, he took a deep breath. "My… my sister, as you know, was being watched by him. To distract him from any covert operations, she took him to Naboo while I and my wife handled Rebel affairs. She learned more about him, and told me a little of it when we reunited. She stated that Darth Vader was raised to be a soldier, raised without a sense of self."

Master Windu folded his arms, furrowing his brow. "Without a sense of self?"

Obi-Wan was about to nod when he himself grew confused as it finally clicked. He'd been learning over the past few days that Sith were selfish people, filled with only concerns for power and self-gain. Why the blazes would Vader be the _opposite_, then?

"Do you know anything else?"

Obi-Wan snapped back into attention and shook his head. "I'm afraid not."

"Curious," the Jedi muttered, his eyes clouding. "This Sith apprentice is turning out to be quite the enigma."

Obi-Wan watched the Jedi for a short while before beginning to wonder if he should excuse himself. He'd said what he knew, after all, but he was also interested to hear what the Jedi were planning. Not that he could face a Sith, of course.

In either case, the Jedi Master eventually remembered Obi-Wan was there and offered a grateful nod. "Thank you for your information, Obi-Wan. I must meditate on this."

Obi-Wan took the hint and he bowed once again. "Yes, Master."

Turning, he left, more confused than he before. Once he was outside, he figured he could call it a night and get some rest, but suddenly his comlink chimed. Confused and slightly worried, he activated it. "Yes?"

"Obi-Wan." His heartrate rose; it was Bail Organa. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything."

"No," he immediately replied, shaking his head unnecessarily. "How is everything?"

"We've finally settled at our new location," the former senator replied. "I was told Almusian is on comm. silence right now, so I decided to tell you instead. Perhaps you can relay this news to the Jedi for me? If they feel ready, we would be honored to have their fleet join us."

If it was possible, his heart beat even faster. His head had just _stopped_ spinning after everything that had happened; now life was swirling around him faster than he could keep up with once more. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and listening to the brook, imagining the Force flowing over him and stealing the anxiety away, and for the first time since he'd arrived on Ghanu'jivo, he finally felt it actually _work_; whatever came to pass would be whatever came to pass. There was no sense in worrying over uncertain futures. "I will relay the news and contact you with their reply."

"Thank you, Obi-Wan," Bail acknowledged gratefully. "These times have been trying on all of us, but I… I realize it's been especially hard for you. I hope you and your wife are recovering, and I look forward to seeing you once more."

"I appreciate your concern," Obi-Wan smiled gently. "May the Force be with you."

"Take care of yourself, Obi-Wan."

Cutting off his comlink, he sighed and turned back towards the Council building, but he was hesitant. He probably shouldn't interrupt Master Windu's meditation, and honestly, the request wasn't emergent, so he could wait until morning. Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Obi-Wan headed towards the dormitories, pushing all of it out of his mind.

* * *

The evening was turning out… interestingly so far. She glanced around the room as a waltz began to play. Many couples went to the dance floor and it looked to be quite the grand affair. Then she glanced hesitantly to her left to see if her charge was interested, and he gazed at the couples with glazed eyes, lost in thought. His fists balled tightly. She wasn't sure how the dance was affecting him, but it was fairly obvious to her trained eyes that he was bothered in some manner.

"Nydo," she spoke softly, getting his attention.

Darth Vader turned his cold blue gaze upon her. It was strange looking him in the eye; she'd watched him from afar, seen glimpses of him, heard about him, even been assigned once to guard him when he was an infant, but she'd never really interacted with the Sith Lord until this evening. It was a privilege, and it was most certainly educational. After all, he was the most powerful man in the Empire apart from Palpatine himself.

In either case, now wasn't the time to be pondering the matter. She had his attention. "Perhaps you could get us some drinks?"

The Sith Lord tipped his head in acknowledgement and headed towards some servant or other who would be carrying a tray with drinks. Now that she was alone she looked around once more, taking in the surroundings and searching for suitable opportunities. Grand Moff Tarkin had assigned her to help him train the Sith Lord in covert operations, so she would find the best people to interact with in order to teach him. It wasn't the most orthodox way of training someone in undercover operations, but she didn't really have a say in the matter, so she'd deal with it. She'd always dealt with whatever Tarkin had thrown at her; she'd been the man's spy for five years now, ever since he'd requested a special agent from Keeper, the head of Imperial Intelligence. She still recalled their first meeting when the grand moff had asked her name, and she'd simply replied, _whatever you need it to be, sir. _That had been so long ago, and it had been for an official Imperial mission, but she'd proven her worth to the grand moff and had been in his services since then, though that wasn't known even to Intelligence. After all, a scheming grand moff couldn't let anyone know he was using a spy as a double agent, now could he?

She smiled. They were all so blind to the truth. Wilhuff Tarkin only had his eyes on the throne, but the real seat of power was the head of Intelligence. Covert operations ruled this galaxy, secretly working behind the scenes to keep everything ordered. Agents were the true peacekeepers, not the military. She'd been in Intelligence long enough to know that. Someday she'd be the one commanding the most powerful organization in the galaxy, and when that day came it wouldn't matter who was sitting on the throne; _she'd_ be the ruler. Serving Tarkin was simply a necessity for achieving that; he was the most likely candidate to usurp Palpatine, and, by proxy, Darth Vader was therefore the best weapon for the job.

She still wasn't entirely sure what to make of the Sith Lord, and she didn't like that. She knew he was a Sith, she knew he was second in line for the throne and head of the military. She knew Tarkin wanted to use him to take the throne for himself, and she knew that Senator Amidala was Vader's greatest weakness. She knew that the Sith Lord was known for being distant and cold, that he was all business and military, and that he had little to no experience in politics or subtlety in general. From their interactions earlier this evening when they'd been preparing, she also had quickly deduced that he had quite the high pain tolerance considering the wounds she'd seen on him. She briefly went over their private interactions, trying to analyze them.

They'd met up in his apartment, all businesslike. She had arrived in servant's attire to blend into the environment and then had requested a place to dress. He'd given her the guest room. The two had gone over their cover stories and, impressively, he'd already done his research on Eriadu culture and on the Tarkin family. The only matter remaining, then, had been to make the mark of their union, the calligraphy on their foreheads. It was difficult—nearly impossible—to write the mark for themselves, and traditionally each spouse wrote it on the other, so she'd insisted they do it that way. Vader had been more than hesitant to allow her that close to him, and though culturally it made sense, she broke down that barrier fairly quickly; they were married for this cover story, so he couldn't show any hesitation or discomfort in touching her. She'd sat him on the couch and had sat beside him, carefully painting the calligraphy on his forehead and then had insisted he did the same to her. His touch had said a lot about him; it had been soft and hesitant at first, even timid, but as he wrote and focused, he'd finished it off perfectly and with confidence. The man just needed some firm direction and he'd catch on; he was obviously no fool, simply reluctant. And… something else, though she couldn't quite place what it was; she had no doubt he was upset by his order to kill Senator Amidala, but considering his profile, she didn't think it would tear him up to any great extent. For all she knew, something else entirely was bothering him, but given recent events, it was likely to be the senator. Still, he seemed to be functioning just fine, so that was all she cared about.

"Well, I didn't expect to see such a magnificent flower at this gala."

She turned and saw a chiseled man approach her. He stood tall and proud, his intense blue eyes looking her over. His teeth were perfect as he flashed a bright smile, and his chocolate brown hair was slicked back and moussed artistically. He was the picture of perfection, the sight that would make a woman go weak at the knees. His long grey cape flowed around his rich attire, and his execution of a flirtatious, seductive bow was flawless, all the way down to how he eyed her from under his brow just before rising once more.

An aristocrat trying to score a beautiful woman. No threat, but perhaps a useful opportunity. Amusement trickled through her as she put on a look of mild embarrassment, placing a gloved hand to her chest and lowering her head slightly. This person looked to be in his early twenties, and he was no doubt spoiled and had never experienced any kind of hardship or training. A useless lump, easily persuaded and easily manipulated. A _child_.

"You're too kind, sir," she said softly, allowing a gentle blush to color her cheeks. She appeared to be demure and surprised at his forward speech, but in reality she was torn between laughing and rolling her eyes. Even if she weren't an operative, as a thirty-eight-year-old woman who'd seen every single thing the galaxy could offer, this youngling who was so full of himself was the biggest joke she'd seen at this gala.

"My name is Saelek Tovren," he introduced himself. "My father is the most powerful grand moff in the Empire, so I typically go to many of these events, but I've never seen anyone as beautiful as you. How long have you been on Imperial Center?"

She smiled shyly. "Only for a day, sir. I come from Eriadu; this is my first visit to Imperial Center."

"My official title is Lord Tovren, but you can call me Saelek tonight," the boy said with a flirtatious wink. "I'm glad you came to Imperial Center today, my dear. Eriadu can miss you for a while. Would you like to join me at my table?"

This conversation was beginning to grow slightly tiresome, and she was fairly certain that any servant bearing a drink had to be close enough that Vader should be returning by now. Stalling, she let out a nervous chuckle. "I was under the impression that the seating was assigned for these tables, your lordship."

"I can change the arrangements as I please," he waved a dismissive hand, but his expression denoted that he was quite aware of the power he wielded and he wanted her to realize it too. "And as I said, call me Saelek."

"I have to return to my party," she insisted halfheartedly as she finally caught sight of Darth Vader. He was observing her curiously, his gaze drifting between her and the aristocrat. He was gauging the situation. All right, that was a start, but now he needed to _act_.

Letting her gaze linger on Vader, she gave a relieved smile. Lord Tovren seemed to notice it and turned to look at Vader. "Is he part of your party, then? I'll speak with him."

She was tempted to say he was her husband, but that might scare the youngling off immediately. She had to let him talk to Vader.

As he approached the Sith Lord, Vader tensed slightly, but he locked eyes with her instead of Tovren. He held a drink out to her.

"Your lady is a beautiful woman," Tovren said firmly, a confident smile on his face. "She wishes to sit at my table, so we'll be heading that way. I'll have someone drop her off at your residence in the morning if you give me an address."

Vader looked at her questioningly, but said nothing. She was quickly catching on that he rarely spoke unless absolutely necessary, so she prompted him. "I told him the seating was assigned, but—"

"I assure you it isn't a problem," Tovren interrupted. "My father is the most powerful man in the Empire apart from the emperor himself. Something as simple as seating arrangements is beyond trivial to us. She'll be fine."

Vader's expression shifted subtly, changing from the usual calmness to something different. His forehead wrinkled slightly as his eyebrows came together imperceptibly. His eyes narrowed. "You claim she wants to sit with you."

"She does indeed." Tovren replied with a smug smile.

"You're lying," he immediately said. "Stop being stupid and go away."

Years of training stopped her from laughing… and years of training told her that the remark wouldn't be nearly as amusing to Tovren. As predicted, the man's face flushed. "You dare—"

"Shut up and go away." Vader repeated, sipping his drink nonchalantly and offering his hand to her. She fought quite hard to not smile as she placed hers atop it and walked away from the boy, who was so affronted at being spoken to in such a manner that he had no actual reply. Two possible outcomes would occur next: he'd either follow them after regaining his composure or he would go whine to his father. The latter would yield no consequence to them unless the grand moff was as idiotic as his son (which wasn't likely considering he'd managed to obtain such a high rank), though he might simply argue for the sake of maintaining appearances.

"Why were you hesitating?" she asked him as they walked closer to their own table.

"You're strong. You could handle him on your own."

A cold, distant compliment, but a compliment nonetheless. She wasn't looking for flattery, however, nor did she need his praise. "I am Mya Tarkin, dear husband; I'm used to high society, but I don't really have much strength of my own apart from leaning on you. I'm naïve and have never left the estates of my family. Do you expect that sort of person to hold her own against someone who dominates the social scene here and has no shame?"

"I don't see why you can't kill him," he muttered. "He obviously serves no purpose in life."

She allowed herself to smile. "You are right; he _currently_ serves no purpose in life. However, if you manipulate him correctly, he could be _extremely_ helpful; if his father has any stake in his life, you could use him in that regard."

Vader paused and looked as if he were about to turn around, and she pinched his fingers. "Not _now_, dearest. You didn't make a very good first impression."

"Neither did _he_," Vader replied sharply.

"Yes, which we can use to our advantage," she nodded, and when she heard the little moron storming towards them, she added, "So let's see what you can do."

"You cannot walk away from me like that," Tovren said angrily, expecting them to stop and turn around. She paused, forcing Vader to do so as well, and he closed his eyes and sighed heavily before facing the young man.

"Does your father know Grand Moff Tarkin?" Vader asked. She smiled; _now_ he was catching on.

"My father knows _everyone_," Tovren answered as if that were a threat.

"I trust he's not as stupid as you are," Vader remarked, and this time she had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing out loud. At the same time she also wanted to cringe; they would definitely have to learn on improving his _tact_. "If that is the case, then he will realize that you have already overstepped your boundaries in not only treating my wife like your sex slave, but also in how you have claimed your father has greater power and authority than my cousin, Grand Moff Tarkin, who has the emperor's ear."

Tovren stammered for a few seconds, his face flushing steadily more and more, when she finally stepped in with a courteous smile towards the Sith Lord. "Come along, dearest, let's go to our table."

As they turned away, Vader narrowed his eyes even more, giving a threatening glare to the whelp, who quickly scurried away, properly chastised. The two finally reached their table and sat. Dinner would soon be served. Glancing at the seating arrangement she noted that Tarkin would be to her right while Vader was to her left. Three other chairs were across from them: a senator and his wife, and a woman named Fyra Xen. The name sounded vaguely familiar, though she wasn't sure from where. In either case, the two had a moment to breathe before the senator appeared. He was a portly man decked in an absurd amount of finery; she could only imagine how much jewelry his wife was wearing… the woman would be a walking, rattling ornament.

"Senator Jertuj," she acknowledged as she bowed alongside Darth Vader. She glanced at him, silently telling him to speak up.

"I'm Captain Nydo Tarkin. This is my wife, Mya." He introduced them. She waited for him to add some sort of ingratiating remark, but he didn't.

"It's an honor to meet you," she added with some exasperation. Perhaps it would take a little more time than she thought for him to really understand how this worked.

The senator smiled politely, and she saw his eyes widen a second later as he recognized the surname. "Tarkin? Are you perhaps related to Grand Moff Tarkin?"

Vader nodded, but after noting her scrutiny he acknowledged it aloud. "I'm his cousin."

"It's a pleasure," the man suddenly insisted, nodding his head. "Governor Tarkin is an esteemed man. It's always a delight to meet members of his family; I thought I'd never get the chance."

She widened her smile in response, waiting for Vader to say something. It was time to engage in the small talk he seemed to hate so much. The Sith Lord didn't smile (she'd never seen him do so, actually), but he tipped his head to acknowledge the senator's remark. When nothing else happened, she began to wonder if this man was the reason the grand moff had so many grey hairs. Subtly, she pinched the top of his hand, and he inhaled sharply, though whether it was from pain or exasperation was beyond her.

"Where's your wife?" he asked.

"She's coming," the senator replied with a cheerful smile, gripping the chair where he would sit. "Had to powder herself up again; women and their makeup, right?"

The senator laughed, and she joined him in his nervous joviality. Vader, however, just stared at him. Another pinch later, he cleared his throat and sat down. She almost sighed; Darth Vader was no doubt used to being the highest authority in the room and therefore he dictated when everyone should sit, but in this situation they had to wait for the grand moff or the senator to do so. The senator looked slightly ruffled at the maneuver, and she smiled apologetically. "Shall we sit while we wait for her?"

The senator nodded with a gracious smile to her and the two joined Vader at the table. The Sith Lord was sipping his drink in an almost bored manner, as if he were dazed or annoyed. She wasn't sure if this was part of his cover or if he actually was just bored. Deciding to take matters into her own hands, she asked the senator about his sector, and he animatedly discussed the matter with her while Vader simply listened. She figured she wouldn't include him simply so he would have the chance to observe, and eventually their conversation was interrupted anyway by the arrival of the senator's wife. The group stood once more and allowed her to sit with them.

"That took longer than expected," she giggled, giddy for some reason. Her face was flushed as if she'd put too much blush on her cheeks, and she fanned herself. "Forgive me, beloved."

As the two fawned over each other, she turned to Vader and whispered, "Now it's _your_ turn for small talk, dear."

He twitched his head in reply, muttering, "Inane chatter about the other person, right?"

It was so hard to garner amusement from his naïveté. It was hard to believe this man could kill everyone in the room, including her, with barely any effort. "Yes."

As she sipped on her wine, Darth Vader took a deep breath and looked to the senator. "Your wife's having an affair."

Tarkin's spy nearly choked on her drink. What did he just say?!

The senator immediately stiffened, and his wife paled. "What?"

"She's having an affair." Vader repeated, louder and slower as if the senator were an idiot. "She said she wanted to fix her makeup, yet she barely has any on at this point. She's out of breath, her adrenaline is surging, and while she is relatively well kempt her partner isn't. Senator Nemiko, just over there; he's fixing his trousers now, actually. He entered at the same time she did, and they released each other's hands."

The senator jerked his head around to find the man Vader had described while his wife stood. "How dare you accuse me of such a thing?"

"It's true, though, isn't it?" her husband demanded.

Well, that escalated quickly. While the couple argued, she turned to Vader, hissing, "_That's_ your idea of small talk?"

"It's unimportant information about the other person." He shrugged. "Isn't that what I was supposed to do?"

She sighed heavily. This guy _was _the reason for Tarkin's grey hair. Glancing at the senator, she wondered if she should do damage control, but it seemed that the two were engrossed with each other now instead of Vader, accusing each other of all sorts of misdeeds. Eventually the senator and his wife stormed out to settle their issues without attracting the entire room's attention. At that moment, the grand moff finally arrived, alongside the other guest who was to sit with them.

"Where is the senator going?" Tarkin asked.

"He's arguing with his wife about her affair," Vader answered sincerely.

This man certainly was testing her ability to control her laughter. She felt genuinely bad for the governor; he had his work cut out for him if his job was to turn this somehow _goofy _military trained killer into a manipulative operative.

"Oh dear," the other guest, Fyra Xen, said with a certain amount of amusement.

When Vader and the spy looked at this woman, they both shifted in their seats for different reasons. The woman wore a red sleeveless gown with a low cut neckline that went to her waist, exposing almost half her breasts. She obviously was trying to attract attention, then, and judging from where Vader's eyes wandered, she'd certainly gotten it. However, as soon as the Sith Lord had examined her, he returned his attention to the grand moff.

"I take it you're Fyra Xen?" Tarkin asked, allowing his spy and her 'husband' a reprieve. His spy looked as impeccably in character as ever, but judging from the fact that she had spilled some wine on her napkin, he could deduce that Vader had made some remark he shouldn't have… which was quite possibly the cause of the senator's sudden departure. Terrific.

Fyra smiled and bowed deeply, and Tarkin looked away out of both politeness and a deep need to _not_ look at her cleavage practically slip out of her dress. She wasn't unattractive to be sure; her light brown skin shone in the light, smooth and silky, tempting one to touch it. Her thick curly black hair was braided intricately and spilled stylishly from a bun. She had blood red lipstick on, and black gloves with a black overcoat that flowed to her ankles. Golden earrings hung almost to her chin line, and she wore rings over her gloved fingers. "You are correct, grand moff. I've never had the pleasure of meeting you before. Are these your relatives?"

"My cousin, Nydo, and his wife, Mya." He introduced them. Vader's eyes slipped to Fyra's chest again before he and the spy bowed politely. Fyra smiled broadly. As she did so, Tarkin suddenly realized that he'd heard her name before; she was known to be quite the… party piece, one could say. She was extremely sought after, and if she turned her affections to a man there wasn't anything he wouldn't give her; it had served her quite well, allowing her to climb from being a consort of a senator to one of the richest women on the planet.

Tarkin smiled and sat as Fyra made pointless conversation with his spy. The group followed his lead, and the grand moff was relieved to see servants bringing out their dinner; this gala was exhausting enough without having to worry about the damage the young Sith might be causing, though it seemed tamer than he expected. Fyra turned her attention to Vader, but her conversation was harmless. Vader answered in simple 'yes' or 'no' responses while they ate. Eventually Tarkin's spy took over the discussion and Vader was allowed a reprieve. He and Tarkin exchanged glances, and the grand moff could see the Sith Lord was steadily growing more exhausted by the affair. _You're not the only one_, he thought ruefully.

After dinner ended the speeches began. Long acknowledgements filled their ears, and the grand moff grew all the more irritated from it; if there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was pointless and unfounded gratitude. None of these people deserved acknowledgement for any sort of good deed; the politicians and nobility had certainly done nothing to earn it, and the military officials didn't need fools wasting their time.

Fyra, having the other seat beside Vader, leaned closer to him and whispered, "Ever been to these tedious affairs before, captain?"

Vader shook his head. Tarkin pretended to not notice the conversation, but he listened carefully, and he knew his spy was doing so as well.

"Let me warn you; you'll be here a while," Fyra continued with a smile. "What about your wife? Has she been to these before?"

"She's been to more social events than I."

"How long have you two been married?" the woman asked with sincere curiosity.

"Two years."

"You two look so good together. Like newlyweds, even."

Vader made no remark. Tarkin, on the other hand, was wondering where in the blazes this conversation was going; was this woman trying to pass the time or was something else going on? He didn't have an opportunity to interrupt, however; his spy placed her hand atop Vader's, getting his attention. He almost slid his hand away from her, having been slightly started by the touch, but he caught himself. She smiled at him and pulled his hand towards her and off the table. The two looked at the speaker once more, ignoring Fyra entirely.

The strange occurrence went unacknowledged, and after the speeches were _finally_ finished, Tarkin stood and guided his 'family' elsewhere. He was tempted to introduce Vader to more people, and he raised his eyebrow to his spy to gauge whether she thought that was appropriate considering what she'd witnessed this evening. However, the decision was taken out of his hands when Vader nodded to Tarkin. "I'm leaving, cousin. Have a good evening."

Tarkin was tempted to argue, but he didn't; honestly he himself was too tired to let this continue much longer. He would get a full report from his spy when they reached the palace (or better yet, he'd get a full report in the morning), so instead, he said, "I'll join you and Mya."

Vader held his hand out to the spy, who took it gracefully and Tarkin followed them out of the ballroom. He felt the tension in his chest relax a little as they neared a hangar where the palace shuttle awaited them. Their trip to the palace was spent in silence until they landed, at which point Tarkin asked, "So what did you learn, milord?"

Vader rolled tired eyes to the governor. "You and the emperor have more stamina than I thought."

Tarkin had to laugh. "I'm glad you appreciate how much energy it takes to deal with those entitled fools."

"I still see no purpose to it," Vader muttered as they disembarked. "Power speaks for itself. Why do we have to slither about in the shadows and pretend we're something we're not? Why do we have to lie?"

"Discretion is the better part of valor, milord," Tarkin instructed him. "There's no point in starting a war against people when you can simply fool them into doing your bidding. Subjects are far more loyal when they believe in what they're doing rather than when they're simply intimidated into it. It's psychology."

"People are too complicated," Vader grumbled. "Logic would dictate they obey the ruler. There's no reason to be convincing them to do what we want."

Tarkin hid his smile. Sometimes he was surprised at how naïve Vader was; this evening had nothing to do with getting the Empire's subjects to obey their emperor. When Tarkin was finished with the young Sith, he would fool him in the same manner he'd just described. True, a good battle was far more straightforward, but some battles had to be fought off the battlefield, and this most certainly was one of those.

"I will learn to manipulate others," Vader eventually resolved, gazing off at the skyline as the shuttle departed and they were left alone in the palace hangar. "I will learn whatever I have to."

Something about his posture and his expression made Tarkin uneasy, but he couldn't pinpoint what it was, and at this point, he was too tired to care. Sighing, he said, "I'm sure you will. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to my quarters." Turning to his spy, he said, "You are dismissed."

She bowed and departed, and Tarkin tossed one last glance at Darth Vader before leaving as well, relieved to finally be alone and at home. What a day.

* * *

A snowstorm howled outside the towering arched windows of Hjemmekoselig Sted, the residence of the warlord. Nevertheless, the large homely fire kept the room warm, and the lights on the wall were dimmed to reflect the late hour. The room wasn't very large; the windows were on the right wall, a chaise lined the back wall facing a HoloNet receiver, and the left wall was occupied by a large desk. The center of the room was a semicircular pit with a large plushy couch lining the wall of the depression, facing the enormous fire that took up most of the last wall.

Lieutenant Erwyna of the Bidra Clan of Salkende stood by the window, her eyes attempting to pierce through the darkness and the blinding blizzard winds. She crossed her arms, contemplating matters as of late. Her mood typically wasn't this… brooding, but the past couple of weeks had been a ride that she dearly wished never to repeat.

Erwyna was a dedicated soldier. All her life everything revolved around her clan and its loyalties. Her clan served the Ønske, having joined with them many years ago, and so she grew up with Éothen during the civil war, fighting, laughing, crying, and bleeding alongside him. Everyone thought they were the best of friends. And they _were_ – but Éothen was more than that to her… _so much_ more. Still, they were both in SpecForces; on Salkende that meant they dedicated their entire lives to their duty, and that included having no personal relationships. Erwyna had sworn an oath when she'd joined SpecForces, and she would not break that oath… even if it did keep her from Éothen for the next twenty years. The only reason Éothen was being forced to marry was because of the dire situation of his clan. When the issue had first arisen, Erwyna had been surprised and upset, but she hadn't taken it out on Éothen; at the time he had still been suffering from the loss of so many of his brethren. Besides, she'd sworn fealty to Bidra and Ønske; it wasn't her place to argue. So she'd gone along with it; she'd even given Éothen encouragement and tips when he himself had shown reluctance.

But Amidala… Erwyna hadn't liked her at all. She supposed it was partly due to Éothen's silly feelings for her, and she knew that was beyond stupid on her own part, so she tried to diminish that. The other reason was simply because Amidala was so obviously using Éothen that Erwyna was surprised he himself, as thick skulled as he was when it came to politics, hadn't noticed. Or perhaps he had but had weighed the options in his favor. She wasn't sure. She'd never asked him, not since Amidala had been found murdered. In either case, she had resigned to accept the foreigner, and then all _this_ insanity had happened.

Éothen had been greatly upset by the news, though he hadn't shown it to the foreigners. Erwyna still didn't think he'd had any deep genuine feelings for Amidala (how could he have? The two had barely gotten to know each other!), but she knew that he, just like all of Salkende, recognized the attack for what it was—the Empire trying to ensure that Salkende didn't become a threat. Some speculated that reasoning was a long shot—how could the Empire have known about the engagement since it had _just_ occurred? Most, though, knew that the Empire had spies everywhere, and with someone in as precarious a position as Amidala, it really wasn't too surprising, certainly in hindsight. At the time Erwyna hadn't thought the Empire would act in such a way, but now she knew she'd been a fool to assume they wouldn't interfere. She'd never given the Empire much thought since her life had revolved around Salkende's own affairs, but now she was recognizing why the Rebel Alliance fought against them. Still, her hands were tied on the matter; the warlord had insisted that Salkende act neutral, though they were now actively supplying the Alliance. The warlord claimed that once the Rebels could walk steadily on their own once more, she would supply soldiers so the real war could begin. After all, they'd just had their victory march yesterday – their own civil war was _finally_ over.

It felt almost foreign to be standing here in the warlord's residence with no battle to contemplate, no war council to attend, no new mission objective to receive. It left Erwyna restless, but she was still hesitant about joining the Rebels; she understood their cause now, but she still wasn't sure it was wise to team up with them. She didn't want to watch Bidra get ripped apart like Ønske had been – she didn't want to be on the losing side of a war against an enemy who would have no qualms in destroying the entire Tsograda Sector if necessary. Again, though, she didn't have a choice; she'd have to wait and see if the Rebels really did recover from all the hits they'd taken. If they did so, then she might be willing to accept the actions the warlord had dictated. In the meantime she had to stay here and babysit Éothen, who'd been brooding ever since Amidala's death.

Turning, Erwyna watched Éothen as he sat on the couch, staring at the fire. His arm was finally healed, so it was no longer in a sling. He reached to his side, picking something up from the couch and examining it. It was a cylindrical metal hilt, and she knew that upon activating it a shoto built similarly to a lightsaber would appear. It had been in a box that had been left by Amidala for Éothen, having his name written on it. The flimsiplast that had borne the address had been speckled with the senator's blood; it was a grisly gift, though it was appreciated by Éothen… but it seemed to be so much more than just a _gift_.

"I can't believe we're _waiting_," Éothen muttered darkly, tossing the shoto back onto the couch.

"You know, we only just finished our war yesterday," Erwyna remarked, taking a small step towards him.

"We finished it _four days_ ago," Éothen retorted. "We just got to celebrate it yesterday."

"I'm going to the Rebel base on Hoth tomorrow to check on their progress. We'll probably be heading over there with armies soon, so get over it. Salkende needs a rest; this is the first peace we've had in twenty years."

"The war tapered off at the end; you and I both know that," Éothen shook his head. "The people barely realized we were still fighting."

"Did the _soldiers_ on the battlefield barely realize it?" Erwyna replied irritably, tired of his sulking.

Éothen sighed heavily, burying his face in his hands. "Sorry, Erwyna… I just… to think the Empire would do such a thing… and Padmé…"

Erwyna wasn't sure how to feel. She was just as angry, though mainly because the Empire would interfere with Salkenden affairs, but… well, she just didn't know how to feel.

But one thing she _did_ know was that something was just _off_ about the entire affair. Firstly, why would Amidala send a shoto to Éothen? Wedding traditions on most of Salkende dictated that the bride and groom exchange gifts, and a weapon would be an appropriate gift for a warrior, but… they'd _just gotten_ _engaged_, and Amidala likely knew very little about Salkenden culture. How could she have gotten such a rare gift so fast? And why a shoto? Éothen's weapon specialty was with blaster cannons, though he could wield a standard blaster just as well as anyone. Honestly, it was _Erwyna_ who was more specialized for close combat. So again, why a shoto? Why any gift at all? How did she get one so fast? And _why_ did she think about _that_ of all things when she was dying? It was obvious she'd handled the note of address after she'd been shot – her blood was all over it. Éothen had thought it was because Amidala had held the flimsiplast or the gift box as she was dying, but Erwyna was convinced it was something else entirely – she was convinced Amidala had _written_ it while she was dying, and that changed _everything_. What could make it so important? Why would she ensure that Éothen got this gift? Was it just to secure Salkende's loyalty to the Rebels? That wouldn't guarantee anything.

As the days had gone by, Erwyna had been plagued by these thoughts until she'd steadily become more convinced of something: the shoto hadn't been a gift. It had been a message. It was some kind of last will or plea or _something_ from beyond the grave. But what was Amidala trying to say?

Erwyna was going to Hoth tomorrow. She had her duty to attend to. But as soon as she'd reported about the Rebels to her warlord, she was requesting time off. She would go to Imperial Center, she would investigate Amidala's death.

She _would_ figure this out.

* * *

_Beep, beep._

Tarkin's hand automatically slammed the snooze button on his alarm.

_Beep, beep._

This time he pounded his fist on the blasted thing.

_Beep, beep._

Stars, what was making that noise? Was that his _comlink_?

Blearily opening his eyes, Tarkin immediately saw the time on his chronometer. It was four in the morning. Who in the blazes was calling him at four in the morning? Grabbing the comlink, he sluggishly answered. "This is Grand Moff Tarkin."

"Governor…" a quiet, trembling voice said. It took the grand moff a few seconds to recognize it as Vader's.

Tarkin immediately grew alert and squeezed the comlink. "Lord Vader? What's wrong?"

"Governor…" Vader repeated as if he didn't even know what to say. "I… she… governor, please… please come… I don't… I… governor, the blood's everywhere…"

Tarkin bolted out of bed. "Where are you? What happened?"

"I… alley… governor, please…"

"What alley?" Tarkin asked, pushing aside the obvious question as to _why_ he was in an alley at four in the morning. His mind raced with what could have happened – who was _she_? Why _was_ he in an alley? Whose blood was everywhere? What had happened?! "Milord, where are you?"

Vader's voice grew quieter but, unnervingly, calmer as he gave the grand moff directions. Tarkin was already getting dressed as the Sith Lord spoke, and as soon as the boy finished, Tarkin grabbed the comlink again and rushed out the door, breathlessly saying, "I'm on my way."

Tarkin ran faster than he had in years. By the time he reached the alley it had barely been a few minutes. Grabbing his blaster, the grand moff slowly approached the scene, but he quickly realized there were no threats here. He noted a puddle and wondered for a second why the ground was wet when it had actually been _dry_ today, but then he remembered Vader's transmission and quickly avoided stepping into it. As predicted, when he got a closer look with a small glow stick the puddle shone crimson, and he followed its trail to a heavily mutilated body. Most of the damage was to its head, and he quickly deduced that it was a Human female. Judging by her outfit, he also quickly recognized her as Fyra Xen, the woman they had spoken to at their table during the gala. What had happened? Where was—

Tarkin's question was immediately answered when he looked just beyond the body. Darth Vader was sitting on the ground, his hands saturated in the woman's blood. It was splattered on his torso and was seeping into his trousers. He looked at nothing but the woman's body, his face pale and his eyes wide. He looked frightened, his brow furrowed worriedly, but at the same time he looked… dazed. What had that woman done to him?

"Milord?" he said to get the boy's attention, approaching him. "Milord… _what happened_?"

"She… she flirted with me," he answered softly, and his voice was growing even calmer.

Tarkin felt his skin crawl, and he grew both confused and angry. Why would Vader kill someone for flirting with him? What was he not telling him? Xen was known for using her body to curry favor; she'd probably latched onto the idea of a young naïve man who'd experienced only military and a political marriage – a relative to Tarkin would be a good mark. But that wasn't enough to _murder_ her. What had happened?

Glancing at the body once more, the grand moff suddenly realized the woman's manner of death – Vader had throttled her with his bare hands. He'd probably beaten her into the wall judging by the excessive blood around her skull and the obvious lacerations. He'd probably punched her senselessly, over and over and _over_. Tarkin had never seen the Sith do such a brutal kill.

"She… no one can do that… no one can be her…"

Be her? What was…?

Amidala. Xen had reminded him of Amidala. By the stars above, _this_ was what he'd do to someone who tried the same tactics Amidala had tried?

Slowly turning to the apprentice once more, Tarkin noted that Vader had started to tremble. His eyes were fixed upon his own hands, and his fingers were rubbing against each other, making the blood swirl on his fingertips. Tarkin felt his hand slipping towards his holstered blaster once more, unnerved by just how _completely unstable_ the Sith seemed to be. He'd thought Vader was _improving_ – had he just been hiding his problems?

Looking at the body once more answered _that_ question.

"I couldn't stop," Vader suddenly said in the same soft voice, looking even more dazed than before as he finally let his hands drop to his lap. "I couldn't… she… she put her hand to my face, she… she pretended to _want_ me… pretended to _care_…" here his voice finally started to rise, and he clenched his fists tightly. "She's _not_ Padmé – she will _never_ be Padmé. No one will ever look at her face again—no one will _ever_ see beauty in her, see _anything_ but the disgusting _hag_ that she is—she's _nothing_ just like—"

Vader cut himself off, panting. He leaned over, almost curling in on himself, and his fists relaxed again. Then he looked up, and his face held the same fear as before, but also misery, just pure unadulterated _misery_. "Governor… is this what it's like to feel? I don't… I don't want it. I don't. Take it away. Make it stop. Please… please, governor…"

Tarkin walked slowly towards him, crouching down to his level, speechless.

Vader shook his head. "Why would Master want me to feel? Why would he make me kill Padmé? Why can't I just obey him? Why does it have to hurt?"

This was a perfect opportunity. This was _the_ opportunity, the moment where he could finally pull Vader over to his side and make him turn against his beloved master. All Tarkin had to do was just say the right words and the boy would eat out of his hand like he wanted.

But he just _couldn't do it_. All he could do was just be brutally honest. "…Because your father is a bastard."

Even Tarkin himself was surprised by his words, but Vader didn't react angrily. In fact… were those _tears_ in the boy's eyes? Tarkin was fairly certain the boy had never cried in his life apart from when he'd been an infant. The tears didn't escape the boy's eyes, though, and Vader let out a harsh bark of a laugh, catching the grand moff off guard. Then he panted for air as if he'd run a kilometer and looked down.

"Governor…" he said, looking up once more. The tears were gone, but the miserable look was back, so _empty_ and hopeless. "Kill me. Please… _please_ kill me."

The grand moff didn't know what to say, what to do. He stared at the boy, horrified and clueless and he _hated_ it. He'd never felt this out of control of a situation. For a millisecond he contemplated actually fulfilling the boy's request, just giving him some rest, letting him _finally_ be free of all the hell he'd endured, but he immediately shoved it out of his mind. No. Vader would not die. He _couldn't_ die. Tarkin _needed_ him… and damn it, he was _not_ letting this precious boy just _give up_ like that. They'd get rid of Palpatine and then once Tarkin had reorganized everything, Vader would _finally_ have everything he didn't even know he wanted… and some things that he obviously knew he _did_ want. He just had to _hold on_.

Placing his hands on Vader's arms, Tarkin squeezed tightly, giving him the most determined look he could. "You will be fine. _Everything_ will be fine. Intelligence will clean this mess up. No one will be the wiser. You will be _fine_. I promise."

Vader watched Tarkin desperately as if the man could work miracles. The grand moff continued to silently give the boy strength before eventually releasing him and calling his spy. He briefed her on the situation, told her where to go, and then returned his attention to the Sith apprentice. "Come on. We're going home."

The Sith suddenly looked exhausted beyond belief, and he closed his eyes, trying to gather what little strength he had left. Tarkin waited, and Vader eventually rose, following him silently as they returned to the palace just as his spy arrived at the scene of the crime. Tarkin exchanged a glance with her, and she nodded, eying Vader for a heartbeat before getting to work.

Once they reached the palace, Tarkin guided Vader to his own quarters—he wasn't letting the boy out of his sight. As soon as they entered, the grand moff grabbed some night clothes and placed them in the refresher, and then told Vader to clean himself up. While the boy did so, Tarkin called a palace physician and requested a sedative so the boy could actually get _sleep_ – judging by the dark circles under his eyes, it was apparent he hadn't been resting properly for quite some time.

While Tarkin waited for both the boy and the physician, he paced his den restlessly, shaken and worried. They had to get this under control. Now. Not only was Vader a complete and _dangerous_ wreck, but he was also a _vulnerable_ one. The gala was a simple training mission, but as time passed people would quickly recognized Vader for who he really was, and suddenly he'd be a target for everyone who wanted to vie for the throne. The boy's coping mechanisms were nonexistent, and burying his problems had led to a _murder_; there was no way he could stay on Imperial Center. Tarkin had to get him out of here, but… blast it all, he didn't know if the boy was _ready_… he didn't know if _anyone_ was ready for that. There were so many uncertainties, so many concerns, so many ways this could go wrong… but he couldn't stay here. He wasn't safe here. And that was suddenly more important than anything else.

A knock at the door signified the doctor's arrival, and Tarkin let her in. As she entered, the grand moff checked to see if Vader was finished and he found the boy sitting on the refresher floor in the outfit the grand moff had provided, staring at the bloodied clothes he'd been wearing previously. Snatching the condemning items out of his hands, the grand moff ordered, "Go to my room. Go to bed."

It wasn't like _Tarkin_ would be getting any sleep at this point.

Darth Vader stared at him, his expression no longer miserable or desperate, but just empty. He stood as ordered, always obedient, and shuffled into the grand moff's bedchamber. Tarkin directed the physician in there and watched as Vader limply let her give him the sedative like a rag doll. The grand moff walked the doctor out and then returned to his bedroom, watching the boy fall asleep. His comlink chimed and he hastily left the room, closing the door, and answered it.

"The situation has been handled, sir," his spy reported dutifully.

The grand moff sighed and acknowledged her before cutting the connection. He paced the den once more, too restless to sit. He thought through scenario after scenario until he was dizzy, and he finally just resolved that he would have to ride the rancor and just request audience with the emperor. He'd have to request to take the boy to Eriadu with him.

He _would_ take Vader to Eriadu.

* * *

**Okay, so I promised Al in this chapter, but I figured I'd squeezed enough in here. As you can see, things are starting to pick up again.  
**


	34. Visions

**Wow, 199 favs! O.o It's really cool/weird that so many of you like this fic, haha - I'm glad you're all enjoying it! :D Also, some of you are reading my mind, lol - I was imagining that this was like a roller coaster, and we're just cresting the first massive hill (the plunge to hell will be coming very soon!), and some of you specifically said that in your reviews. Force users, all of you! XD  
**

* * *

It was the moment of truth. Taking a steadying breath, Al did his best not to impatiently pace the alley. He kept an eye on his data pad, which held security feeds of the entire area, searching intently for Odeki. He prayed the man hadn't double crossed them for both their sakes; he'd like to hope the man wasn't that stupid, since Intelligence would just kill him for his treason before it killed Al.

_There _he was. Al tensed as he recognized the man walking hastily through the crowds. It didn't take long before he was turning into the alley where the smuggler stood.

"Long time no see," Al remarked, his hand slipping to his holstered weapon under his cloak; he didn't want to take any chances, and he was uneasy as it was.

Odeki swallowed and shifted back and forth on his feet. Then he cleared his throat. "My… my wife and I discussed the matter fully last night."

Al waited as the man paused, growing a little nervous. He hoped the man's hesitancy was because he'd decided to _help_.

Odeki took another shaky breath. "I'll help you. But—but you _have_ to hold up your end of the bargain; Intelligence taught me how to shoot, so I could blow your brains out. And—and my wife is a biochemist – she can concoct something that'll make you wish you _had_ died, and—"

"All right, all right, don't get your trousers in a knot," Al interrupted, mildly amused at the guy's threats. He'd _love_ to see this shaky, terrified person try to shoot him. Well, he actually _wouldn't_, but it was still funny, and… never mind. "We'll start today. You get information, and I'll head out with your wife. I'll give you a list of frequencies so you can contact me, got it?"

"I have to have reassurances!" Odeki stepped forward, his brow furrowing with worry.

"Relax," Al said, holding his hands up to appease the frantic man. "I'll let your wife call you before we head out and after we get out of hyperspace, okay? Then you can call her as often as you like, though I wouldn't recommend it; if Intelligence traces it they'll attack wherever she is."

Odeki grew paler and took yet another calming breath. "Right. Right, I… I won't do that. But how am I going to get information? I mean… I mean, what do you want?"

"It doesn't have to be too much," Al assured him. "You don't have to crack every code they have. What I _do_ want is anything pertaining to the Rebels – what they know about us and the like. Surely you figured out some way to do that last night?"

"I could have my mouse droids copy everything they receive into their hard drive," Odeki offered. "Then I'd copy it to a personal data pad and wipe their memories clean; Intelligence has me do memory wipes on them every day."

"That doesn't sound all encompassing," Al said uncertainly.

"I can't hack into their mainframe; I'm not that good at programming, and it would take a genius to crack their security," Odeki shook his head.

Al blew out a sigh. "Then I guess it'll have to do. Here." He handed the man a data chip. "This contains ten different frequencies. You use the _bottom_ one for about a week and then switch to the second one up, but don't go out of order unless it's an emergency – that's how I'll be able to tell whether you've got something serious, okay?"

"Bottom one. Right." Odeki nodded as he took the data chip.

Al eyed him suspiciously. "You _sure_ you got it?"

"Yes." Odeki insisted as he pocketed the chip. "I suppose I should tell you where to find my wife, then."

"I hope she took some leave."

"She did; sick leave. Surely your Rebel friends can fabricate a hospital or doctor form in a few days to say she's really under the weather?"

"Yeah, we can do that."

Odeki nodded again, his mouth becoming a thin line as he grew even more nervous. "And… and when she stops running out of excuses… I mean…"

Al caught his meaning. The man was worried that once things grew suspicious, they'd come after him. He smiled reassuringly. "Hey, it won't come to that. Your wife could always quit out of medical necessity after a while. If things go south I'll get you out of here. I promise."

Odeki looked slightly reassured, but he still didn't seem happy with his predicament. Al felt bad for him, but this was honestly his best option. "I appreciate the help, Rubar. I'll get your wife out of here. Like I said, she'll call you before we go into hyperspace, and when we get out of hyperspace I'll let her call you again; by then I expect you can transmit some data?"

The man's breathing quickened slightly, but he held himself together. "Yes… yes, I can."

"Great," the smuggler happily said, patting the man on the shoulder, making him jump and pull away. "Good luck."

Odeki tipped his head in acknowledgement and hastily glanced around before departing. Al was still worried that he'd get himself caught, but he had little choice in the matter. Blast, he hoped this worked out.

Sighing, Almusian headed for the man's apartment to get his wife. It was time to get the hell out of here.

* * *

_There is no emotion; there is peace._

No one was devoid of emotion. But a Jedi could not let his emotions guide him. A Jedi had to be calm, centered. A Jedi had to be rational. A Jedi could feel empathy, love, remorse, even anger, but a Jedi had to let those emotions flow through him like the brook through the training grounds. A Jedi could never _submit_ to emotion.

_There is no ignorance; there is knowledge._

The Jedi used to be renowned for their knowledge. The archives within the Jedi Temple held the most information in the galaxy. Jedi were constantly called on to settle disputes, explore new worlds, make new beginnings… a Jedi had to know everything. A Jedi couldn't enter a situation ignorant. A Jedi had to know his enemy… the Sith.

Something stirred the peaceful atmosphere. Anger. Irritation. Impatience. Thinking about the Sith made her remember that Darth Vader was still out there, that the _Empire_ was still out there. He took a deep breath. Something else disturbed the mood, aimed at her. A rebuke, perhaps? He couldn't tell.

_There is no passion; there is serenity._

Similar to no emotion, maybe? He grew confused. This seemed a bit redundant. Or perhaps it was simply because it was so important it was worth restating. One couldn't use their emotions for fuel. A Jedi had to be serene.

Irritation again. Why were they lingering on this? Rebuke again. _Patience_.

_There is no chaos; there is harmony._

But the _galaxy_ was in chaos. A Jedi had to bring peace to the destruction, to end the disparity. A Jedi _never_ added to the chaos.

_There is no death; there is the Force._

No death… no…

Obi-Wan opened his eyes. That word still held too much emotion for him. He knew he had to just accept it and move on, but he wasn't ready for it yet. He felt anger and hurt surge through him, and he did his best to release it, he tried to _reason_ why he should release it, but his words seemed too empty, as if he didn't really have an actual reason apart from fabricating one. He sighed and just did what he'd been doing for the past few days; he ignored it altogether.

Siri shifted beside him, equally uncomfortable with the last phrase, and she eventually opened her eyes as well. She was improving in her meditation technique, but they both still required Qui-Gon's assistance to enter it. The Jedi Master took a deep breath and finally opened his eyes, watching the two of them. Nothing needed to be said, and they all knew it; it was pointless to emphasize how much they needed to release this last heaviness that hung over them. They both knew they had to do so, but they just… weren't ready. Obi-Wan didn't know if he'd ever be ready.

He felt calmness surge through him, and he glanced at Qui-Gon. Both Obi-Wan and Siri had begun to develop a telekinetic bond—the Jedi called it a training bond—with the man since they spent almost every waking hour with him, and as he discovered this new connection more and more, he found it both reassuring and slightly unnerving. He really didn't have anything to hide from Qui-Gon, and he rather enjoyed having the peaceful presence to help him, but it seemed so _foreign_ to have easy access to someone's mind… and for someone else to have easy access to his own mind in return. He really shouldn't think it's all that foreign, though; he and Siri had apparently been speaking to each other through the Force for years, and now that they were both aware of their sensitivity, their bond to each other had been deepening. But something in Obi-Wan had grown cold ever since the day of the funeral, and he'd hidden that cold part of him in the corner of his mind, inaccessible to everyone. The more he meditated, the more he learned about bonds and the Force, the better he became at shielding this part of himself. He still couldn't entirely hide it from Siri, but he'd learn eventually. He had to. A Jedi held on to no emotion, and a Jedi was always the strength that everyone else leaned on, that everyone else could rely on. Obi-Wan had always been the strong one for everybody, the _reliable_ one, the reasonable one, and now that was more important than ever. If it meant he had to hide part of himself from the universe, even from his wife, then he would.

Qui-Gon spoke, interrupting Obi-Wan's thoughts. "I must speak with the Council, but I will be back soon. You two may continue the meditation without me."

The two stood at the same time as the Jedi Master and bowed to him before he left. Then they sat once more on the cushions, listening to the trickle of the drizzle outside. As soon as they were alone, Siri let out a small groan, leaning against the wall. "How much longer will we meditate on this stuff? I swear, it's like he's _trying_ to make us miserable."

"You know that isn't his intent," Obi-Wan argued gently.

Siri stiffened and stared intently at him. Obi-Wan felt a little odd under her gaze, and he could have sworn he heard a whisper in his mind, and then she blew out a sigh as if she'd been holding her breath. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" he asked uncertainly.

"I tried to talk to you through the Force," Siri rolled her eyes. "Guess it didn't work."

Obi-Wan laughed. "I don't think our bond has progressed _that_ far yet."

"No," she shook her head. "But it's progressed far enough. What's bothering you?" When Obi-Wan hesitated, not wanting to talk about Padmé, Siri added, "Besides the obvious."

Good, at least they wouldn't talk about_ that_. "I received a message from Bail Organa last night. He said Hoth was settled and the Rebels were inviting the Jedi to join them."

Siri's face lit up, and Obi-Wan regretted telling her anything; he himself was a little reluctant to rejoin galactic affairs until he felt ready, but he knew Siri had steadily grown more eager to do so over the past few days. In either case, he'd told the Council first thing in the morning, and they'd received the news with a somber nod. He wasn't sure what they were planning. He didn't know what the future held. He _did_ know, however, that he wasn't ready for it. Not yet.

As the two sat in silence, something caught his attention. At first he couldn't quite tell what it was, whether it was something he'd seen or heard or sensed, but he quickly narrowed it down to the third option, especially when Siri also paused and looked around curiously. Obi-Wan focused internally, trying to sort out what had changed, and he realized that something extra was in his mind, something humming with… he wasn't sure. It was familiar and… warm? Happy? He still struggled differentiating everything, but he knew this was the presence of a person and it was a familiar one. It wasn't Qui-Gon, though.

_Almusian._

Siri caught on a second later and the two were on their feet, exiting the building and searching for their friend. Immense relief flooded Obi-Wan, and he knew that it came from his wife as well. It had been unspoken, but over the past two days they both had been thinking about what could go wrong on Imperial Center and they both had been desperately avoiding the idea that Al wouldn't be coming back.

As soon as they caught sight of him, Siri charged towards the Zabrak, catching him off guard when she grabbed him in a fierce hug. Al yelped, and Obi-Wan let out a small chuckle of amusement, pleased enough to just see him.

"Siri, you're going to break my ribs!" The smuggler complained breathlessly.

"Shut up," she laughed, though she did release him. "Blast, it's good to see you."

"Hey, I told you I'd be fine." Al said with a reassuring smile.

"What happened on Imperial Center?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Well," Al blew out a sigh, leaning against a tree. "I've got good news and bad news. The good news is that we finally have an operative in Intelligence, and he's already transmitted some data – just got the first batch when I dropped his wife off on Hoth. The bad news is that he's not an _actual_ agent… he's, uh, maintenance."

"Maintenance?!" Obi-Wan and Siri repeated.

"Hey, he got some pretty decent info on his first transmission," Al argued a little defensively. "Found out that they swept through Wild Space looking for the enclave."

Dread filled Obi-Wan. "What?"

"They didn't find anything," Al immediately assured him. "In fact, they don't have anybody actively looking anymore."

Obi-Wan released a subtle sigh of relief as Siri muttered darkly about the Empire. Both spouses quickly shoved their emotions aside, however, and calmed once more. "Anything else new on your front?"

"The Rebels are finally finished moving into their base." Al reported happily, but then he immediately sulked. "And I'm in charge of supplies."

"And that's bad…?" Siri gathered hesitantly from his expression.

"Our main source of supplies right now is _Salkende_," Al whined. "That means I have to go _Fjesky_, which is in the middle of kriffing _winter_ and I'm going to freeze my _asteroid_ off. Not to mention Hoth itself is _freezing._"

Obi-Wan burst out laughing. He couldn't help it; after all the bad news they'd had lately, this 'tragic situation' in which Al found himself was just hilarious in comparison. Al crossed his arms irritably as Siri joined in and the two nearly doubled over. "Haha, laugh it up, jerks. You _know_ I don't like the cold!" When his whining did little to stop their amusement, Al tried a different avenue. "How's training?"

"See for yourself," Siri replied, regaining her composure. She brandished her training blade.

Obi-Wan sighed in mild exasperation. He should have known this was coming; Siri _loved_ all the Jedi combat training. Obi-Wan had to admit that relying on the Force while fighting was the _easiest_ aspect of Jedi training (though learning about different lightsaber forms themselves, while fascinating, was also painstakingly difficult), but it didn't mean he preferred to fight. Nevertheless, he knew Siri was eager both to practice and to show off what she'd learned to Al – if anything, so she herself could feel like she was doing something useful. Her patience with being stuck on Ghanu'jivo was quickly running out.

Pulling out his own training blade, Obi-Wan assumed an opening stance. He remembered a handful of katas and saw Siri prepare similarly. They wouldn't get very far in this mock fight; there was only so much they could learn in a week, after all. Still, they were both already trained fighters, especially Siri, so they could improvise enough to sustain a decent duel, and that was what happened. After Siri and Obi-Wan went through several katas the sophisticated saber duel morphed as Siri let go of the hilt with one hand, dropped to the ground, and used her free hand to balance her as she kicked fiercely at Obi-Wan's legs. He leapt over the attack, and Siri twisted out of his way as he landed and aimed a slash at her back. The duel ended when Siri finally landed a hit on Obi-Wan's shoulder, making him stumble enough so she could place the training blade to his neck with a victorious smirk.

"I think that would be the widow-maker move," Al remarked with an impressed whistle. "You two look pretty wizard – but why don't you have lightsabers?"

"They will."

Obi-Wan and Siri jumped, having been too engrossed in the fight to sense Qui-Gon's return. The Jedi Master was watching them with a gentle smile. The couple bowed to him.

"Hello," Al greeted with a small smile. "So why'd you call?"

Obi-Wan and Siri exchanged confused glances. "You called Al?"

Qui-Gon nodded. "Yes, I did. Once I learned that he had completed his mission I requested he come here. The Council has decided that it will send a task force to the Alliance, leaving several ships to protect Ghanu'jivo until we can combine our enclave with your base. In the meantime, any other ship is remaining here, so I needed Almusian's help."

"With what?"

Qui-Gon folded his hands into his cloak's sleeves, assuming a more comfortable posture. "Under normal circumstances, an initiate goes through several years of preparatory combat training, but we live in a period of war, and you two have prior experience in fighting… it's time for you to construct your own lightsabers."

Obi-Wan felt shock flare through him, and a few seconds later Siri's surprise turned into excitement. There was one problem, though… "I heard the other initiates say that Ilum has an Imperial force on it."

"It does indeed," Qui-Gon acknowledged with a smile and a nod. "You will have to handle that on your own."

Terrific.

Al grew nervous. "Uh, is that a good idea? We shouldn't be trying to _attract_ the Imps' attention, right?"

"Obi-Wan and Siri will not fight the Imperial forces," Qui-Gon said as he looked at the smuggler and then returned his gazed pointedly to them. "They will sneak by them, just as every other Padawan and Knight has done since our exile."

Were they ready to construct their lightsabers? Obi-Wan was slightly concerned about this on multiple levels, but for once, he just let it go; if Qui-Gon had faith in him, then surely he was capable of completing the task. _Release your worry to the Force._ And so he did.

By the _stars_ that was freeing.

"Pack your things," Qui-Gon instructed. "We leave in half an hour."

* * *

_Governor… kill me. Please… _please_ kill me._

Tarkin pinched the bridge of his nose as he once again became distracted from his work. He'd ordered an aide to bring all his reports to his quarters so he could remain there for the day. He'd also requested an audience with the emperor at least five hours ago, but he hadn't heard anything yet. He was debating whether he should just leave instead of wait for permission.

_Kill me._

Damn it, how could he have let the boy get to this point? Had that been his intention? Had it been _Tarkin's_ intention? Was this really the fruition of his planning? The boy was no use to him if he was suicidal.

Tarkin felt his gut clench and he almost grew nauseous at the thought. A small part of him was _sick_ of hearing how _useful_ Darth Vader was, but he wasn't sure he should really indulge it. After all, the boy was far too destroyed to be anything _but_ a tool, right? He knew nothing else in his life, he _had_ nothing else… Tarkin could give him so much more, but he wasn't sure it would really change anything… and for his plans to work, Vader _couldn't_ change. Once again, the governor found himself debating whether taking Vader to Eriadu was a good idea. Obviously the boy had to leave Imperial Center, but… well, he supposed there really wasn't a better time.

Sighing, the grand moff stood from his desk and walked to his bedroom. The room was barely lit since Tarkin had dimmed the windows so Vader could sleep. It seemed the sedative was still in effect, though the boy was finally curled up as he usually slept instead of limp and lifeless as he was earlier. After ensuring the young Sith was fine, he left the room and grabbed his comlink, calling his spy. When she answered, he simply said, "Go to Eriadu and ensure my estate is ready for my arrival."

"Yes, sir."

After cutting the connection Tarkin carelessly tossed the comlink onto his desk and walked to his balcony, gazing out at the skyline. If he didn't hear from Palpatine by evening, he would prep a shuttle and take the boy himself. He could come up with some excuse or another once they were away from Imperial Center.

Checking his chronometer, the grand moff figured this would be one of the longest waits of his life.

* * *

It felt like it had been a lifetime since Obi-Wan had been in the _Invariant Beauty_. The last time he and Siri had flown with Al was when they were returning to Imperial Center at the end of the final recess. Things were so different now.

They'd been in hyperspace for at least two hours. Siri had spent her time reviewing schematics of lightsaber hilts while Al had puttered about here and there, letting out nervous energy through snacking on whatever compound passed for food on the ship and writing math proofs on any spare surface. Qui-Gon meditated upstairs in the guest area. Obi-Wan decided it was probably better to join the Jedi Master than get run over by Al's frantic maneuvering or get roped into another idea for how to quickly make a lightsaber hilt whilst fleeing from Imperials.

Climbing the ladder, Obi-Wan found the Master sitting in the center of the room, his eyes closed. Despite his best efforts to be quiet, Qui-Gon still sensed him, saying, "Your thoughts are lingering on the past."

Obi-Wan sighed, closing the hatch to the ladder behind him. "It's difficult not to, Master."

Qui-Gon opened his eyes, smiling gently. "Keep your mind here and now where it belongs, Obi-Wan. Let the past mind itself."

Obi-Wan nodded in acknowledgement, but it wasn't easy to ignore his lingering thoughts and they both knew it. The Jedi Master only had to give an inviting gesture and Obi-Wan immediately sat beside him. Taking a calming breath, he allowed Qui-Gon to ease him into meditation through the training bond.

_Keep your mind here and now._ Here and now. The only thing he sensed in the currents of the Force here and now was Siri's restlessness, Al's nervousness, and his own emotions… melancholy? Reluctance? Did he even _know_ what he was feeling? What was really bothering him?

_There is no ignorance; there is knowledge._

To release one's emotions, a Jedi had to _know_ his emotions. Obi-Wan furrowed his brow, trying to figure out what he was feeling.

Padmé.

Obi-Wan's eyes opened abruptly. Blast it, he couldn't think about that right now. That wasn't concentrating on the present, right? Deep down, though, he knew she was the root of all his issues, in the present and undoubtedly in the future. He had to let go. He had to let her go.

He wasn't ready for that.

His meditation was interrupted suddenly when he heard Al over the intercom. "We're about to exit hyperspace. Everybody needs to strap in now; I've got to do some fancy flying to avoid the orbital station."

Qui-Gon stood gracefully and headed for the hatch, pausing and waiting for Obi-Wan. The stark switch between meditation and reality left him a little dizzy as he stood and followed the man. Once Obi-Wan was in the main living space again he went straight to Siri, sitting beside her on the couch and strapping in. Qui-Gon sat to his other side.

Siri looked at him determinedly. "You ready?"

"I suppose that's irrelevant by now," Obi-Wan muttered just as he heard the hyperdrive disengage.

Al's 'fancy flying' wasn't as harrowing as Obi-Wan suspected it might have been, for which he was very grateful; he wasn't fond of getting stuck in a space battle. Within five minutes they entered the atmosphere and were preparing to land. Obi-Wan felt himself get pushed harshly into the sofa by gravity before everything eased off. As everyone unstrapped and stood, Al entered and pulled out a hologram of Ilum. Zooming in, he pointed out where they were, and Qui-Gon took it from there.

"The garrison here is small and has to cover many crystal caverns," he told them. "Your safest approach will be to the south. The caves there are hardly guarded. Be careful, though; the Imperials are the least of your concerns. Remember your training."

What did _that_ mean? Before Obi-Wan could ask, though, Qui-Gon walked to the landing ramp and opened it. "Go. May the Force be with you."

Siri nodded and tossed a glance at Obi-Wan, bidding him to follow her. He did so without an argument, but Qui-Gon's words hung heavily over him.

As soon as they exited, the freezing wind blasted through the layers of clothing they were wearing. Obi-Wan pulled his scarf up tighter around his mouth and nose and he heard Siri gasp at the intensity of the wind. The two didn't dare speak, too intent on avoiding Imperial attention. They followed Qui-Gon's advice and headed south. The area was bleak; everything was white or stony grey. The air felt strange here, though that was likely the Force. He wasn't sure what it was, but he could tell Siri felt it too. It was almost like there were ghostly presences in the Force… he wasn't sure what it was, but a thought occurred to him: they were echoes, imprints left behind by thousands of previous Jedi who had come here. As soon as this thought came to mind, Obi-Wan was stunned with the sudden intense history of this place, and he marveled at how this small, icy world served as a central part of thousands of years of Jedi tradition. For the first time since their training had begun, he felt like a Jedi, he felt like he was actually a part of the Order.

It didn't take long before the caverns entered their sight. A small bunker was also nearby, but when Obi-Wan tentatively reached into the Force, he didn't think he sensed any life presence ahead. Motioning to his wife, the two slowly made their way to the cave, and when they were barely a few meters away Siri made a mad dash, causing Obi-Wan to hastily follow. Once they were inside the wind finally ceased to be a problem and they pulled back their hoods, goggles, and scarves.

The cave seemed innocuous at first; it was mainly ice and stone. Obi-Wan wasn't quite sure how large the crystals would be or where they would find them. Apart from saying what was safe from Imperials, Qui-Gon hadn't honestly told them much. Siri exhaled, and her breath hovered as mist in front of her mouth. "Well, I guess we should head deeper."

Obi-Wan nodded, and the two slowly went further into the cave. As they walked, Siri whispered, "How many Jedi do you think have been here?"

"An innumerable amount, I suppose," he replied, once again in awe of the situation.

Siri took a deep breath, confident and content with the thought. Apparently she felt the same way he did about this, and it was relaxing. Obi-Wan had spent so much time wondering whether he should have begun this training, whether being a Jedi was actually the right choice, whether he could manage it… and now he finally felt like he belonged, like this _was_ the right thing to do.

As the couple continued their trek, the light from the outside started to dim, and Obi-Wan grew slightly worried. He had a glow stick with him and a compass, but there were other concerns as well, such as adequate oxygen if they really _did_ go too far in. And he _still_ wasn't sure what they were looking for. Siri seemed to be growing slightly nervous as well, but she continued to press onward.

Eventually they reached a fork in the cave. They immediately paused.

"Which way should we go now?" Siri asked, glancing uncertainly from one passage to the other.

"I'm not sure. Perhaps we're supposed to meditate on it?" Obi-Wan suggested halfheartedly.

"_Meditating_ won't help us here," Siri rolled her eyes. "I'm glad you find it useful, but in real situations like this it isn't going to do much. We just have to decide."

"We could get very lost, Siri. We have to put _some_ consideration into this. Besides, we can sense the history of this place; perhaps the Force can give us some indication as to where the previous Jedi went?"

Siri silently pondered the matter before replying. "I just don't see it giving us much; our senses aren't that attuned to the Force yet. But… Obi, I think our bond's improving pretty well, don't you?"

Obi-Wan eyed her suspiciously. "Why do you say that?"

"I think we should split up."

"No," he immediately shook his head. "That's the _last_ thing we should do."

"We can't linger here too long, you know," Siri argued, facing him fully. "What if Imperials patrol inside the caves?"

"We would have run into a patrol by now if that were the case."

"They might come _later_. The point is that we're supposed to do this _quickly_."

"We're also supposed to come back _in one piece_," Obi-Wan stressed.

"Obi, I don't know what to tell you," Siri sighed. "I just have this gut feeling that we need to split up. We can cover more ground that way, and we can find each other through our bond."

Well… there was _some_ logic to her argument, but he still didn't like it. Nevertheless, Siri didn't look like she'd take any more protests from him.

Obi-Wan held back a groan of exasperation and worry. "Fine. But we set a time limit and then we head back here."

Siri pulled her sleeve back to access her chronometer. "Fine. Half an hour."

Obi-Wan viewed the time and nodded. The two silently exchanged well wishes and promised to return at the designated time, and then Siri vanished into the darkness of the left passage. Obi-Wan shuddered, trying not to see any symbolism in that. Taking a calming breath, he faced his own passage fully and strode forward. The cave grew steadily darker and darker until he almost pulled out his glow stick when a strange, eerie light became visible ahead. Walking slowly, he reached for his blaster, which was securely sitting in its holster on his right leg, but the usual hair raising sensation of danger wasn't present. Instead, the air felt strangely warm, and when he rounded the corner, he froze in place.

"_Padmé?"_ he gasped.

Before him stood his little sister, looking as healthy as ever. She was dressed in all white, bundled in many layers just as he was. Her brown eyes lit up as she smiled warmly upon seeing him. This… this couldn't be real. This _couldn't be real_. How was… she… there was _no way_…

"Padmé…" he repeated, unable to say anything coherent.

"It's all right, Obi," she said, taking a slow step towards him. "Follow me."

Follow? What? "Padmé, wha—wait!"

His sister didn't wait for a reply. Instead, she dashed in another direction, and Obi-Wan ran as hard as he could to keep up. His heart was racing faster than it ever had been; how could Padmé be _alive_? How could she be _here_? This didn't make sense—his head was spinning, he couldn't put anything together, he couldn't think straight.

Obi-Wan rounded another corner and suddenly Padmé wasn't even in sight. Instead, he saw Siri sitting on the ground, her eyes blankly staring at her hands. The air grew cold in an instant.

"Siri?" Slowly approaching his wife, Obi-Wan noted how slumped over she was. He immediately grew concerned, even more so when he didn't sense anything from her. He dropped to his knees beside her, shaking her, and as soon as he touched her she crumped to the ground. Her blank eyes were fixed upon nothing, and her frozen expression held pain and terror. Her muscles were slightly stiff… _stiff_… rigor mortis… she was… the baby… _no, no, no, no_!

"The price of attachment."

Obi-Wan gasped, whirling around to see his other sister, Sola, watching him. Wait—Sola? _What?_

Sola narrowed her eyes accusingly. "You let us go. The ones who raised you, who grew up with you, who were always there for you. You just dropped us in a heartbeat as soon as Padmé died. But Siri… you _stayed_ with her. You were still _attached_ to her. You should have abandoned her like you did _us_, Obi. She might still be alive. Attachment only leads to suffering."

"Sola…" Obi-Wan said her name, but by now he was quickly realizing that he probably hadn't seen anyone, especially when he looked back at his wife to see that she had vanished. He looked back at his sister. She looked so _real_… by the stars, he even almost _sensed_ her… at least he thought he did. His senses were strangely muddled all of a sudden, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to detect _anything_ at this point. No. No, he _refused_ to accept this as real; it made no logical sense for Padmé to be alive, for Sola to be here, for Siri to be… to be…

"Even when you tried to invest energy in attachments it failed you."

Obi-Wan looked and saw Padmé approach behind their sister. She was no longer in attire that matched the climate, but in her funeral gown. Obi-Wan felt the bottom drop out of his stomach, and the hairs on the back of his neck rose. He couldn't see her in that outfit. Not again.

Padmé glared at him. "You knew. You _knew_ that I wasn't in my right mind, that I was putting myself at risk by my interactions with Éothen and Vader. But you didn't do anything about it. You just _let it happen_."

"I didn't mean to!" Obi-Wan immediately yelled back, frustrated and hurt and confused beyond belief. He didn't even know why he was yelling at something that was obviously not real, and he was even more unnerved by the fact that he was hallucinating. Was this even a hallucination? Was it something _external_ to him? Was this what Qui-Gon had meant when he'd said the Imperials were the least of their concerns?

"It doesn't matter what you meant, what matters is what _happened_!" Padmé snarled at him. "I _died_ because of _you_, because you were too distant, too _hesitant_! Your indecision _killed_ me, Obi-Wan! If you'd just stopped it from the beginning, if you'd just gotten me off Imperial Center, this would have never happened!"

Obi-Wan didn't have an argument. He _couldn't_ argue. Everything she said was exactly true, it was what had been eating him alive in that private corner of his mind that he wouldn't allow anyone else to see. It had been _killing_ him ever since her funeral; he _knew_ his indecision culminated in her death. Obviously there were many factors, but if he'd just been firmer, if he'd protected her more, things may have turned out differently.

_Jedi do not deal in what-if scenarios. Let the past mind itself._ Qui-Gon's steady voice rumbled in Obi-Wan's mind, and he took a shaky breath. He tried to reason it out in his mind, he tried to tell himself that it was over, that it didn't matter anymore, but he couldn't lie to himself. It _did_ matter that he was partly to blame for his sister's death, and no Jedi teaching would tell him otherwise!

He still tried though. By the stars, he _tried_. "Padmé, I… how was I supposed to know? I didn't have all the information! Why couldn't you just tell me everything that was on your mind?"

"I _tried_! You shut me down!"

"I was trying to stop it before it got worse!" Obi-Wan snapped, completely ignoring the fact that he was yelling at a figment of his imagination. "I tried to put a stop to it! I _tried_!"

_Do or do not. There is no try._

Obi-Wan paused. Staring at Padmé in that gown, that _awful_ gown, he finally felt himself grow cold, grow so inexplicably cold. He closed his eyes, he tried to seal himself off from the anguish that filled him, but he couldn't. There was no one to play to here, no audience for whom he had to maintain a façade. He felt the sobs come in small gasps before he finally slid to the floor, covering his face with one hand and trembling from head to foot. The more he cried, the worse he seemed to feel, the more he thought about how in his _trying_ to help her he'd essentially _done_ nothing to help her. He'd failed in protecting his sister. He'd _failed_. The words ate into his mind, it consumed his heart, his soul, and he felt like he couldn't breathe.

_There is no emotion; there is peace._

_Kriff_ the Jedi and their Code! How the blazes was he supposed to _not_ feel—

Obi-Wan bit his tongue and squeezed his eyes shut, immediately shutting down the internal argument before it could start. Getting angry over the situation would do nothing; he knew that before he'd ever received Jedi training. But now, with his knowledge of his abilities and the Code, he had an even greater responsibility. He had to remember that; he had to remember that life still moved on after Padmé's death, no matter whose fault it was. The galaxy still needed the Jedi, his wife and child needed him, and he had to respond to that call, no matter how exhausted he felt.

After taking a deep breath, Obi-Wan tried to clear his mind and just let the anger leave. He didn't linger on it. He just focused on how he had a mission to complete. The more he thought on this, the emptier he felt, but then a strange warmth filled him. It was subtle, soft… he couldn't have felt it in the heat of his emotions, in the chaos of the previous moment. It flowed through him and washed him clean.

_Do or do not. There is no try._

He had done everything he could. And as soon as he realized that, he exhaled deeply, bending forward so much that his forehead touched the cold floor, and the pain slipped out of him like the dam he built up finally burst, but it didn't ravage him; it just _left_.

He had done everything he could. There was nothing more to be done, nothing more to be said, nothing more to calculate or speculate or _anything_. He'd done what he could, and Padmé had made her choice. She was dead now. She was gone. He had to let her go. _He had to let her go_.

Standing, Obi-Wan looked at his sister as she glared at him with hatred. It hurt for a moment, and then he let that go as well. This was just a vision, a ghost of someone who was already gone. He couldn't let himself get upset about this. _There is no emotion; there is peace._ "I'm sorry, Padmé. I'm sorry for what happened to you. But there's nothing more I can do for you. Leave."

"You're just going to _forget _about me?!" she shouted.

Obi-Wan smiled sadly… tiredly. "I will never forget you. You will always be my dear sister. But you're gone, Padmé. It does no one any good to linger on it. So I won't. I have to look after the living."

Padmé's contorted expression slowly softened, and she looked down as if suddenly realizing he was right, as if suddenly remembering that she _was_ in fact dead and would never be with him again. Her eyes filled with tears, and it nearly broke Obi-Wan's heart.

"I'll see you again someday," he whispered. "But not now. Not for a while."

Padmé nodded, tears freely falling down her face. "Goodbye, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan felt the lump in his throat almost prevent him from speaking, but eventually choked out, "Goodbye, Padmé."

His sister vanished into the darkness.

In the other cavern, Siri was having similar difficulties, though she'd yet to see Padmé. Instead, she first ran into Al's body on the floor, shot up by blaster fire. She'd been in shock until she'd realized that Al would have no reason to follow her.

Then things only grew worse. When she continued to walk ahead, desperately trying to push the image of her friend's mangled body out of her mind, she saw that kriffing handmaiden, Lek Ieru. Jumping, Siri immediately reached for her blaster and fired off several shots, but the false handmaiden dodged them easily, narrowing her slender eyes and pulling out a knife. Siri avoided the attacks, but for some reason the handmaiden moved faster than was possible, and the next thing Siri knew she was in a grapple and she was thrown to the floor.

Yelling out, Siri winced as her head hit a rock and throbbed painfully. The handmaiden stood over her, ready for the final blow. Siri kicked out fiercely, trying desperately to get away from her, but the handmaiden, though hit by the attack, retaliated with a stomp to Siri's abdomen causing her to shout out in pain and terror. Leaping up, Siri knocked the handmaiden into the wall and pulled the knife from her tight grip before plunging it into the woman's throat. Warm crimson blood trickled over her fingers, wrist, and arm, and it dripped onto the floor into a puddle. The handmaiden gazed at her in shock before suddenly smiling—_smiling—_and saying, "This will be your downfall."

How could she even _speak_ with a _knife_ in her _throat_?!

"You enjoyed the kill."

Siri gasped, whirling around. She _knew_ that voice.

Darth Vader stood in front of her, calm as always. Unnervingly, though, he had blood all over him; it covered his face, neck, and hands, and it stained his clothes. His eyes were a sickly yellow. He gave her a lopsided grin. "Admit it. You enjoyed it. You'll do anything to protect your loved ones. _Anything_. Even tear them away from others who care for them. You isolated Obi-Wan; suddenly you had to be the only important one in his life. What will you do to the baby, I wonder?"

Siri could barely breathe. She took several steps away from him, terrified from the attack to the baby, her vicious retaliation against the handmaiden, and Vader's presence. How had the Sith gotten here? What was she going to do? How did he know so much? What about the—no, no, this couldn't be right, _none_ of it. This couldn't be _real_.

"I didn't do it to _isolate_ him," she argued before she could stop herself. "I was trying to protect his _family_. It had nothing to do with _him_."

"How will you protect your child, then?" Vader asked, walking towards her until he'd backed her into a corner. "What will you do to keep your youngling safe from the Empire? From _me_?"

Siri pulled out her blaster. "I'll fight to my last breath before I let _you_ touch my child."

She was talking to a hallucination. She was talking to a blasted _hallucination_. She'd gone crazy.

"Attachment is a path to the Dark Side." Vader purred. "You'll be just like me."

Siri scoffed. "I want to protect my family because I _love_ them, not because I'm obsessed and can't let go."

"Obviously," the Sith Lord said dryly. "You've done so well letting go of Padmé."

Siri fired. The shot went right through him. She was wasting ammo and time. This was ridiculous. But his words _tore_ into her, and she was suddenly shaking with rage. "Don't you _dare_ assume you know what's going on in my head!"

"You can't let her go, can you?"

"I _can_!"

"Then say it."

Siri paused, confusion temporarily pushing the anger aside. "Say what?"

"Say what happened to her. _Admit_ it."

She was _not_ going to get into this with an imaginary Sith Lord. "I don't have time for this."

"Always running from your fears," Vader remarked, crossing his arms. "You did everything in your power to make sure you were noticed when you were a youngling because you thought no one cared. Now you know people do, and you can't stand to lose them. Textbook. You'll be a Sith within a month."

Siri was about to cry out, to pull the knife out of the handmaiden's throat and thrust it into the bloodied Sith, but she stopped herself. This was pointless, and she _couldn't_ get angry – anger was a hallmark of the Sith. Vader had to be a part of her trial here (unless she'd spontaneously lost her mind, of course), and if that were the case then she knew this was her own fears projected physically. She _had_ to have time for this because, though she didn't want to admit it, he was right; she was terrified of losing anyone else.

_There is no death; there is the Force._

The Force represented life. It was all around her. She could sense the entire universe if she put her mind to it. She would never be alone. The Jedi had been isolated and they'd survived and persevered. Blast it all, it was great to _acknowledge_ that, but it wasn't the same—sensing her fellow Jedi wasn't the same as sensing _Obi-Wan_.

But the Jedi wanted her to let go. Apparently she _had_ to let go in order to _not_ be a Sith. _Screw_ that – she wouldn't become a Sith, but she wasn't going to be _heartless_ either. There had to be a happy medium. There _had_ to be.

_There is no death; there is the Force._

"But there _is_ death," Vader reminded her. "It's all around you, and you can't stop it."

Something about his words struck her. He was right, after all – there was no stopping death. It would claim all of them eventually, even if nobody wanted to think about that. The universe didn't shatter when one person died; it moved on. They all moved on. Did they become one with the Force like the Jedi claimed they did? Blast it, she hoped not; she'd rather live on in some form after she died, not just vanish into a collective energy field with no thoughts and no feelings or _anything._ But no matter what happened, she did have to realize that Vader was right in this instance; death was inevitable. She couldn't run from it, nor could she run from the acceptance of it.

Siri took a shaky breath. "Padmé's… Padmé's dead… but she… she'll never be gone." Then she abruptly turned and ran away from the disturbing images, holding her abdomen lightly. The kick hadn't been real, right? All the pain from earlier vanished, and she felt slightly panicked, wondering what exactly _was_ real in this cave and what wasn't. Had she and Obi-Wan even _reached_ the cave? What the hell was going on?

Looking at her chronometer, Siri realized to her horror that twenty minutes had passed. Reaching into the Force, she tried to sense out her husband. Rushing ahead, Siri saw the cave splinter into more hallways, and she grew even more nervous. Feeling queasy, she stumbled into the darkness of one hall and felt a cold shiver run down her spine. Suddenly, the sound of a lightsaber activating emitted from behind her, and the area was bathed in crimson light. She whirled around, but instead of seeing Darth Vader again, Siri found herself face to face with the emperor, who held a red lightsaber and had a manic, predatory expression on his face. Yelling out, Siri immediately ran in the _opposite_ direction – she wasn't a coward, but she also wasn't an idiot. There was no way she could hold her own against a Sith Master.

Siri ran as hard as her legs would allow for what felt like an eternity, yet every time she turned her head over her shoulder the emperor was still right on her heels. She began to feel her chest constrict, and she started to stumble. When she turned a sharp corner she impacted face first into something that felt strangely like a person. She heard a yelp that sounded like her husband's, and the Force sang with sudden familiarity. "Obi-Wan!"

"Siri?" he gasped. "Siri, did you—the emperor—"

"Yes!" she immediately answered his question before he could finish asking it. The hum of the Sith's lightsaber grew ever closer, and the two twisted in their place to see him ready to deliver the final blow, his yellowish eyes narrowing with hatred.

"You won't take my apprentice away from me!" The Sith swung his blade down upon the couple and the world turned black.

* * *

The Force rippled. It had been twenty-one wonderful years since the Dark Side had engulfed the galaxy and quenched the Light. When the clones had struck down their generals and commanders, Palpatine had basked in the bloodshed. The Dark Side had swelled, swallowing Imperial Center whole. In the year or so following, hatred and despair had been the dominant sensations, fueling him and finally allowing him to openly enjoy the desires he'd been hiding under the façade of a concerned, fatherly politician. And then, two years after the creation of the Empire, the Force had shuddered. Palpatine hadn't initially sensed it—he'd been a little busy causing the occurrence. Nevertheless, as the days had passed, he'd sensed more and more that some sort of nexus was developing, that the fabric of the universe had given its precious power into a flesh vessel. It had been that fact alone that had saved the unborn child – Palpatine had no interest in younglings, particularly from his slaves, but when he'd sensed such raw _power_—from a developing unborn child, no less!—he could not deny the innumerable possibilities.

When his son had been born, Palpatine had watched to ensure the birthing went well. After assuring the baby was healthy, he'd dismissed the doctor and midwives, and he'd taken care of loose ends. Skywalker had served her purpose, after all.

Honestly he hadn't seen the boy much after that, not until he was almost six months old, and that was only because there was a threat to the palace. Palpatine hadn't been concerned, but the increased security might have led to someone noticing a nanny droid taking care of a mysterious baby, and he wouldn't have that. He'd checked on the child for a fleeting moment, barely glancing at those blue eyes before calling for an Intelligence agent to watch the boy for a few days until the crisis was over. After all, why would he spare the boy a second glance? He meant nothing to him at that time; he'd been helpless, and though his potential was enormous, his actual usefulness was nonexistent at the time.

Palpatine still remembered the gaze. Vader had been only a mere six months old, and he had already held a cool gaze. It was strange, because once Palpatine had started to train his son at around the age of three or four (simple things, of course – stoking the flames of the boy's hatred, teaching him important morals, and other such matters; the physical training would have to wait until a few years later), Vader had shown great promise as a magnificent and violent Sith. The boy had had such a _temper_ once provoked. He'd held a great amount of disdain, mistrust, and bore no warm emotion whatsoever. Palpatine had treated him as inferior, had insulted him again and again, and had pushed the boy to improve so he could no longer be _unworthy_ but be the apprentice Palpatine wanted. The efforts were met with tears, with frustration, with temper tantrums and demolished rooms and screaming – it had been expected, and watching the boy's rudimentary skills with the Force had been interesting. But then the temper had cooled. The indifference was gone, but aloofness was back. Vader was suddenly unattached and clinging to him all at once, though the boy tried _so hard_ to not show it, and Palpatine, admittedly, had not entirely noticed the shift before it was too late.

So it was absolutely _bizarre_ to think that as a baby Vader had been remote, as if it had been a taste of what was to come. Palpatine still didn't know what had caused the actual change in the boy (he knew his motivation, yes, but not what had caused that motivation to come forth), though he supposed by now it was a moot point. In either case, that one moment had been the only time Palpatine had spent with his infant son; the next time he saw him was when Vader was almost three years old. He hadn't needed him up to that point. He hadn't _cared_ about him up to that point.

The Sith Master sighed, trying _not_ to think about how that opinion might have changed. Why should it have? He obviously had invested a lot of time into the youngling, but he'd also done so for many other minions and apprentices. Darth Vader was special due to his power, nothing more.

The Force rippled again. Palpatine sighed again. He'd been awoken very early that morning by a sudden surge of energy and intense emotion from his apprentice. The Dark Side had swelled, filled with despair and rage – it had been like the beginning years of the Empire all over again except it was concentrated into one individual. The fact that the boy could hold enough hatred to match a wronged galaxy was incredible, and Palpatine had marveled at it before prodding the bond to figure out what was happening. Vader's end of their bond, however, was sealed tightly – a trick the boy had learned very early in life. (Palpatine had once tried to break through the boy's mental defenses and it had left him with a headache and with a screaming youngling for the next three days – he'd decided not to try that again.) So he'd been left to brood and wonder, but he'd steadily been piecing the story together. He hadn't heard anything specific – he assumed Vader lost control of his emotions once more and some hapless civilian had fallen victim to him. There was no doubt to that. But what else had happened, and where was Vader now? That had been answered a few hours ago – Grand Moff Tarkin had requested an audience.

Palpatine had let the request linger, had refused to acknowledge it just yet. He was testing the man, checking to see how this played out. Nothing in the man's jurisdiction would be pressing enough for an audience with the emperor, so this had to do with Darth Vader. The Sith Master supposed Vader had gone to Tarkin, which was… interesting. Palpatine had been under the impression that Tarkin's interest in Vader as a means to power had only been recent – as soon as Vader had shown uncertainty and weakness before Amidala's death, Tarkin had become adamant about the boy's 'political training.' It was inevitable and expected. But for Vader to go to the grand moff in such dire circumstances… again, Palpatine shouldn't be surprised; his apprentice had often sought advice from the grand moff when he hadn't thought it prudent to approach the emperor himself. As time had passed their relationship had developed into something mutually functional and beneficial; Tarkin would give some advice on missions if the boy needed it, and Vader would aid the grand moff with his own affairs. But there had never been anything particularly _threatening_ about the relationship until recently. Tarkin's manipulations were predictable, but Vader responding so readily to them was… worrying. The boy wasn't aware of the power play that was going on right under his nose – he didn't even realize he was the rope in this game of tug-of-war. The rope, however, was supposed to be _passive_, not playing right into Tarkin's hands.

That brought about several problems and possibilities. Of course, one amusing notion was that the Sith Master could allow Vader to remain with Tarkin and just see what the grand moff did, but that was suddenly becoming a little _too_ threatening. Still, he had to know what the man was up to, so although he let Tarkin stew in in his plots, he finally granted him his audience. The doors opened, and the grand moff entered after being announced by the Red Guard. Once the man was down on one knee, Palpatine acknowledged him and he immediately got to the point.

"Your Imperial Majesty, I'm requesting that Lord Vader accompany me to my estate on Eriadu."

Palpatine leaned back in his seat, slightly surprised at the forwardness of this move. Was Tarkin convinced that he had Vader in his clutches now? It would be the only reason for such an obvious tactic; he wanted to take the young apprentice into his own territory where he could seal the boy's fate. Perhaps things had developed a little _too_ far. How could matters have changed so quickly from simple plotting once Vader had begun to weaken to outright dragging him off Imperial Center? Tarkin was probably being overconfident, and the man's boldness would be almost amusing if it weren't for that tiny part of the mighty Sith Master that worried just a little too much for his apprentice.

Despite his concern, this development was actually rather welcome. After all, the past few years had been mainly dedicated to eradicating the Rebels, and though Palpatine was the expert of long games, it had grown tiresome. The Rebels were hardly a threat, and their arguments and efforts were pitiful in comparison to what the Sith had handled before. Nothing would top his manipulation and destruction of the Republic and the Jedi Order. Now that the Rebels were nonexistent, it was back to internal affairs, and the usual machinations that accompanied them. In most cases it was dull and tedious—bumbling fools pretending they had an iota of sense when they were nothing more than the dirt on the floor—but for _some_, like Tarkin, it was an actual enjoying experience. The man was intelligent and cunning – he could provide a good challenge. He _would_ provide a _fun_ challenge if it weren't for that pesky detail of using Palpatine's own apprentice against him.

The Force rippled a third time. The bond between father and son shifted and Palpatine sensed grogginess – the boy was finally waking up; he'd apparently been either exhausted to the point of passing out or sedated up to this point. Palpatine monitored the situation, but he dedicated most of his focus to the grand moff.

Smiling, the Sith Lord inquired, "You suddenly need to return home, governor?"

"I have a few affairs to handle, sire," Tarkin replied. Such a vague answer – was the man so confident that Palpatine would say yes? "It's nothing too pressing, but it has come to my attention that Lord Vader needs a… respite from Imperial Center."

Oh, this was interesting. He couldn't wait to hear why the governor thought so. "What do you mean?"

"Lord Vader… still needs to recover from his injuries," Tarkin answered carefully. "The physical and mental strain have been weighing on him, and I fear that the current climate on Imperial Center will not aid his healing."

It was a surprisingly honest answer. Palpatine could distinctly hear the unspoken words in the air, however… 'Lord Vader still needs to recover _after you broke him_.' It was written all over the man's face. How amusing – Tarkin had actually begun to _care_ for the boy. It was far too late for that nonsense now. Palpatine would _not_ let Vader fall into the man's hands when the boy was this vulnerable.

The emperor stood and approached Tarkin slowly. He prodded his bond to Vader once again and sensed that the boy was fully awake. "I agree with you, governor. Lord Vader does need time to recover… time away from Imperial Center." Tarkin looked almost hopeful, but Palpatine continued, "It so happens that I was looking for an opportunity to take a brief vacation as well. Lord Vader will accompany me."

Palpatine immediately sensed frustration and rage from the grand moff, as well as fierce protectiveness. This made him smile all the more. He drank up the feelings rolling off the man after his denial – Darth Vader was _his_, not Tarkin's, and he would ensure the grand moff understood that. Without letting the man get in another word, he dismissed him, saying he had other matters to attend to, and the grand moff practically stormed out of the room. Palpatine waited a few minutes before exiting the throne room as well, following the pulsing signature in the Force to its source.

Darth Vader was wandering aimlessly in the cavernous hallways of the main floor of the palace. His expression was empty, and the Force echoed that sentiment; the boy's signature almost seemed to be bleeding life, as if his spirit itself were fading away. Palpatine had allowed the boy time to reassemble his thoughts and sanity on his own over the past few days, but it was apparent that he would need some help – nudging him wasn't enough.

There were plenty of ways to incite some kind of reaction in him, but this time, the emperor didn't provoke him. He didn't have to; Vader sensed his presence a few seconds after his arrival (later than normal – was that his exhaustion or something else?) and faced him, bowing. Usually his mental shields went up tightly at this point, usually the Force would grow cold with his emotional restraint, but this time nothing changed – his life signature continued to bleed, dripping through the air like thick, icy liquid. The Dark Side swelled greedily, but Palpatine didn't join in the fun. Instead, he motioned with his arm for the boy to walk with him, and he was surprised at how easily his pleasure in the boy's pain disappeared in lieu of just breathing some life into him.

Darth Vader obeyed silently. Typically he would be curious and awaiting orders, but this time he just followed blindly, his mind blank. No worries, no concerns, no anger, no flashbacks to the senator's murder… just emptiness. How long had it been since he'd taken his usual morning walk? Since the murder? Since _before_ the murder? He recalled that Vader had said he'd walked a little, but his reply hadn't been convincing, and seeing him now confirmed the weak lie.

The boy's walks usually helped him focus for the day. They usually centered him, served as a coping mechanism for the trials to come. The few times Palpatine had prodded the bond during the boy's walks, Vader had always been focused inward, tightly sealing his mind off to the universe; a bomb could have blown up nearby and he wouldn't have noticed. Somehow that time for rumination always helped, and so Palpatine sent a gentle suggestion through their bond, using the Force to persuade his apprentice to do the same routine. Mind tricks _never_ worked on the strong minded, and Vader was the most stubborn person in the universe, but today he was a hollow shell, so vulnerable to suggestion that it was actually a little terrifying.

The two didn't talk. There was no need to. Vader slowly slipped into a strange state of being lost in thought but not lost in any particular thought. His mind floated in a daze, hovering from one thing to another without making sense of anything, and the bond grew hazy as a result. It was enough, though; it would at least give him some reprieve from his misery. That in itself would suffice until Palpatine planned things out more thoroughly.

The next half hour was spent guiding his dazed apprentice through the hall. The occasional prod or suggestion through their bond was enough to keep the boy content, but eventually Palpatine decided it was time to get some food. Walking towards the dining hall, Palpatine paused and gave a small command that Vader get something to eat, which the boy immediately acknowledged with a nod, departing.

The emperor watched him go, thinking about how he would let this play out. He had the perfect idea for his lost apprentice – it was summertime in the Lake Country on Naboo, and his personal retreat was the finest on the planet. It would be relaxing… and a lovely reminder of Vader's previous time there, though more subtle than the crime scene here.

But what about Tarkin? If he left the man to his own devices, the grand moff might come up with some new schemes, and as entertaining as the notion was, Palpatine suddenly didn't want to deal with it. Vader had been threatened, and that was the point where the game ended. Still, the boy took comfort in Tarkin's advice, and if Palpatine monitored him, he could figure out his plans… he supposed he could tolerate having Tarkin come along for the fun.

Nodding to himself, Palpatine left to arrange the matter with Intelligence – he didn't want this trip to be public knowledge. In the meantime, he would watch his apprentice closely; if they had enough time on Naboo, the boy would return able to manipulate all those who would dare try to manipulate _him_, including Grand Moff Tarkin.

* * *

**So Papa Palps and good ol' Tarkin are digging their heels into the ground and yanking Vader's arms so hard they're going to dislocate them if they keep this up. Sigh. Still, I had to have a chapter where poor Obi and Siri finally dealt with their inner demons and started to improve instead of constantly brooding - also, writing about Jedi trials is always really fun. I could have gone on for eons with Ilum, lol. **

**(P.S. sorry if this chapter seemed incoherent or rambling - I think Vader's empty brain syndrome leaked into my head while writing this. Probably has something to do with studying for a final exam.)**

**Fun fact! When you're a baby, your relationship with your parents defines the kind of relationships you build later in life. There are 3 main attachment types: secure attachment, avoidant, and anxious. Secure means life is good between you and your parents as a baby, so you tend to understand how to make/have good relationships with people as an adult. Avoidant is when you're neglected by your parents as a baby and therefore are less likely to open up to people/trust them/have any meaningful relationships as an adult. Anxious/dependent attachment means you're constantly worried that someone will leave you, and you're very pushy in relationships. Guess which one our poor little Sithie is? (Sorry for the random psychology blurb - taking a psych class right now, lol)**


	35. Checkmate

**Remember the roller coaster parallel? Well, hold on tight. ;)**

* * *

This was _not_ what he'd wanted. If only life were just blasted _straightforward_ sometimes.

Tarkin hissed in annoyance as he paced his room. He'd spent the entire day working here and minding Darth Vader, waiting for some kind of response from the emperor. When he'd finally gotten his audience, it was only to find out that he would be denied. It was obvious now that Palpatine was on to him, though whether the man knew exactly how much clout Tarkin had was unclear. It didn't seem likely, though; if the emperor were aware of what Tarkin possessed, he would have probably executed him.

But now that he'd finally decided that _maybe_ it was time to play his final move, now that he'd surrendered to his more irrational side and decided to just worry about Vader's well-being, that _murglak_ interfered. Palpatine had primed Vader for this inevitable conflict, he'd weakened the boy's mental defenses and created this emotional turmoil and now he was just going to make it _worse_.

What the blazes could Tarkin do? He had a power structure, he had moffs and admirals in his pocket, plenty of fleets and a few armies, but no one would dare stand against the emperor. Anyone high enough to be a threat was also smart enough and aware enough of Palpatine's power to know better than to stand up to him. It was why Tarkin needed Vader so badly; if he could get such a powerful Force user to lead the way, Vader could handle Palpatine while Tarkin's other lackeys handled the emperor's defenders.

In other words, he couldn't make a move against the emperor. Not with Vader in the state he was in. Yet Palpatine was about to make Vader a million times _worse_.

Tarkin glanced at the data pad that bore the message concerning the emperor's orders. He was taking Vader to Naboo. _Naboo_ of all places. It wasn't enough to make the boy investigate the new senator of the Chommel sector; he also had to go back to the place where he'd first grown fond of Amidala. The man was basically shoving Vader's nose into everything that was tearing him to pieces. What purpose could this possibly serve, apart from entertaining the emperor?

The worst part of it was that Palpatine had ordered Tarkin to accompany them. He'd have to _watch_ as the boy finally just shattered. Though was it such a bad situation, or was this actually an opportunity? At least if Tarkin was joining them he could perhaps do _some_ damage control, but that's all he would be: someone to clean up the messes, not someone to _prevent_ them. This was so _frustrating_. He had to be careful, though; the only reason Palpatine would include him in this escapade would be to keep an eye on him.

Blast it all, he'd been _so close_. Scowling, Tarkin sat on the sofa and called his spy, who had no doubt reached Eriadu by now. When she answered, he asked, "How is the estate?"

"I just checked in with personnel. Everything is fine here, sir," his spy replied. "The gardens are doing especially well."

Tarkin stood abruptly, filled with nervous energy. "Yes, the gardens. How exactly are the gardens?"

"Most everything is growing as expected; the fruits and vegetables are ripe and available. The roses aren't quite ready yet, but the gardener says they ought to be in full bloom in about a week."

Maybe he could get Vader to Eriadu after their little torture fest on Naboo, and maybe then… well, he wasn't sure. It depended entirely upon what Palpatine did to Vader in that time.

Tarkin gritted his teeth and acknowledged his spy. "Glad to hear it. Just keep an eye on everything for me; my trip has been delayed."

"Do you need anything specific, sir?"

_Killing the emperor would be nice._ No, she wouldn't do that; his spy wasn't an idiot, though she was quite the miracle worker. He sighed. "No. Just make sure things run smoothly. If Intelligence calls you back, don't hesitate to return."

The spy bowed. "Of course, governor."

Tarkin cut the connection and glanced into his bedroom. Vader had long since vanished, no doubt while Tarkin was speaking to Palpatine. The boy had tidied up the bed as if he'd never been there. Just looking at the empty room made him angry again. He'd been _so blasted close_. He couldn't afford to wait much longer – _Darth Vader _couldn't afford to wait much longer.

He hoped Palpatine didn't break the boy before he could get him to Eriadu.

* * *

Obi-Wan groaned. His head pounded in protest as he sat up, and the room spun a little. Everything was blurry. What had happened? The last thing he remembered was…

_Palpatine!_ Gasping, Obi-Wan leapt to his feet and nearly fell to the floor again as dizziness accompanied the sudden action. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to feel out in the Force, but he didn't sense any immediate danger. Had that just been a vision?

A twinge of exasperation passed through his mind. Of _course_ it had been a vision; why the blazes would the emperor be on Ilum hunting him and Siri? And why would he say what he did about Darth Vader?

"Siri?" he whispered, slowly opening his eyes once more. He sensed her beside him, and he heard her grunt in response as she awoke as well. She seemed fine, and he was relieved to see her sit up, perfectly healthy. He glanced down at her abdomen and prodded the Force, and though he wasn't nearly as connected to the child yet as his wife, he could still sense the tiny presence pulsating almost cheerfully. He smiled, and he felt his heart soften.

"Where the blazes are we? What was that _insanity_ all about?" Siri asked.

"I presume they were some kind of trial," he answered, and when he finally looked at their surroundings he was astonished. They were in an enormous room with a ceiling so high he almost couldn't see it. The ice glittered in the gentle glow of _hundreds_ of large crystal growths in varying shades of blue and green. This place was _amazing_.

Obi-Wan examined the room in awe, and Siri finally noticed as well. Muttering a small, "Wow…" she stood beside him, a small smile on her lips.

The spell was eventually broken when Siri grabbed Obi-Wan's arm excitedly. "Come on, let's get started!"

Obi-Wan let her excitement trickle over their bond and he rushed after her, but then he paused. "Was that it, then? Are the trials over?"

Siri rolled her eyes, pulling out a small tool that would help her chisel a part of the crystal. "They'd _better_ be over – those were heinous enough, thanks. Besides, we can't afford to sit around and wait for the next crazy showing of _how screwed up you are and how to fix it_ – we have to get out of here before the Imperials catch on."

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at her remark. "Interesting title."

"Apt, though." Siri began to chisel away when she suddenly grew pensive and turned to him. "That last one, though… with Palpatine… what did he mean? When he said we wouldn't take his apprentice away? Do you… do you think that was an _actual_ vision? Not just a trial, but a bonafide _this is going to happen_ vision?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "I don't know."

Siri pondered the matter a little more before chiseling into the blue crystal she'd chosen once again. Obi-Wan watched her for a little while and then he followed suit, working with the same crystal growth. Eventually the two got the proper size and refined it to the correct shape and polish, though that seemed to take an eternity and Siri would sometimes pause, close her eyes, and take a deep breath to maintain her patience. Once they'd finally finished with the crystals themselves, Siri pulled out a bag that held all the materials they'd need for the hilts. The two had already reviewed and memorized schematics for proper hilt construction, so all that was left was actually piecing it together and using what was left to design the hand grip that they preferred.

Obi-Wan and Siri sat on the floor across from each other in the center of the large room. The components of their lightsabers lay scattered in a circle around their crystals, and the two closed their eyes to concentrate. Obi-Wan pictured the small pile in his mind, imagining every individual piece as he'd been instructed back on Ghanu'jivo. Then he imagined the pieces slowly floating upward, clicking into place as they were supposed to. He lifted his hands, holding them apart as if he were holding an invisible bubble where the pieces floated. The crystal rotated in the center, giving off a faint blue glow as everything slipped into place. He was so focused on this internal image that he failed to notice the tiny clicking sounds of the actual pieces doing what he was picturing until he opened his eyes to see a completed generic hilt floating lazily in front of him. He stared at it in amazement and it plopped onto the ground with the remaining superficial components. He had a few seconds to also admire Siri doing the same, her brow furrowed deeply in concentration. When she also saw the results of her work, she gave an enormous smile and snatched the lightsaber out of the air.

"This is _incredible_," she gasped in wonder.

Obi-Wan agreed and the two set about finishing the hilts, adding whatever would work best for the handgrips. This task was mainly done in silence, but eventually Siri spoke up. "You think we're going to Hoth after this?"

"Probably," Obi-Wan replied softly as he adjusted a piece. "I don't see any reason for Qui-Gon to keep us on Ghanu'jivo, especially when the Jedi fleet is heading to the Rebel base."

"Only _half_ the fleet is going to the base," Siri reminded him. "But I do hope you're right; I don't think I can handle being stuck at the enclave anymore. Not when we've gotten some training and now have the proper weapon. Besides, if Qui-Gon is with us we can just keep training on Hoth."

"Why the sudden curiosity on the matter?" Obi-Wan asked, eying her suspiciously.

Siri shrugged. "I was… just thinking about that vision. I mean, it had to mean something. Maybe we won't end up fighting Palpatine himself—though it would be nice, I'm not stupid enough to think I can stand a chance against the guy. But… but maybe we _will_ take on Vader. I mean, if the vision said we would take Darth Vader away from his master, then… maybe we kill him."

"I'm… not sure about that," Obi-Wan said hesitantly, slightly unnerved at the thought of taking Darth Vader on in a fight. He let the nervousness go, though; it wasn't as if he'd have an opportunity to enter into such a conflict. "The Jedi Masters will handle Vader."

"I guess," Siri muttered as she finally finished her hilt. "Hopefully it'll go better than last time."

Obi-Wan sighed and also completed his task, and he admired the hilt. It truly was an elegant weapon, even if he preferred not to use it. He didn't have much time to examine it, however, before Siri stood and beckoned him to follow, reminding him of their potential time limit. He agreed and rose, placing the hilt on his belt. He felt the weight of the weapon and was suddenly mindful of his new position as a Jedi Padawan. This was beyond bizarre, but it felt right.

Taking a deep breath, Obi-Wan followed his wife out of the room… before sighing in exasperation at the realization that they were hopelessly lost. Thankfully, they managed to figure out a way to the exit between arguing, sensing Qui-Gon's and Al's distant signatures in the Force, and painstakingly using the compasses provided to them. The exit was a welcome sight, though being blinded by the bright ice and frozen by the winds was not preferable.

The Force was silent of any warnings, and so the two hastily ran to the nearest snow drift, avoiding any Imperial notice. Eventually they made it back to the ship, and Siri pounded her gloved fist against the closed landing ramp. When it lowered the two hastily ran up and closed it once more, and they were greeted by Qui-Gon's proud smile and Al's excited chatter. Qui-Gon's expression reminded Obi-Wan painfully of his father, but he pushed the thought aside and recounted his tale to Al as they followed the cheerful smuggler to the lounge. Siri promised the full story once they entered hyperspace.

In the meantime, the two sat in contentment as the _Invariant Beauty_ exited Ilum's atmosphere.

"You've done well," Qui-Gon remarked as he sat beside them and strapped himself in. "You are now official Padawans."

"Don't Padawans get one Master each?" Obi-Wan asked, not really wanting to have a different teacher.

A trace of sadness crossed the Jedi Master's features as he answered. "That was the rule, yes; it was necessary to give each student as much personalized instruction as possible. There aren't so many Knights and Masters anymore, though, so we tend to have two to three Padawans per Master."

The couple nodded, and then Siri surmised, "Are we staying with you, then? And where are we going now?"

"You will have to tolerate me, yes," Qui-Gon replied with a wry smile. "We will continue your training on Hoth."

The Force hummed with Siri's delight, and even Obi-Wan was happy with the news. It was time they reentered the fray. He thought about everything they would soon have to contend with, and he felt a trace of concern for the baby, but he knew Siri wouldn't push herself to a point where the youngling might get hurt.

"We don't have to meditate while we go to Hoth, right?" Siri suddenly asked a little tiredly. Qui-Gon raised his eyebrow, and his eyes twinkled with amusement as Siri hastily added, "Not that meditating's awful, but a break would be nice."

"I won't force any more meditation on you for now," he replied with gentle humor. "Do you have any questions about your experience?"

"We had a vision about the emperor," Obi-Wan immediately said. "He was upset about us 'taking away Darth Vader.' We… weren't sure what it meant."

Qui-Gon pondered the matter. "Curious… I cannot say what the Force was trying to convey, but through time you will understand better."

"So basically you've got nothing," Siri remarked dryly.

Qui-Gon smirked. "I never claimed to be omniscient."

"Well that's useless," was Siri's snarky retort.

"Forgive my wife, Master," Obi-Wan sighed dramatically. "It's the hormones."

Siri whirled on him as Qui-Gon subtly unstrapped himself from the couch, preparing to flee. _"What?"_

"Careful, Siri," Obi-Wan rebuked her gently with a smirk. "Anger is a path to the Dark Side."

"The only Dark Side you'll be seeing is the darkness of being knocked unconscious!" Siri snapped, causing Obi-Wan to laugh and snatch her hands with his own before she could smack him. Qui-Gon left the two alone as Obi-Wan calmed his seething wife.

Once they were alone Siri huffed irritably and leaned against his shoulder. "Hormones my asteroid; I've been _fine_, thank you."

Obi-Wan smiled, closing his eyes as he leaned his head back. "Yes, I know. You've been doing incredibly well, actually, considering the circumstances."

"You think I skipped morning sickness?" Siri asked hopefully.

"I can't be sure," Obi-Wan mumbled, growing steadily sleepier in his wife's presence; that trial had taken more out of him than he'd realized.

"Hm," Siri hummed softly. "Well, in either case, she's not being a big hassle right now."

Obi-Wan opened one eye, gazing at his wife curiously. "She?"

"It's totally a girl," Siri immediately argued, facing him. "With as stubborn as she is, dealing with all the craziness we've been through, it _has_ to be a girl."

Obi-Wan was tempted to point out the illogical fallacies in her argument, but he figured it was safer to just agree. "As you say, dear."

Siri rolled her eyes. "Go to sleep, you useless lump."

Obi-Wan smirked and stretched out on the sofa as Siri stood to allow him more room. "As you wish."

Once he was settled and finally slipping into a peaceful slumber, Siri wandered into the cockpit. They'd entered hyperspace at least five minutes ago by now, so she was curious as to why Al hadn't come running into the lounge and demanded the story about their trip to the cave. When she entered the cockpit, she found the smuggler sitting in the pilot's seat, staring forlornly at the floor.

"What's the matter?" she asked, concerned.

Al jumped, startled, but his mood quickly grew somber once more. "Ah, it's… nothing important. Just thinking about the supply stuff. It's stressful, and the number crunching's getting me down, I guess."

Siri didn't believe him for a second; even if her intuition with the Force didn't tell her he was lying, she knew it simply because she knew _him_. "Oh, please. I can see you getting stressed – it's not easy supplying the Alliance. But the number crunching's getting you down? You _love_ math."

"Yeah, I like math, but this is just arithmetic. It's _boring_." Al whined, but it was a halfhearted attempt to cover his tracks and they both knew it. Before Siri could call him out on it, he excitedly added, "But I found this article on HoloNet about abstract harmonic analysis, which is a subgroup of analytical mathematics, and they started talking about the Fourier transform, which breaks down signals into their base components of sinusoidal functions, and—why are you looking at me like that?"

"Sinusoidal functions?" Siri repeated blankly.

Al sighed, his excitement vanishing and he sagged in his chair. "Never mind."

Siri immediately felt guilty for inadvertently putting him down, but she still sensed that something deeper than his math discussion was bothering him. "Al, seriously, what's wrong?"

The smuggler shifted in his seat, growing even more depressed, before he finally relented. "I… I was thinking about my family while you guys were in the cave. I just left them without a trace or a goodbye or _anything_… I'm a terrible person. I mean, imagine what they went through when I left—hell, I don't even have to imagine it, I saw it with you and Obi-Wan when Padmé died, except it's a million times worse because I'm _still alive_. I… at this point… it's been ten years. Should I even go home when the war ends, _assuming_ it ever ends? I just… if I had it my way, I'd just retire from smuggling and study math, maybe even teach it, but… it's been so long. I put my family through so much… if I were to come back now it would be like reopening the wound."

Siri watched him uncertainly, wondering how she could help, when Al suddenly realized something and hastily said, "I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up Padmé… I… Siri, I'm so sorry… if it hadn't been for me and my stupidity… if I hadn't been hurt and Qui-Gon hadn't gone looking for me…"

"Al," she interrupted him firmly. "It wasn't your fault. Don't you _dare_ ever think it was, and don't worry about mentioning Padmé's death. It… the Jedi way is to not mourn those who have died. We will never forget Padmé… but we have to let her go. We'll always have her in our hearts, but… we have to move on."

The two were silent as they both tried to absorb the teaching, and then Siri suggested, "Why don't you send an encrypted message to your family? It doesn't even have to be from you; you can pretend it's from some friend or acquaintance of yours, just checking in to tell them that you're okay."

Al considered it, but he still seemed uncertain. "But what if I die? I couldn't put them through that again; I couldn't tell them that I'm fine and then never come home."

Just the mere _suggestion_ of his death sent her world and emotions spiraling, and Siri hugged Al tightly in an instant. "You won't die, Al. We'll take care of you."

_You can't stand to lose them. Textbook. You'll be a Sith in no time._

Siri shoved the vision's voice out of her mind and held Al more tightly. This wasn't about refusing to let go; it was about refusing to _give up_. There was a _difference_.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Al finally breathed a sigh of contentment and said, "Dang, being pregnant has made you really maternal."

Siri smacked the Zabrak on the shoulder, making Al yelp in response. Rolling her eyes, she pulled away from him and headed towards the exit. "Get back to your abstract harmonic analysis, you shaak."

Al grumbled incoherently and Siri entered the lounge once more, ignoring him. When she glanced at the sofa she saw that Obi-Wan was fast asleep. Smiling, she approached him slowly and sat on the floor beside the sofa, slipping her hand into his and watching him rest. As she basked in his soothing presence, she felt a twinge of annoyance occur at the realization:

Blast it, she really _was_ getting maternal.

* * *

Tarkin walked briskly to Darth Vader's quarters. It was 0600 (he had gotten up extra early to ensure he could speak to the young Sith before Palpatine got to him again), but he was certain the boy was already up, assuming he had ever even gone to bed. He'd slept most of yesterday, after all, and Tarkin wasn't sure if he'd really be in the mood to sleep more.

The grand moff knocked on the apprentice's door, but after waiting almost a minute he finally let himself in. The entrance hallway, den, balcony, kitchen, and dining room were all empty, so the boy had to be upstairs. Climbing the stairs slowly, Tarkin listened for any activity, and when he called out softly, he received no reply. Was the boy even here? Tarkin dearly hoped he hadn't wandered off once more – the last thing he needed was to find the boy in another pool of blood with some hapless victim sprawled out nearby, especially when his spy wasn't there to clean up the mess.

"Milord?" Tarkin whispered once again when he reached the top of the stairs. There was still no reply. He checked the office and training room and saw that they were empty, so he finally reluctantly entered the boy's bedroom. Darth Vader sat on his bed, staring at his hands.

"I'm becoming dangerous," Vader said softly before Tarkin could speak. The grand moff furrowed his brow, wondering where this was going. "I've seen it happen… when droids have faulty programming… when operatives go on too many missions… I'm not… I'm not serving my purpose."

Here the Sith Lord paused, seemingly too tired to continue. Tarkin took a deep breath and walked towards him. "You just need a break. You need to get your bearings. The emperor threw you back into the chaos too soon."

"Master wasn't wrong," Vader shook his head. He looked at Tarkin, and when their eyes locked, he hardened his gaze. "Master is never wrong, governor. _Remember_ that."

Was the man threatening him, or was he simply reminding him in his usual naïve manner? Somehow it seemed different… almost like he was _warning_ him. Tarkin tried not to let the words bother him. He just mulled them over as he said, "Of course the emperor knows what he's doing, milord. It's why he killed Amidala, isn't it?"

Vader immediately looked away. At least the boy was reacting somewhat normally now; Tarkin could tolerate this far better than yesterday morning's incident. Still, he had to ask, "But if the emperor is never wrong, then why is he backtracking now and sending you to Naboo?"

The young Sith stiffened for a moment before slumping, rubbing a hand over his face tiredly. Instead of dignifying Tarkin with an answer, he simply stood and walked past the grand moff. Tarkin had to smile at that; even the boy couldn't formulate a response. It would keep him thinking, then. That was all he needed for now; the rest of his time and energy could be spent on ensuring Palpatine didn't break him any further.

Tarkin followed Vader down the stairs and to the front door. Vader paused before opening it, his hand hovering over the control for the door. Tarkin looked at him a little worriedly, wondering if he was having some sort of episode, and he gently called out to him, stepping closer. The young Sith continued to stare at the door, and then he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and lowered his hand to his side.

"Lord Vader, what's wrong?" Tarkin asked.

Vader stepped away from the door, leaning against the wall. "I can't."

"Can't? Can't what?"

"I _can't_," he insisted, sliding to the floor. "I _can't_—I'm not _ready_, I just… I…"

Tarkin walked over to him, wondering what was wrong; did it have to do with Naboo? That seemed fairly likely, so he said, "It'll be fine, milord. We'll go to Eriadu afterward, and I promise you, things will start making sense again, but you _must_ trust me."

Blast it, if only he could just tell him _now_.

Tarkin's train of thought was interrupted when he heard the front door open. Whirling around with his hand reaching for his blaster, he was surprised to see the emperor standing in the doorway. He immediately genuflected.

"Governor Tarkin," Palpatine acknowledged silkily. "Did Lord Vader call for you?"

Great. How was he going to explain this?

"Yes."

Tarkin jumped, looking at Vader. The boy had his knees tucked under his chin, and he was staring at the emperor's boots, but Tarkin hadn't imagined it; he'd spoken up for him.

The Sith Master eyed his apprentice shrewdly. Vader never lied to the emperor, and he knew the Sith Master immediately recognized the lie for what it was; this wasn't going to end well.

"Sire, I came unannounced," Tarkin immediately said, throwing away the consequences. "I simply wanted to ensure Lord Vader was awake; I wasn't sure if yesterday's sedative would have lasting effects on him. He wouldn't answer his comlink. I believe the sedative is still leaving him a little addled."

There was little reason a sedative would influence the young Sith to lie, but it was the best excuse the grand moff could throw together in that moment.

"A sedative?" Palpatine asked with a polite smile, that smile he always used when he was playing someone. "Why did you need a sedative, apprentice?"

Tarkin shifted, trying to formulate a response, but the emperor cut him off before he could. "Now, now, governor, do let the man speak."

"I…" Vader rose unsteadily, trying to reply. Both Tarkin and Palpatine stepped forward, and in a heartbeat the boy had almost collapsed onto the floor once more. Both men reached out and grabbed an arm, and then as soon as they'd helped Vader to his feet once more, Palpatine looked pointedly at Tarkin, who immediately released his grip on the young Sith. For once the boy didn't fight; he seemed too tired for much of anything.

"Lord Vader will accompany me to the _Dominator_," the emperor informed him, pulling the boy closer to him subtly. "A shuttle is waiting to take you to your own ship, governor."

Tarkin paused, choosing his words carefully as he prodded the man. "I'll proceed there directly, milord. Shall I prepare the fleet for departure?"

Darth Vader took a small step back from both Tarkin and Palpatine and leaned against the wall. The emperor and grand moff eyed him briefly before Palpatine answered. "I will notify the admiral when ready, governor. Go."

Tarkin glanced at Vader, tempted for a moment to argue, but there was no point. Palpatine wouldn't concede ground in this argument, and Tarkin had already pushed the man as it was; _Darth Vader_ tried to save his hide earlier. That in itself was telling in so many ways. The grand moff bowed, accepting a superficial defeat (though to him this was quite the opposite), and departed.

Palpatine watched him go, and then he returned his attention to Darth Vader. Throughout the boy's life the emperor had been brutal and emotionally distant. Throughout the boy's life he'd enabled Vader's coldness. Over the years Vader had demonstrated many characteristics inherited from both his parents: his father's strength in the Force and self-control, his mother's love… he'd been unendingly loyal, eternally faithful… and now he was on the precipice of finally slipping into the perfect role Palpatine had planned for him. But he had to be careful; the precipice on which the boy stood could lead to multiple dire consequences, and it was time Palpatine finally reemployed his old cautious tactics. In most scenarios these days, Palpatine had the situation in such complete control that he could do just about anything and still win, but in this particular instance, he had to be delicate. It was time to give Vader something in return for his service. After all, the boy might respond well to a change in behavior, and Palpatine had to ensure that his servant was devoid of all treacherous ideas. The Sith Master was only going to do this for the sake of forging his apprentice into the best servant in the empire. That was the _only_ reason the man was being nice to him.

Shaking his head, Palpatine placed his hand on the boy's shoulder to get his attention. The maneuver was simple and smooth enough, and it had come far more naturally than the emperor really wanted to admit. He'd ease into the role; no sense in being too kind in the beginning. "I assume you received my message?"

"We're going to Naboo," Vader acknowledged, remaining surprisingly still besides the emperor's touch; Palpatine would have expected some sort of confusion from the action.

"I never did get to ask you about your time at Varykino," Palpatine continued smoothly, noting the boy's behavior. "You gave me your official report, but I was curious as to your personal experience. What did you think of your time with the late senator?"

The Force throbbed with a dull ache, but as time passed it grew and grew like a scab being torn and openly bleeding once more. Vader stiffened as Palpatine enjoyed the sensation, and the boy slowly pulled away from his master's touch.

"You were attached to her, weren't you?" Palpatine finally pointed out the obvious, cutting to the point. The Sith apprentice whirled around to face Palpatine, dread on his features. It was almost amusing that the boy would even think his infatuation wasn't obvious, that Palpatine somehow wouldn't notice it. To ensure that he was _quite_ aware of what the boy had felt, he described it. "You felt alive around her. Your passions were excited when you were with her. She spoke of things you could never dream of, she awoke you to so many thoughts and sensations, and suddenly you couldn't _not_ be around her… am I correct?"

Vader blushed deeply, and the Force cried out with shame, worry, and loathing, though whether it was directed at himself or his master was a mystery. Judging by the boy's crumbling posture, it was likely directed at himself. Palpatine took a step forward, seizing the opportunity presented to him, and he smiled in that old trustworthy manner that melted the heart of the corrupt rabble in the senate back in the days of the Republic. "Passion is your _strength_, my apprentice. I'm glad you finally discovered it. It is unfortunate that the senator abused your trust; you two would have made quite the powerful team, but her failure to realize this led to her betrayal of you and the Empire. Her decision led to the unraveling of so much potential, but you can still emerge all the more powerful for it. Recall her, and recall your pain – _that_ will be your source of strength. Your hatred for her foolishness will allow you to access the Force in ways unknown to you previously."

Vader gazed at him in surprise, and Palpatine continued, feeding into the boy's vulnerability. "What you felt for the senator wasn't meaningful, but it was enough to give you a taste. Many passions are fleeting, though powerful, but the scars they leave behind are what will be your underlying strength."

His apprentice listened to him, growing more attentive as he spoke. It was so easy it was almost a joke – the boy was so unfamiliar with emotions that Palpatine could tell him his depression was actually joy and he'd believe him. Palpatine would have laughed out loud, but the small sense of peace trickling out of the boy as he finally seemed to understand what he was feeling somehow turned this joke into something serious. Vader's look of relief and wonder reached farther into his father than the man would admit, and Palpatine finally said, "I'm proud of you, my apprentice. You have accomplished much throughout your training, and you are finally becoming a true Sith Lord. Your recognition of Senator Amidala's treachery and your ability to eliminate her prove that."

The Force quivered, and for a second it felt like the entire room shook in response. Vader's eyes widened subtly, and he gazed at his master in amazement before immediately bowing. He seemed at a loss for words, but the action was enough of an indication, and Palpatine was irritated to feel a swell of warmth within himself. Sighing and pushing the moment aside, he figured he'd done enough buttering up and finally motioned to the door. "Let's go."

The two walked in silence, but Vader was practically humming with life and contentment after their conversation, though a small part of his presence was still darkened with concern, hurt, and confusion. Nevertheless, Palpatine wasn't going to play doting father any longer (he could hardly stomach it), so he let the stain remain. He turned his thoughts, instead, to Tarkin, and he was surprised to find a sizable amount of resentment towards the grand moff rather than simple amusement or irritation – suddenly the game Tarkin was playing left the Sith Master seething with anger that the man would _dare _touch Vader, would dare lead the boy astray. He briefly considered not even allowing Tarkin to join them on Naboo, but reason kicked in; he had to know what the man was planning, and in order to do that, he had to keep him within arm's reach. No, Tarkin would have to come along. Sighing, the Sith Master finally settled into the situation and the two boarded a shuttle heading towards the _Dominator_. Things were in his favor, anyway; he would ensure this vacation was quite fruitful.

Palpatine and Darth Vader were silent for the duration of the flight to the flagship. One Sith was filled with anticipation and a predatory excitement while the other was filled with wonder and a strange sense of foreboding. The Force groaned in warning, but neither paid it much mind, too distracted by their own thoughts.

* * *

Imperial Intelligence was always a creepy place to work. Odeki Rubar had known that when he took the job. It was a building filled with the most intelligent, secretive, and dangerous people in the galaxy. He constantly wondered if he would disappear one day, but he'd always put up with it and done his job; it had paid magnificently, and between his growing clout with Intelligence and his wife's position in the Science Bureau, it had secured their safety. Odeki was not the bravest man by nature, and the political climate of the galaxy had been so unstable since the Empire's formation that he'd practically been paranoid of being arrested with some ludicrous charges of treachery.

Well, perhaps not so ludicrous now.

Odeki clutched his data pad tightly to prevent his hands from trembling. Between him and his wife, she was always the one to better handle these sorts of situations.

_Situations_. More like _suicide._ But what choice did he have? He wasn't going to kill his own child for his own safety's sake.

_It's been smooth so far_, he tried to reason to himself, taking a calming breath and doing his best to _not_ look nervous. His working area was a little alcove that sat at the very far back of the large complex, so he really was a nobody in a land of backstabbers, but that didn't mean he didn't have a thousand eyes watching him.

He couldn't believe he'd finally found himself in this scenario. He couldn't believe he was providing information to the _Rebel Alliance_. Odeki had never been a huge fan of the Empire—it wasn't like he'd had a choice in its creation, ruler, laws, or dictatorial nature—but all he'd ever heard about the Alliance was how they were terrorists who attacked civilians. Their latest crimes had been murdering about five hundred people on Naboo, as well as killing its senator. But… his wife had reminded him of his own place of work, and he knew that the Empire no doubt was forwarding its own agenda by any means necessary. Odeki wasn't naïve enough to believe everything the media said… but that didn't mean the Alliance was perfect, either. The only reason he was helping was to keep his wife and child alive…

Sighing, Odeki watched as the mouse droids rolled in one by one; it was the end of the day shift, and it was time to wipe their memories. Leaning over, he tried to look like he was doing some maintenance; no one else was in the room, but he had to put up appearances for the security cameras. A memory wipe typically was already a preprogrammed order; all he had to do was activate it remotely through his data pad. Leaning over the droids and manually pulling their memory cores out would look odd and he knew it. He figured maybe he could do this every other day and just split the information he gathered over two days so it _seemed_ like he was doing it every day to please the Rebels. As long as he heard from his wife every night, it was fine.

After the last mouse droid puttered through, Odeki subtly slipped a small data chip that contained all the copied information into a pouch on his belt. He went about his usual business for another hour and then finally clocked out, taking a leisurely pace as he walked home. Once he finally arrived, he shivered at the emptiness of the apartment and sat on the sofa, pulling out his data pad and comlink. He would organize the data first, and then he would transmit it and call his wife.

Odeki was starving, but poring over this information made him so nervous he felt nauseous, so he forewent dinner as he sifted through data. He really only needed information pertaining to the Alliance so they could remain one step ahead of the Empire (he _still_ couldn't believe he was doing this), but one flagged file caught his attention. It was small and it was written in code; for a message between two agents within the same building to be coded, this had to be pretty important. Odeki wasn't sure this would help the Alliance or not, but he didn't want his wife to be surrounded by people who thought he didn't do good enough work, so he included the file in his transmission. Eventually he had everything properly organized when he saw another note flagged, one that shared similar characteristics to the first. When he sorted out both files together, he started to notice patterns, and he could translate a few words: Naboo, emperor, today.

His blood froze. This… didn't sound good. And it didn't have to do with the Rebels, so he wouldn't send it. He _wouldn't_.

But what if it was _really_ important?

Odeki was neither a hacker nor a programmer, but he had seen enough Intelligence jargon to at least attempt a proper translation of the two files, especially when he could compare words depending upon the context in each file. When he found a _third_ file pertaining to the same thing, he started putting the puzzle pieces together. The first concerned a small task force going to Naboo. The second concerned the emperor taking a vacation. The third concerned ordering a fleet to Naboo. Odeki quickly sorted everything out in his mind, and he grew nervous at the result.

The emperor was going to Naboo in secret for some reason or another, with little protection, and Darth Vader was accompanying him.

This had nothing to do with the Rebels. He shouldn't send this. He wouldn't. There was no reason to. None. _None_.

Odeki stared at the reports, steadily growing more agitated. This wouldn't end well. If he told the Alliance… what would happen? It couldn't be _that_ bad. They didn't want information pertaining to the emperor… maybe they'd just sort it out as useless information.

Blast it, why did he even _care_? It wasn't like he _liked_ Palpatine or Darth Vader. But… what if the Alliance…?

No. He wouldn't send it. It had nothing to do with the Rebels. Nothing.

Nodding to himself, Odeki didn't add it to the file he was getting ready to send… until he found himself staring at it again. This seemed far too important to leave out… and what if the Rebels found out anyway and realized he'd withheld information? No, there was no way they could know that, right?

Oh, what difference would it make? This was obviously extremely important, and he was there to gather important information for the Alliance. Feeling his heartrate rise in near panic as he added it to the file, Odeki transmitted it through the encrypted signal and then stood and paced the room restlessly as if Intelligence would storm his apartment at that exact moment.

* * *

Al hadn't been kidding. Hoth was _frigid_. For some reason Siri had hoped Ilum's frozen wasteland wouldn't be recreated, but here she was, freezing her asteroid off as she disembarked _The_ _Invariant Beauty_.

"Next time, we choose somewhere _warm_ for our base of operations," Siri grumbled under her breath.

"I heard Yavin 4 was a jungle," Al whined. "Can you imagine? A _jungle_. It must have been so _nice_."

"It could be worse: the base could have no installed heating system," Qui-Gon remarked with a small smile as he caught up to them with Obi-Wan in tow.

"Don't push it," Siri rolled her eyes. "Knowing our luck, that'll actually _happen_."

As the others laughed or agreed, Al led them out of the hangar and into a long hallway. The ground was padded with tough mats to try and make it as even as possible, and power lines covered the walls. The chill was less intense in here, though it still seemed to cut through her layers of clothing. Eventually they entered a large room filled with monitors, consoles, and people. Siri gazed at some of the information on the monitors and saw mainly scans of the immediate area, probably to ensure that the Empire was nowhere near the planet.

"Lieutenant?"

Siri turned at Obi-Wan's surprised tone, and she immediately saw the person who caught his attention. The Salkenden lieutenant who had escorted them from Imperial Center was there, though Siri wasn't sure why. Wasn't Salkende just offering supplies? Why was one of their soldiers here?

The lieutenant—Erwyna, Siri remembered—offered a nod of acknowledgement. "Good to see that you and your wife are doing well, representative."

Siri didn't bother with the pleasantries. "We didn't expect to see you here. Is Salkende bringing troops now?"

"I'm here to check on the Alliance's status," Lt. Erwyna answered. "The warlord wishes to be kept appraised of the situation, and our usual source was supposedly busy."

Here the lieutenant looked notably at Al, who simply said, "I was helping the Rebels on another mission, but I'm back. I can let you know about—"

Al was interrupted when his comlink chimed. Everyone glanced at him, a little confused as to who could be calling him while he was at the base. When he looked at his comlink he nodded slightly. "Sorry, I have to get this to the others; information from a spy on Imperial Center."

The smuggler headed over to some individuals a few paces away, and Qui-Gon excused himself, saying he was going to meet up with the Jedi who had already arrived. Siri sighed, not wanting to do small talk with the Salkenden; the woman had been helpful and kind when they'd left Imperial Center, but she was just too worn out to put up with anyone apart from Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon, or Al. Nevertheless, there was something strange about the woman this time; something the Force felt different, and Siri could have sworn it felt like an echo or ghost of Padmé was in the air. She shuddered; maybe the visions from the cave were still haunting her.

"How are affairs on Salkende?" Obi-Wan asked, ever the polite one. Siri felt a twinge of annoyance, but she let it go.

"Peaceful, finally," the lieutenant said with a small smile. "Our war has ended."

Siri grew attentive in an instant. "So your troops…?"

"Will be on standby until the warlord says otherwise." Lt. Erwyna finished for her, clasping her hands behind her back. There was a slight edge to her tone, and coupled with some sort of shift in the Force Siri surmised it was irritation. Apparently the lieutenant didn't want to join in the war against the Empire. Siri felt frustration fill within her in return, but she held it in check; Jedi weren't supposed to get angry.

Well it wasn't like she was a _Master_ yet.

"So why couldn't your warlord just wait for Al to finish his mission if you guys have little interest in actively participating?" Siri asked, folding her arms.

The Force snapped sharply as Obi-Wan immediately grew exasperated, and he quickly said, "We really should be going; it's been a long trip, and—"

"_What?"_

Obi-Wan, Siri, and Lt. Erwyna jumped and immediately looked at the person who shouted out. The entire room followed suit, and they saw a group of Rebels—including Al—huddled around a console gaping at some information.

"What's wrong?" Obi-Wan asked as Qui-Gon rejoined them, also watching the group, his body tense.

"We can't let this opportunity go," one of them said to a high ranking official in the group.

"Call Bail," the man ordered, and one of the people hastened away. No one really had to time to ask any questions before the person hurried back with Bail Organa behind him.

"What's the matter, general?" the former Alderaanian senator asked.

"We just received a report from Imperial Center," the man explained. "Emperor Palpatine and Darth Vader are going to Naboo for a few weeks, but the emperor wanted the trip to be covert; they're traveling light, with barely a task force to protect them. They're en route right now."

Siri felt her jaw go slack. The emperor was traveling with a _task force_? Normally the monster would only travel with _armadas_ – this meant he was _vulnerable_!

"Sir, we should take advantage of this," the general said just as Siri came to that conclusion. "We have the Jedi on our side now, and we've got enough supplies for an assault."

Bail's eyebrows rose in alarm. "An assault? We would have to organize it immediately, _leave_ immediately—this is too soon, we don't have enough time to properly plan for this."

"Sir, this is our only opportunity," the general insisted as everyone watched with bated breath. "I guarantee you this will be the only time that the emperor and Darth Vader will be accessible to us; they're too well protected on Imperial Center and they'll be equally well protected once they arrive on Naboo. Normally the emperor only goes somewhere if he's accompanied by multiple fleets, and that's the rare instance that he actually _leaves_ Imperial Center."

"What about when they head back to Imperial Center from Naboo?" Bail asked. "You said they were staying there for a few weeks."

The general shook his head. "Another fleet is rendezvousing with them at the planet. He'll be too well guarded when he returns. _Now_ is our _only opportunity_."

Qui-Gon stepped forward. "I can contact the Council on Ghanu'jivo; if you choose this path, we can have the remaining ships meet up with your fleet."

Bail looked from Qui-Gon to the general, growing more overwhelmed by the minute. The Jedi Master once again spoke up. "This is a dangerous risk to take, but it seems that the Force has presented us with an opportunity. Your general is correct in that the emperor rarely opens himself up to attack in this way. It might be a trap, but that seems unlikely since Intelligence is going through such efforts to hide it."

Bail locked eyes with Qui-Gon and then took a deep breath, looking at the general. "Gen. Madine, you're _certain_ he's only with a task force?"

The officer nodded. "Yes, sir. He specifically requested that Intelligence be discreet; a task force makes it seem like routine. They don't want people to know that there are VIPs on board."

Siri felt adrenaline surge within her as she saw Bail finally sigh and nod. "Then let's get him."

The Force became electric, and everyone in the room immediately sprang into motion as the general started to shout orders. Al shuffled out of the flood of people. The lieutenant immediately headed towards the general, excited determination on her face. Siri felt the same way, but before she could follow troops out of the room, Obi-Wan grabbed her by the arm.

"Siri, we can't go," he immediately said.

Siri whirled on him. "What?!"

"Siri, you're _pregnant_," Obi-Wan stressed. "You can't go running into the hell that this is going to be. They're fighting _Darth Vader. _They're fighting the _emperor_."

"Don't you remember our _vision_ from Ilum?" Siri argued, wrenching her arm out of his grip. "We're _supposed_ to fight Vader, to _defeat_ him!"

"We don't know if that was a vision or just part of the trial!"

"How the _blazes_ could that be part of the trial?"

"Siri. Please." Obi-Wan nearly pleaded with her, his eyes softening with worry. "Don't be rash. Don't."

Siri felt her chest tighten at his expression, and she tried a different avenue, not wanting to put up as big a fight. "Well what are _you_ going to do?"

"I'm going to stay here," he immediately answered. "We've only learned _basic_ combat. Half the Jedi forces are already here – they can handle the Sith."

"We didn't join the Rebel Alliance to just sit and _watch_ the war—we joined to _help_!" she shook her head desperately.

"Siri, be _reasonable_," Obi-Wan insisted. "It's not as if we haven't helped the Alliance. Besides, even if, by some miracle, they destroy the entire task force and everyone in it; the Empire won't fall in a day. Even if we can only spectate this fight, there will be plenty more to come. Just… please, _stay here_."

As if to reinforce him, Qui-Gon, who had left to contact the Jedi, reentered the room and approached them. "Padawans, you are to remain here and guard the base."

Siri felt her temper rise once again, but she tried to hold it back. "And you, Master?"

"I will accompany the second wave." He answered, and he eyed her longer than he did Obi-Wan; apparently he could sense her restlessness. "Stay here, and stay out of trouble."

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan immediately acknowledged before his wife could speak.

Qui-Gon nodded and departed, and Siri felt her anger turn to desperation and depression. "We can't be this useless, Obi. We _can't_."

"We're not being useless," he tried to assure her, but Siri just shook her head and walked to the nearest display of the Rebel fleet. No amount of words would convince her otherwise, but she had little choice in the matter, she supposed.

Rubbing her abdomen, she sensed the presence of her youngling and muttered irritably, "You'd better be grateful. If I weren't carrying you, no amount of pleas would keep me from that fleet."

She heard her husband sigh as he walked up beside her, and they both watched with apprehension as the Rebel fleet turned and went into hyperspace.

* * *

Darth Vader had remained close to Palpatine once the fleet had gone into hyperspace, but neither had spoken since their conversation on Imperial Center. Palpatine had spent his time brooding over what to do with Tarkin once they'd arrived in the Lake Country, and he'd come up with several delightful possibilities, many of which included teaching Darth Vader the finer points of piercing into someone's mind and tearing it apart… though that would only be if the grand moff finally proved himself too much a threat to keep.

Vader paused and looked around. The boy had been doing this constantly for almost a half hour, and it was finally starting to get on Palpatine's nerves. Was the boy nervous about the trip? Probably. His earlier wonder and peacefulness had long since faded and given way to uneasiness. Sighing, the emperor faced his apprentice. "Do not be concerned about seeing Varykino, my apprentice. I'll ensure that one of your first trials is purging yourself of any lasting attachment to the place."

His apprentice shifted his weight nervously and nodded. For the longest moment he remained silent, and then he finally prompted the emperor. "Master?"

Palpatine faced him fully, surprised by his initiative. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry."

The emperor felt a slight jolt of surprise and apprehension wash over him, and he placed his hand on Vader's shoulder. The boy looked at him with such _finality_, as if he were apologizing for some fundamental failure of his, as if this were his last chance to do so. Before the emperor could say anything, Vader's eyes lit up with some sort of awareness that escaped his master, and he pulled away from the hold, marching towards a viewport. Palpatine was about to ask what was wrong when he finally registered the Force's subtle warnings that he'd been inadvertently ignoring since they left Imperial Center. The Sith Master briefly cursed himself for not noticing, but then he quickly moved on to figuring out what was the source.

The _Dominator_ bucked harshly, accompanied by the scream of tearing metal. Both Sith fell to the ground, and the lights flickered as sparks exploded from conduits and wall panels. The Force screamed danger in all directions, and when they stood once more the viewport no longer showed hyperspace but a sizable Rebel fleet surrounding them. Shock and anger coursed through the emperor, and he grasped the hatred in full, letting it flow through him and fuel him; there was no time to worry about how the enemy had found them, only to prepare for the coming battle… especially when he immediately sensed the detestable presence of Jedi. _Jedi_. He thought he'd be rid of them for at least a little while after the thrashing Vader had delivered.

Darth Vader turned and started to run towards the bridge in order to take command of the situation and fight the fleet, but Palpatine grabbed his arm. With so many Jedi around and with Vader in his current state, he didn't trust the boy to handle this on his own. Besides, now that he was listening to the Force's warnings, he had an unsettling sense of foreboding in the pit of his stomach that he didn't particularly like.

The destroyer shuddered as its shields were bombarded by turbolaser fire. Fighters swarmed all around them like angry insects, and eventually alarms blared that indicated hull piercings: boarding parties.

"Let's greet our guests, Lord Vader." Palpatine said, letting the feral pleasure of the coming battle surge through him. His apprentice gathered the Force around himself and the two sensed out the intruders. It was apparent the Rebels had figured out which star destroyer was the flagship; these boarding parties consisted almost exclusively of Jedi.

This would be entertaining.

* * *

This couldn't be bloody happening.

Tarkin gripped the edge of the desk in his quarters as he gaped, staring out the viewport. How had the Rebels found them? How had they gotten a _fleet_? How were they even still a _threat_?! They'd been the _last_ thing on Tarkin's mind since the incident with Amidala.

The grand moff felt a jolt of panic, and he rushed to the bridge of his ship, the _Adjudicator_. This wasn't good.

* * *

The Force was a whirlwind of chaos in the fight, filled with terror, excitement, and determination. The Rebel fleet consisted mainly of what the Jedi could provide, which barely outnumbered the Imperial task force escorting the emperor. Once the other half of the fleet arrived, they would win this battle, assuming they could survive that long.

They'd already determined that the initial wave of Jedi boarders would clear the way for the second wave, eliminating the marines so the Masters could go straight for the Sith. Mace Windu steeled himself for the coming duel; even Master Yoda himself couldn't defeat Palpatine, but the Grand Master had faced him alone all those years ago, when the blood from Order 66 had just begun to flow. Then again, Darth Vader was also aboard that destroyer. There were many unknowns, and Mace knew better than to underestimate either Sith. They'd taken all the precautions they could. This was their chance.

The pilot indicated that the ships were ready for departure. Mace boarded alongside his fellow Jedi, gripping the rail above them tightly. Most of the Jedi partaking in this battle were only Knights, but there were enough Masters to hold their own. There would be many losses today. They all knew it. Nevertheless, if it meant killing the emperor, it would be well worth the risk. The Dark Side had to fall. It _would_ fall.

"May the Force be with us," another Jedi muttered as the ship exited the hangar.

* * *

The corpses of Imperial marines littered the floor of the hallway. Emergency lights bathed the area in blood red, and lightsabers of different shades of blue and green offset the color, buzzing through the air with efficiency and accuracy. The sound of blaster fire filled his ears, and the smell of smoke and blood was prevalent. He drank it in and smiled.

Feeling his own blood rush through his veins in anticipation, Darth Sidious grasped the Force firmly and stretched out his hands, immediately killing three Jedi in front of him with a barrage of lightning. Darth Vader leapt over the electricity, activating his blade in midair as he twisted to land behind another Jedi and cut her down. A few seconds later the young apprentice had killed two more, and Sidious flung another into the wall with bone crushing speed. He watched gleefully as blood spilled from the Jedi's skull before he moved on to his next victim. He hadn't had this much fun in _years_; what an exhilarating day!

There were at least a dozen Jedi still alive in the hallway. The emperor easily tossed two towards each other, making them impale each other on their blades. Vader fought three at once, slicing the legs out from under one, tossing his blade into the chest of the second, and then charging, leaping over the second, pulling out his blade whilst doing so, and bashing the hilt into the skull of the third. Sidious admired the boy's skill momentarily before another fool rushed up to him with his lightsaber in a guarded position. The Sith Lord laughed.

After quickly dispatching the pathetic idiot in front of him, Sidious watched as Vader engaged with a more experienced Knight. The two exchanged blows for a few minutes as the emperor killed the rest until Darth Vader finally finished off his foe. Just as he did so, however, more alarms blared, and the ship shook enough to knock both Sith to the ground.

Vader grabbed his comlink. "Admiral, status report."

"Sir, our shields are down! Our fighters are holding them at bay, but we're taking direct turbolaser fire!"

Vader cut the channel and looked to his master. He looked as if he was about to say something when they both sensed another onslaught of combatants. The Force surged strongly from these new Jedi, however, and Darth Sidious distinctly recognized one signature in particular: Mace Windu.

Oh, he would enjoy this.

Motioning for his apprentice to follow, Sidious headed towards the Jedi Masters, smiling. He remembered Mace Windu all too well; the Korun Master had just taken his seat on the Council when the Clone Wars had begun, and he had never trusted Palpatine simply because he mistrusted politicians. His arrogance had blinded him to the truth, just as it had for all the other Jedi – no one had assumed that Palpatine posed any threat to their precious Order. He had only been a power hungry politician to them; nothing more, nothing less.

The two Sith took the emergency hatch to the next level up, reaching it just in time to see the Jedi Masters appear at the other end of the hall. There were six of them in total, all standing together like some ridiculous band of heroes ready to vanquish their enemy. Sidious was tempted to laugh again, but this time he focused; although nothing compared to his own power, they were more formidable than the previous combatants.

Despite his more serious approach, he just couldn't stop himself. "Ah, Master Windu. It's been so long. I trust the years have treated you kindly?"

The Force rippled with anger as the Jedi became stony faced, and the Sith Master grew all the more powerful for it, grinning. "I would have loved to catch up with you earlier, but really, Master Windu, you should give a call before you decide to visit."

The Jedi Master looked grim, but his anger diminished as he banished it from himself. Such a fool; he'd fare better if he simply used it. "Your reign ends today, Sith."

Such typical drivel. The emperor almost rolled his eyes; couldn't these Jedi be more original? Oh well.

Finally drawing his lightsaber, Darth Sidious smiled at the touch of the hilt in his hands. It had been so long since he'd used it against a Jedi. Darth Vader stepped forward as well, reactivating his own blade. The Jedi all ignited their lightsabers, still in formation. A few seconds ticked by as either side sized up the other, and then the Sith Master struck first, leaping forward with unnatural nimbleness. Vader was on his heels, charging ahead as well and deflecting an attack from one of the Jedi as Sidious dug his blade into his first victim. With speed that surpassed his enemies, he pulled back in time to swing at another Master's head, but the Jedi dodged it just as Vader engaged two others at once. Windu had his full attention on Sidious, which pleased the Sith Master; he wanted to be the one to kill the man.

One of the Jedi held Vader in a lightsaber lock while the other aimed for his neck, but the young Sith dodged the attack in time. Meanwhile, Sidious parried the barrage of thrusts and stabs from the other three. He let them push him back a little simply to play with them, and Vader sent a massive wave of energy towards his own opponents, tossing them down the hall.

The two Sith steadily grew farther apart, and both battles were temporarily interrupted when turbolaser fire finally tore through the hull in their hallway. A massive hole was left in the wall, sucking atmosphere out of the area. Sidious dug his fingers into the nearest stable object and hastily sensed out his apprentice to ensure the boy hadn't been tossed into the vacuum. A few seconds later automatic emergency ray shielding appeared, but not before another shot nearly tore the hallway in half. The larger damage created a rift between either side of the hall, and the ray shields cut the Sith Master off from his apprentice.

Vader leapt to his feet immediately, seemingly unbothered by what had just happened. He took the opportunity to disarm one of the Masters and kill him while the other leapt to her feet. The two reengaged, and Sidious quickly returned his attention to his own foes. He reached out and snatched the forearm of one, watching the man convulse as electricity poured from his fingers. The man gasped and shuddered, his eyes wide with spasms, but Sidious' attack was interrupted when Windu charged forward with his lightsaber, intent on cutting off the Sith's arm. Sidious pulled away irritably and threw all three Jedi against the wall, trying to get them to hit the ray shield, but they recovered quickly and the fight continued.

Meanwhile, Darth Vader and his opponent, a Twi'lek Master named Yadara, exchanged blows faster than the eye could follow; only the bright trails of their sabers could be seen. Yadara was kept busy with the Sith apprentice's onslaught, but she wasn't elevated to the high rank of Master for nothing; she'd fought in the Clone Wars and still held all of the skill she'd possessed back then. She would _not_ fail against an apprentice. Vader's strength surprised her, but she'd already figured the boy was far more powerful than anyone had expected; the deaths of Rahm Kota and Galen Marek attested to that.

Releasing her stress to the Force, Yadara allowed the Light Side to flow through her, arresting any thought and simply fighting. She utilized Djem So, a powerful and relatively aggressive fighting style, and she was a master at it. Apparently Darth Vader used the same technique, so she knew its exact weaknesses that she could exploit. Sliding her foot forward, she slipped her heel behind his own and pulled back, making him trip up slightly. The Sith fell on his back, but the Force swirled around Yadara like a windstorm as he tossed her away from him. The boy then leapt to his feet, but not before she threw a crate at him, nearly knocking him into the ray shield. Vader recovered quickly and charged straight towards her, using the Force to augment his speed. Finding another piece of debris, Yadara prepared to trip him up once again, knowing that footwork was the biggest strength and weakness of Djem So, but before she could do anything the Force clutched her throat, blurring her vision and making her gasp in surprise and a desperate attempt to fill her lungs with air. Closing her eyes, Yadara focused all her energy and eliminated everything from her mind but the image of the Sith apprentice in front of her. Then she swept her arm to the side, willing the Force to throw the boy towards the viewport, which, judging by the release from her throat, it did. Vader grunted from the impact, but he was quickly back on his feet, and Yadara had enough time to take a deep breath before she was locking her blade against his once more.

On the other side of the ray shields, Mace held his lightsaber parallel to the ground as the emperor released another lightning attack, successfully striking down one of Mace's fellow Jedi. The emperor laughed as he watched the Jedi fall, but Mace only grew more resilient, slowly walking towards the Sith as he parried the electrical strike. The light was blinding, but he didn't need his eyes to see, and the black hole in the Force easily pointed out where the enemy was. Mace and his remaining compatriot held strong against the Sith, and eventually Mace began to redirect the lightning towards its owner, causing the Sith Lord to quickly stop the assault and change tactics.

Charging forward, Mace aimed high for the Sith's shoulder while the man's blade was lowered, but Palpatine parried the attack, sliding his blade dangerously close to Mace's hands. The Jedi pulled back as the other Master aimed for the Sith's diaphragm, but Palpatine wasn't deterred by either opponent. Mace knew this wouldn't be an easy fight, and he knew that he alone couldn't defeat the Sith Master, but he also knew there were many more coming. If they could tire the emperor out, they would finally have the opportunity they needed, especially after they eliminated his apprentice.

Just as Palpatine started to cackle once more—arrogant lunatic that he was—three more Jedi Masters appeared. Mace allowed them to catch up before they all charged once more, some getting ahead to take the first hit while others lingered until they saw an opening. The Sith Lord deflected every blow, shoved away every blade, pushed back every attack, but his laughs had faded into a grisly expression of concentration and ferocity. At least they'd cut through his disgustingly dark humor; that meant they were finally starting to get to him. Good.

Across the hall, Yadara also received reinforcements, making Darth Vader immediately go on the defensive. He switched from Djem So to Soresu, holding back his attackers just as his master did, but one of the other two Jedi who had arrived finally got him in the arm, causing him to flinch and pull back until they had him cornered. The star destroyer shook again, making everyone stumble and allowing Vader enough time to leap over them, throwing what little debris remained in their direction. The three Masters easily avoided the projectiles, and one Jedi used the Force to pick Vader up and prevent him from going anywhere. The Force, which had been coldly surging from the youngling, finally enflamed with frustration, and Vader cried out, tearing a ceiling panel from above them and bringing it down on their heads. The Jedi scrambled out of the way, and Vader fell to the ground, reactivating his blade and running to the other end of the hall. Yadara and her compatriot pursued him, wondering what he was accomplishing in running, when she quickly realized he was trying to reunite with his master.

Vader vanished around the corner, and as Yadara followed him, the Force cried out in warning. She immediately dove forward, rolling for cover, but another Master wasn't so quick to respond to the Force's deterrent call and Vader's blade cleanly severed the Jedi's head from his shoulders. The other Jedi immediately descended upon the young Sith apprentice, and Vader was trapped again, though he was able to retaliate a little against the lone Master. Yadara quickly rejoined the fray. She slashed at his chest while the other Jedi aimed for his legs. Vader blocked her blade with his own and leapt over the other blade, and then he fell to his knees to avoid being decapitated by a counterattack from Yadara. Two more Jedi arrived just as Vader tried to roll away from them, and he panted for air as he leapt to his feet. The Force grew cold once more, but the boy's eyes burned with the most intense determination Yadara had ever seen. The Jedi surrounded him once more, but he didn't direct any attack towards them. Instead, the Sith apprentice dug his lightsaber into the nearest viewport before hastily deactivating it and gathering the Force around him as a shield and a means to toss the Jedi towards the viewport, which shattered seconds later.

Yadara grunted as debris smacked against her face, and she reached out desperately for anything to prevent her from getting thrown into space. Thankfully, she found a support strut and clung to it desperately, using the Force to augment her grip. She sensed one Jedi's life vanish, though she wasn't sure whether it was one fighting Vader or the emperor. After a few seconds the ray shield covered the viewport, allowing Yadara and the others to stand once more and catch their breath. She reached out into the Force, sensing out danger and Vader's location, and she immediately realized he'd left the hallway.

Cursing under her breath, Yadara led the charge after the apprentice.

The change in air pressure didn't affect the other end of the hallway since it was already cut off by a different shield, and Sidious didn't even have time to notice his apprentice's plight. He was a little busy with the eight Jedi Masters in front of him, after all, though they were starting to overcrowd even themselves; some would have to wait while others fought. _A clumsy attempt to defeat the most powerful Sith Lord in existence_, the emperor thought irritably.

Sidious eventually deactivated his blade and stretched his hands out, curling his fingers like claws. The Force obeyed his call, stiffening the muscles of all his enemies, leaving them frozen in position, moaning against the sudden power that overwhelmed them. Sidious smiled, so lost in his desire to kill them that he almost missed the Force's warning of another enemy approaching. The hum of a different lightsaber caught his attention and the Sith Master snarled as he released his prey, dodging the attack.

It was time to end this.

Sidious closed his eyes, temporarily focusing inward. He opened up his entire body to the power of the Dark Side, feeling the dams shatter as the Force poured through him. The piercing light of the Jedi in front of him dulled as if clouds overcast the entire area, and he opened his eyes, renewed and prepared to eliminate them. His rage ignited the Force, and with his power he temporarily clouded their minds, confusing some and blinding others, and then he lowered his hands slowly, throwing the Jedi to the ground and crushing them with steadily increasing pressure. Most cried out, but a few fought back, angering the Sith Lord even more. He increased his strength, he felt their agony as their bones steadily crumbled under the pressure, but still, two Jedi—Windu being one—continued to struggle against him. Seizing every ounce of his power, Sidious prepared to finally finish them off when a soft tremor in the Force pierced through his concentration in a way that didn't reach the minds of the other Jedi. His chest tightened, and he immediately knew the cause—_Vader._

Releasing the Jedi and leaving them to writhe in pain, Sidious turned and rushed to find his apprentice.

On the other end of the destroyer, Darth Vader was trying to reach the escape hatch so he could cross from a level above and return to his master. Yadara, accompanied now by four other Jedi, continually slowed him down, and he spent all of his time trying to dodge their attacks rather than fight back. He'd been singed a few times, but nothing seemed to deter him for long. One Jedi threw her lightsaber while another swung for his neck, and Vader leapt in the air, twisting so his chest was parallel with the ground. One lightsaber singed the back of his hair while the other barely missed his face, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he floated for an instant between the two blades before landing and rolling away from the assailants. He managed to trip up one Jedi as he did so, but then he finally cried out in genuine pain when another Jedi not only hit the wound he'd received earlier but added another, singeing his neck slightly.

Vader fell to the ground, curling in marginally, but he quickly had to roll to the side as Yadara plunged her lightsaber into the ground where he'd been seconds ago. Another Master was ready for his maneuver and lowered his blade for the finishing blow.

Yadara's gut clenched as she sensed danger, and she called out to her fellow Masters, though not soon enough; the Jedi who had almost killed Vader was now screaming in pain as lightning tore through him. Vader gazed in astonishment for a second before leaping to his feet and killing another Jedi with a quick stab to the chest.

The Jedi reorganized themselves, grouping together and facing both Sith. Darth Vader limped for a moment, having received a lightsaber blow to the calf, but he eventually straightened out and assumed a stronger posture. Palpatine looked livid, no longer sneering as he had been before, and the Force roared around him in furious waves. The face-off was interrupted, however, by a shift in the Force, making everyone turn to see Imperial marines arriving. Only one Master turned her attention towards the marines, dispatching them quickly, while the rest reengaged the Sith as Master Windu came up behind them with more reinforcements. Yadara felt her heart pound in her chest, and she was briefly filled with hope that they might be able to tire out the Sith enough to kill them, but she pushed even that aside so she could focus all her energy on the fight. There was no emotion; there was peace.

The battle was borderline insane within seconds. One instant the Force crackled with lightning, the next with a beacon of light as a Jedi flung both Sith into each other, though Vader twisted around his master to avoid him and even managed to pummel the Jedi responsible into the ground. Three Masters took down the young apprentice, one getting him across the forehead with their hilt, but they were killed by the emperor. The Dark Side and the Light Side tangled with each other and created such friction that Yadara was fairly certain even those deaf to the Force's call could sense it. One instant the cold Dark would overwhelm them all, seeping into their blood and freezing it, and the next the Light would thaw everything and choke out the Sith's power. Neither side remained above the other for long, and though Jedi fell, the Light remained just as defiantly strong, pulsating against the Darkness seeping from Palpatine. Darth Vader, although cold, didn't seem to be adding to either side, but he seemed to draw strength from both; no matter which part of the Force was overwhelming the other in the moment of the fight, the boy was never bothered by it. When the Light Side overruled the Darkness, Palpatine would snarl with hatred and fall back, but Darth Vader was unperturbed, remaining by his master's side. When the Dark Side overruled the Light, Palpatine surged forward with sadistic glee and pride, but Vader still remained stony faced and cold, only charging when his master did so. In either case, the chaos did nothing to stop him, and even his wounds seemed to bother him less as time progressed.

And then everything changed.

Master Windu finally landed the first blow to the emperor when his blade singed the monster's wrist. Palpatine flinched and fell back, and immediately the Force sent out such a palpable pulse of emotion and power that everyone was thrown outward in a circle. Rage choked all the Jedi, acting like a molten blanket preventing them from moving, breathing, or fighting. Yadara gasped and eventually gathered her strength and resolve just as she felt the source of the shift racing towards her. She reactivated her lightsaber and parried the vicious attack, and she found herself staring at fiery yellow eyes piercing out of the visage of the young Sith apprentice. Gritting her teeth against the power of his attack, Yadara struggled as he pushed her lightsaber blade steadily closer to her own face. She clutched at the Force desperately, calming herself as best she could and allowing it flow freely through her, and it responded to her action, pushing back against the Sith. The clarity of her mind allowed her to sense something and come to a realization she hadn't quite been expecting.

Darth Vader was attached to his master.

Grunting, Yadara kicked Vader back as the other Jedi leapt to their feet and rushed towards Palpatine. Vader gasped, having been struck on one of his lacerations, but, as before, the sudden surge of the Light Side didn't slow him down like it did his master. Instead, he breathed it in and shook his head, blinking the blood out of his eyes, which had seemingly returned to their original blue color. The Light Side appeared to have cleared his head as it had Yadara's, strangely enough. However, though his anger was gone, a fierce protectiveness surged through him, urging him towards the other Jedi to defend his master. Yadara blocked him, finally getting the upper hand on this fight. His priority was Palpatine, not survival, and she could use that to her advantage. She angled herself in a way that the boy could always see his master, see the Jedi overwhelm him, and he could grow frantic, distracted, or angry as a result. It didn't take long before she'd managed to nearly knock the apprentice's lightsaber out of his hands, and she prepared to finish him off.

Just as Yadara was about to attack, the destroyer lurched so badly people crashed into each other trying to stay on their feet. The klaxons changed, growing louder and shriller. The Force seemed to lurch with the ship, and her skin tingled as she was filled with a strange nostalgia, as if she'd heard the sound before. Vader and Palpatine seemed to interpret what it meant, and the apprentice immediately rushed to his master's side as the two fled the hallway. Master Windu was on his feet in an instant, and the other Jedi followed him as they pursued the Sith.

"Master Windu?" one of the Jedi looked at him questioningly, silently asking for the reason in the Sith's sudden change in tactics.

Yadara suddenly remembered why she recognized the alarm.

"The destroyer's taken too much damage," Master Windu explained to the others. "There's no salvaging the ship; they're heading for the hangars."

Ahead of the Jedi, Vader called the admiral on his comlink but only received static in reply. He tried several other frequencies before looking to Sidious. "The bridge is gone. Shields are down. Engineering's reporting leaking of fuel cells, the engines are overheating, and the systems across the ship are either down or overloading. The ship's going to explode."

The emperor considered their predicament. Vader could pilot anything through any conditions, so their best bet was to go to the hangars and get a shuttle, leaving the Jedi to die (he'd much rather kill them himself, but that would waste time). However, they were nowhere near the hangars on this level; the escape pods were far closer. They were more vulnerable in escape pods, but judging from the screams of warning from the Force, he wasn't convinced they'd have enough time to reach the hangars – the path to the nearest shuttle would be a labyrinth of ray shielded hallways, broken turbolifts, and passages littered or even blocked by debris.

"We need to get to the escape pods," he finally said, looking sharply at his apprentice. The boy had taken quite a bit of damage, which wasn't entirely surprising; his first fight against any Jedi who weren't crazed, tortured prisoners had been barely a few weeks ago, and he'd had enough trouble dealing with them. It was a testament to his skill that he'd survived against so many Masters for so long.

His son nodded, rounding the corner and opening a panel that led to the emergency hatch, where they could climb to a different level and reach the escape pods. As he did so, he winced slightly from one of his wounds. Palpatine sensed the pain shoot through their bond, and he sensed a little bit of fear trickle through as well. What was frightening the boy? Was it the fact that he'd almost died? It didn't seem likely; Vader had never been afraid of dying. Perhaps… was he afraid that Palpatine would die? The emperor almost laughed; Darth Vader was so naïve sometimes. Palpatine would never die.

Climbing into the hatch, the emperor led his apprentice up the ladder. He prodded the Force, which was growing steadily noisier with warnings, deaths, and irritating Jedi; it was beginning to grow difficult deciphering everything, and he didn't like that. Palpatine exited the hatch at the next level and was too impatient to let Vader crawl through on his own; he grabbed the boy under his arms and pulled him out. Vader squirmed out of his father's grip as soon as he had his footing, annoying the emperor slightly; of all the times for the boy's pride to get the best of him, _now_ wasn't the time.

"Go," Vader commanded, catching Palpatine off guard. He reactivated his blade, and the emperor immediately sensed the Jedi hot on their heels.

A brief vision flashed through his mind, a vision where he rushed down the hall and Vader remained, fought, _fell_… something deep in the emperor churned sickeningly, something twisted and made his breath hitch, and he fiercely grabbed his son's arm, making the boy inhale sharply from shock and pain. Dragging his apprentice behind him, Palpatine hurried down the hall, carelessly using the Force to crush the access hatch enough to make it difficult to open; that would stall the Jedi for a little while.

The hallway ended abruptly when they came upon a ray shield blocking another hull breach. Palpatine's heartrate increased with both frustration and slight anxiety as he could practically hear the seconds ticking before the ship erupted in flames. Thankfully he also noticed that some of the escape pods were still within reach. Two were available to them, just a little farther down the hall.

A sudden headache came to him as the Force warned him of impending danger, and he whirled around to see eight Jedi rushing in his direction. Everything seemed to slow down, but he still felt their time decreasing. Dread and fear took root within him, and he gazed at the escape pods one instant and the Jedi in the next. Windu was leading them, grim resolve etched into his features. He was willing to die for this. He was willing to give his life to ensure that the Sith didn't escape.

Darth Vader sensed the danger as well, and he surveyed the area just as his master had. While Palpatine remained half turned, partly facing the escape pods to his left and partly facing the Jedi to his right, Vader turned fully and faced the oncoming foes, unhooking his lightsaber from his belt. The same focus on Windu's face was reflected on Vader's, and he took a step forward, prepared to clash with all the Jedi in order to buy his master the precious time needed to escape. The pods were just in reach – all they had to do was leap in and press the launch button, they were _so close_…

The Force called. The destroyer rumbled. A low moan erupted from beneath them, behind them, above them, _everywhere_. The Dark Side trembled with terror and death. The Light Side trembled with justice. The universe halted, and Palpatine felt a chill go to his core. His soul, devoid of life, concern, or care, felt genuine fear for the first time in decades, and he panted for air. In a fraction of time—the time between one heartbeat to the next—he saw his apprentice, his _son_ marching ahead, he felt his presence in the Force blossoming with passion, resolve, stubbornness, fear, love, and _strength_. The boy had such _power_. His life signature no longer bled as it had; it was at its zenith, it was soaring above all of them. Everything in the boy's being was focused on surviving just _long enough_ to let his father live. The boy wasn't intending on winning the fight. Survival had never been his goal.

_No. _

In one instant, Palpatine grabbed his son and tossed him into the escape pod, slamming his hand on the launch button.

In the next instant, the _Dominator_ was gone.


	36. A New Hope

Space was cold, beautiful, and deadly. It was admired and feared, traversed and avoided. No matter how anyone described it, though, one unsettling fact in particular was that space was silent. The vacuum had no air for sound to move, and therefore had no sound at all. It was often many people's fears that if they died out in the vast expanses, no one would ever know.

While space was silent, however, no one ever said it was still.

A bright light enveloped a small portion of space where a battle was occurring between two fleets. It showered orange, red, white, and blue flames in all directions, peppering the area with debris. It was beautiful and deadly. It was silent as the grave.

Through the Force, however, it was a maelstrom. The foundations of the galaxy shook and shuddered as if a giant had fallen to the ground, and the coldness that had enveloped everything seeped out like cool water exiting a lake. Deathly cries echoed in the minds of all who could hear them, and a shudder crept down everyone's spines before their hearts beat strong and fast in resilience against the ice that had just left them. An enormous weight lifted from the Force, and it was like everyone could breathe again after being submerged in black icy liquid for so long. The sluggishness of their senses dissipated slightly, and the shroud that had clouded their minds lifted just enough for them to finally see hope and freedom.

Even those who hadn't witnessed the _Dominator_'s explosion could sense the repercussions of it. On Hoth, Obi-Wan and Siri gasped, leaning heavily on the console they'd been watching. Al looked at them worriedly, asking what was wrong, while Qui-Gon closed his eyes in an attempt to stop the world from spinning.

"What _is_ that?" Siri whispered.

It felt like living under certain atmospheric conditions and then going to a planet with lighter gravity. She felt like she could fly, like she could sense anything, _do_ anything. She suddenly could sense so much _light_, so many Jedi from all over the place. It was like a flash grenade had lit up her mind, and then it started to fade, but it didn't leave anything as dark as it had been seconds ago.

Qui-Gon finally took a deep breath, and Obi-Wan and Siri were surprised to see him looking stunned and relieved. He made eye contact with them and smiled. "He's gone."

Al looked from the couple to their teacher and then finally threw his hands in the air. "What the hell is going on?!"

Siri wasn't sure she could even articulate what she'd felt, but Obi-Wan at least tried. "We sensed… a change in the Force, some kind of fundamental change…"

"The emperor is dead." Qui-Gon announced quietly, and his eyes twinkled with genuine relief and happiness.

Al gaped at the man. _"What?!"_

Siri felt as surprised as he did, but she also felt her chest bubbling with laughter, both at his reaction and at the sheer _joy_ that they'd _finally_ beaten that monster. Just as she smiled and opened her mouth, however, her head started to spin again, and a headache pounded its way into her skull. Obi-Wan moaned at the same time, and Qui-Gon furrowed his brow as he apparently sensed the shift as well.

"Almusian, with me," Qui-Gon ordered, exiting the room hastily. Al sputtered, even more bewildered and worried, but he followed the man nonetheless. Obi-Wan and Siri watched him go, dread filling them as they deduced the possible source of this new sensation.

The Jedi quickly realized that, just as in a real ocean, a groundquake within the depths of the Force always had repercussions, and the tsunami was quickly coming.

* * *

The bridge was silent with shock. Every officer and shipman gaped at the viewport, staring out at the bright explosion erupting from the _Dominator_. Dread filled the pit of his stomach as he stared, wide-eyed. Tarkin felt his world around him shift and grow cold, and he couldn't come up with a single coherent thought to express how he was feeling or what he should be doing or even what was happening. Well, except for one.

_Palpatine and Vader are dead._

He couldn't stop repeating those words in his head over and _over_ until he was half convinced he'd lost his mind. The image of the _Dominator_ vanishing in a ball of fire was etched into his memory as if the heat from the explosion had burned his soul. Eventually the captain stammered some kind of order to others, and very slowly, the bridge returned to some sense of normalcy. Tarkin continued to stay planted in the center, however, unable to comprehend anything beyond what had happened. When the _Adjudicator_ shook with a direct hit from enemy fire, however, he finally snapped back to reality. They were in a battle. He had to worry about the battle, the Rebels, the… he had to worry about surviving. That was all.

_Palpatine and Vader are dead._

Blast it, this was _not_ what… he couldn't… _Vader_…

"Captain, there are several escape pods from the _Dominator_."

The captain whirled around to the person who had reported. "Get the fighters around those pods and protect them! Activate the tractor beam and bring them in!"

Tarkin listened intently, but for the life of him he still _couldn't focus_. Why the hell couldn't he focus?! He had to worry about the battle! He suddenly got a headache and stumbled a little, garnering no attention due to the chaos of the situation, and he trudged to the back of the bridge and leaned against the wall. His breath came in gasps, and his vision clouded. He felt so _overwhelmed_ he couldn't think straight, he couldn't _see_ straight…

"Bringing the escape pods in now, sir."

Tarkin listened as the man informed his captain of the hangars receiving the pods. After almost a minute, he _finally_ registered what the man had just said.

Escape pods. From the _Dominator_. Palpatine and Vader could be on those.

Rushing to the door, the grand moff hurried to the aforementioned hangars. His mind was still foggy, and occasionally he had to stop and just try to get his bearings – this was progressing from surprising to disconcerting very quickly. He didn't understand why he was reacting this way; obviously he didn't want to see his plans go up in smoke, and—though he was reluctant to do so—he would admit that just _thinking_ Vader was dead made his gut clench (_on the other hand, at least it would grant the boy's wish_, he thought bitterly), but none of that explained his sudden mental handicap.

Tarkin eventually did reach the hangar, and most of the survivors had clambered out of their escape pods, battered and bruised, but relatively healthy. A medical team started to attend to them, and only one pod remained sealed shut. Tarkin stared at it and grew even dizzier, and he slowly approached it. So far he hadn't seen either Sith, and he was growing all the more uneasy because of it.

Reaching the door, Tarkin leaned heavily on the pod as he pressed a button to open the hatch. As soon as he did, a wave of nausea overpowered him, his head hurt even more, and he felt his breath get knocked out of his chest. Trying to regain some control and figure out what the blazes was wrong, Tarkin peered inside, and his breath was stolen away from him once more, but his mind snapped into clarity in an instant.

"Milord," he gasped.

Darth Vader was curled on the floor, his face hidden from view as he held his head with his hands. His breathing came in erratic rasps, and blood oozed from multiple wounds. Tarkin dropped to his knees beside the boy, pulling him into a sitting position without thinking. "Lord Vader?"

Vader's eyes were wide with shock, with horror, with some inexplicable realization or dread or _something_ that was just eating his soul. His horror surpassed anything Tarkin had ever seen on anyone's face, his terror exceeded anything he'd ever felt before. Tarkin felt nauseous again, he felt his chest tighten so much he could hardly move. He was paralyzed, and Vader stared blankly ahead, lost in some conclusion that only he understood… and then in an instant the realization trickled into Tarkin's mind as well.

Palpatine was dead.

Well… shavit.

_Shavit!_

"Milord," Tarkin said frantically, shaking the boy by the shoulders, ignoring the fact that he might be hurt there (actually he _hoped_ the boy was hurt there – the pain would snap him out of this daze). Vader continued to stare at nothing, barely maintaining a normal respiratory rate, and Tarkin felt his blood run cold. He quickly shifted his attention to the people outside the escape pod. "I need a medical team here immediately!"

As soon as he'd spoken the words, the team rushed towards him, but then he felt a vice like grip clamp down on his wrists. Inhaling sharply, he looked and saw that Vader was holding them ferociously. He felt his fingers tingle from a lack of blood flow, and the pain was beginning to grow intolerable. The medical team appeared in the doorway, but Vader took a deep breath, squeezing Tarkin's wrists even tighter with closed eyes, and then he finally seemed to calm down. Tarkin pulled his hands back a little with a hiss, trying to ease the pressure on his wrists, and Vader released him. When the boy's eyes opened, they were reddish yellow, and his brow furrowed deeply.

Before Tarkin could speak, Vader roughly shoved him out of the way and exited the pod. The grand moff went after him, but the Sith apprentice was already speaking into his comlink, ordering a fighter to be prepped.

_What?_ He couldn't be getting on a fighter! He barely had his wits about him; his universe revolved around the emperor, and the man had just been torn from him. This was _not_ the time for him to be entering a battle! "Milord, I—"

Tarkin was interrupted when he felt an invisible force throw him back harshly, and he gasped as his feet left the ground. Just as he registered what had happened, his head slammed into the escape pod and his world went black.

* * *

Erwyna paced the bridge impatiently. She understood that she was an outsider in this navy, but she was willing to at least offer her services in some sort of capacity – the idea of being a part of the fleet that defeated Emperor Palpatine and Darth Vader was too enticing to pass up. After all, she was a warrior; there was no way she would miss this fight, so she had put on a cortosis mesh under her clothes, a light chest guard, and her trusty vambraces made of brandsted, a material native to Salkende. Still, she'd spent the entire battle so far staring out the main viewport listening to updates on the comm. and being generally useless. Jedi were sent to the flagship, not marines, and so she had to sit around and wait.

When the _Dominator_ exploded, the bridge roared with cheers from all its inhabitants. Erwyna smiled and basked in the soldiers' delight, but she didn't celebrate just yet. For all they knew the targets had escaped, and even if they hadn't, she still hadn't accomplished anything, so she had little reason to celebrate.

The ship shuddered under enemy fire, and an alarm blared loudly. The Rebels had focused their dreadnaughts on the _Dominator_ while the frigates had fended off the rest of the destroyers. As a result, the _Dominator_ fell quickly, but the Rebel frigates were completely gone, and the dreadnaughts were starting to take heavy fire from the other destroyers. From what Erwyna could see and hear, they barely had enough ships to handle themselves for the remainder of the fight.

The captain walked to the back of the bridge and entered a code into a holoprojector close to Erwyna. She watched as a hologram of the Rebel admiral appeared.

"Sir, with the _Dominator_ destroyed, what are our new orders?" the captain asked. "Should we await reinforcements or leave? We're taking substantial damage."

"We have to ensure the emperor is dead," the admiral replied. "Once we get confirmation through their transmissions, we can leave the system. Just hang on until then."

Erwyna felt a twinge of exasperation. Would she not get a chance to fight at all? Oh well; she shouldn't be surprised, but it was still irritating that she'd wasted her time with this. Witnessing the defeat of the emperor meant nothing if she hadn't actually partaken in it.

The viewport lit up with another explosion, hushing the chatter of the bridge temporarily. The admiral's hologram abruptly disappeared.

"Captain, we just lost the _Guardian_!" a shipman reported frantically. Erwyna jogged her memory for a second – wasn't that the name of the Rebel flagship?

"They hadn't taken that much damage," the captain argued, stunned. "What happened?"

"Incoming transmission from the _Liberator_, sir!"

The captain whirled to face another shipman. "Open the channel."

"—overloading! Repeat, someone is sabotaging the ship! Our life support is down, shields are down! Imperial boarding parties are—"

The transmission cut off, leaving everyone still and silent for a moment. The captain shouted at the shipman who had played it, "What happened? Get them back on!"

"Sir, Imperial fighters just took out our communications array!"

The captain swore harshly under his breath. "Turn our cannons on them! Where are our squadrons?"

Erwyna watched as TIE fighters flew in some sort of formation just over the bridge. She felt a cold shiver run down her spine; she didn't like sitting here while the Imperials destroyed them from the outside. They were practically waiting to be executed at this point.

"Red Squadron is down!" another officer reported. "We've lost contact with Blue and Green Squadrons!"

"Somebody tell me what the hell is going on out there!" the captain ordered, his face flushed. "Why are we losing so many squadrons all of a sudden?"

"Captain, we've got boarding parties!"

_Finally, something _I _can handle._ Erwyna felt her heartrate rise and her body tingled with anticipation. She faced the captain. "I'll go with your security team, captain."

The man nodded and returned his attention to the hundred other issues with which he had to contend. Erwyna grabbed her blaster pistol and marched out of the bridge after receiving the location of the boarding parties.

As she met up with the security team, Erwyna was tempted to take point, but she knew better than to overrule their authority. She followed in the back, gripping her pistol tightly. She'd do better up front since close quartered combat was her specialty, but she could handle this just fine. At least she wouldn't be sitting around anymore; she just hoped that the ship wouldn't blow up while she was down here. Still, at least she'd die a warrior's death… but then she'd never sort out the whole Amidala issue with that blasted shoto and… oh well. She had better things to be thinking right now than that.

Erwyna heard blaster fire up ahead in the next hallway; apparently the boarding party had gotten out of the hangar. As she entered the area she dove for cover when she immediately saw a squad of Imperial marines. A strange humming noise filled her ears, barely audible over the racket, and she suddenly realize with a lurch why the fleet had suddenly started having problems.

Grabbing her comlink, Erwyna keyed in for the bridge. "I found the source of our dilemma. Vader escaped the _Dominator_."

Before the person on the other end could reply, Erwyna hissed and ducked down behind a crate as sparks showered on her from above. She heard another security officer get cut down with a scream.

Taking a deep breath, Erwyna smiled. _This_ was what she came for. Peeking over the crate she surveyed the situation. Half the security team was dead, and there were still at least ten marines – and she doubted they were the only ones to have escaped the hangars. A tall Human with unnatural golden eyes, a strong build, and a crimson lightsaber led the men, killing yet another Rebel. His expression was practically savage, and Erwyna had been unfortunate enough to see that look before, so she recognized it for what it was: bloodlust.

_Mother grant me victory_, she prayed silently before leaping to her feet and opening fire. Two marines fell to her good aim, but she had to dive down once more to avoid getting shot. There was still some Rebel security to cover for her, but she heard Vader swiftly eliminating them. It was obvious he would be her greatest challenge, so she had to get rid of the other threats before she could focus solely on him. When Erwyna rose again to take another shot at the marines, she saw that security had whittled them down to five remaining troops. Erwyna quickly took out three before she heard the Sith Lord's lightsaber buzzing by her left ear, making her gasp slightly and roll away from it. Blaster bolts peppered the ground and wall around her as the marines tried to take her out—she supposed the other Rebels were dead by now—and she fired blindly to temporarily stop them.

Heat singed her back and she kicked behind her, scampering ahead to avoid being sliced cleanly in half. Her heart drummed in her chest, and she felt both slightly panicked and ecstatic – she lived for this craziness and the adrenaline high that always accompanied it. She wasn't sure if that was just how she was or if she molded herself into it to survive all the years of war, but at the moment that really didn't matter. All that mattered was not getting sliced into tiny pieces.

Erwyna heard the lightsaber come ever closer once again, and a blaster bolt grazed her shoulder, making her gasp in pain. It wasn't too bad and it barely affected her movement, so she finally got a good look at the remaining two soldiers and took one out while the other dove for cover. Then she felt the heat of Darth Vader's blade around her lower back, and in a gut wrenching moment she realized he was about to skewer her. Erwyna moved to the left as she turned a hundred eighty degrees and aimed a blow to the man's forehead, but Vader dodged it easily and lifted his blade to attack her. Erwyna ducked down again, still bearing in mind the other marine, who almost shot her head as she moved. She tried to figure out where the marine was but Vader kept coming at her, making her focus all her energy on _not dying_.

Eventually Erwyna shot her pistol, but she didn't aim at either Imperial; instead, she aimed for a light fixture above, and it exploded with the impact, showering sparks everywhere. Vader flinched for a millisecond, giving Erwyna just enough time to run in the opposite direction; she'd quickly determined she would need many advantages in her favor to hold her own against the Sith, and being stuck in a foreign hallway with an enemy marine was _not_ ideal. However, despite the few seconds granted to her, Darth Vader quickly started to gain on his foe, though they both outran the marine. At least _that_ was something.

Erwyna inhaled sharply as she felt some invisible force trip her up, pulling her legs out from under her. Her blaster pistol slipped out of her hands, and she rolled onto her back just in time to see Vader's red blade descending towards her. Crossing her arms over her face, where the blade was aiming, Erwyna gritted her teeth as it smashed into her vambraces, which held it at bay, surprising the Sith Lord. She felt a swell of pride rush through her, and Erwyna used the Sith's momentary shock as an opportunity to kick him in the groin. The man grunted and pulled back, allowing Erwyna to rise once more. She wasn't foolish enough to think she stood a chance against him now, but she at least had the moment to smash her vambrace, still hot from the blade, against Vader's temple, making the man yelp in pain.

The minimal victory vanished within a couple of seconds as the Sith quickly recovered from the blow, ignoring the blood leaking from yet another facial wound (though it was partially cauterized from the heat of the vambrace, which left a nasty burn). Vader pushed his hand outward, confusing Erwyna for an instant before she felt some invisible wall ram into her and throw her across the hallway, smashing her into a door. She felt her head spinning, and she was dazed for a few seconds, leaving her vulnerable. She blinked rapidly, trying to get her bearings as she heard his lightsaber rushing towards her, and she saw it flying in her direction as if the man had tossed it. Dropping to the floor, she dodged it and was astonished to see the blade fly _back_ to its owner. Blast, was that the _Force_?! She'd never seen it utilized, and she was quickly realizing why it made a fighter so deadly.

The ship bucked a little, but it barely affected Erwyna since she was already on the floor. Vader, however, shifted his footing a little to adjust, giving the lieutenant just enough time to leap to her feet and run down another hallway, trying to put some distance between her and the Sith. She heard his quick footsteps as he chased her, and she felt the slightest bit of panic settle into the pit of her stomach. She'd always felt like a warrior in every battle she'd ever fought, but here…

Here she felt like prey.

* * *

In all his years of smuggling, Al had done plenty of crazy stunts. He'd once plotted a hyperspace route that nearly landed him right on top of a sun just so he could avoid Imperial detection at a drop site. Another time he'd impersonated the prime minister of an _entire planet_ just so he could make a quick deal and get the heck away from an incoming Imperial fleet. Perhaps his craziest job had been smuggling a prisoner's corpse from a morgue inside an Imperial detention facility so the man's family could properly mourn and bury him since the officers had been intending on putting the man's head on a pike for the entire city to see. Every single time, however, he'd been trying to get _away_ from the Empire, even if the last one was a bit of a stretch. The closer he was to any sort of Imperial presence, the more desperately he tried to _flee_ from it.

So why the _hell_ had he agreed to flying Qui-Gon _right into the Imperial task force_?!

"I'm crazy. I'm crazy. I'm crazy." Al muttered under his breath over and over again as his console indicated that the _Invariant Beauty_ was about to exit hyperspace. He gripped the piloting controls fiercely, his stomach doing somersaults.

Qui-Gon, who was sitting in front of a console towards the back of the cockpit in one of the quasi co-pilot seats, said in a calming tone, "The Force will guide us through the battle. I will make contact with the Rebel fleet as soon as we exit hyperspace. Once I have a location for Darth Vader, all you have to do is fly me to the ship in question. After that, you can leave at your discretion."

"And leave you on an Imp ship? Are you out of your mind?!" Al twisted his torso to look at the Jedi Master.

Qui-Gon smiled. "As I said, it will be at your discretion."

Al irritably puffed out a breath. "So if you die it's my fault and if _I _die it's my fault."

The Jedi's response was interrupted when the ship's reverse thrusters roared to life, slowing their exit from hyperspace. Al clamped down on the controls so harshly that his fingers started to tingle. Two fleets filled the viewports, painting a grim picture. All of the Rebel frigates were gone, as well as two of the cruisers, including the flagship. Of the remaining five cruisers, two were in bad shape. On the Imperial end of the fight, their flagship was also gone, and one of their six destroyers looked like it was about to tear in half. This… wasn't looking all that great for the Rebels.

Qui-Gon hastily established contact with the Alliance forces, and within the minute, he had a location for Al. "He's on the _Consul_."

Using his navicomputer and the information he had on the Rebel fleet, Al quickly determined the ship's coordinates amidst the chaos and then swallowed hard. Time to enter the fray. "Got it. Hold on tight."

Activating the engines, Al steered the _Invariant Beauty_ right into the mayhem. Turbolaser fire and fighter fire peppered all around him, and Al yanked the ship up, down, left, right, diagonal, and in insane twirls just to avoid being vaporized. As if that wasn't bad enough, one TIE fighter decided its mission in life was to chase him across the entire battlefield. A proximity alarm blared as the fighter turned sharply to tail him, and Al clenched his jaw, pushing his engines harder. The _Invariant Beauty_ accelerated, shoving both Al and Qui-Gon into their seats, and the ship shook harshly as the TIE fighter's fire scraped the hull a few times. Al pulled upward harshly, flying belly to belly with a Rebel cruiser, knowing that its auto turrets and turbolasers would target the TIE fighter rather than him. As expected, the fighter vanished into a cloud of fire and debris, offering Al a little bit of relief.

They eventually flew past the Rebel cruiser, which wasn't the one Al had been looking for, so he pulled the ship up and over the fight. He tried to pinpoint the _Consul_ amidst the melee, and when he aimed directly for it from above, everything was fine until a TIE interceptor took far too much interest in him. Again Al dodged it as best he could, but interceptors were faster than standard fighters, and his frigate couldn't match its speed. Al and Qui-Gon were thrown against their crash harnesses as the _Beauty_ took a hit to one of her engines, and Al swore harshly, fighting the steering yoke as the ship tried to spiral out of control. Thankfully, what his ship lacked in speed she made up for in strength, and so the engine wasn't entirely lost. Still, he had to adjust the power input quickly, which wasn't the easiest task to accomplish in the midst of a _kriffing space battle._

"Kark!" Al yelled as another proximity alarm blared, and the console indicated he now had missiles to contend with. "Kark, kark, kark!"

"The _Consul_ is dead ahead," Qui-Gon informed him helpfully since he was too busy staring at the information scrolling across the console in front of him.

"Man the turret!" Al ordered. "It doesn't work too well, and it might just jam up on you, but you should be able to get one shot—make it count!"

The Jedi Master searched for the controls to the ship's only weapon and found them, taking aim. Al adjusted the engines so that they were no longer spinning or wobbling, and then he gunned them as hard as he could. They'd hit the hangar at a dangerous speed, but if they could just pass through the hangar's shield they would at least be safe from Imperial threats, assuming Qui-Gon got rid of the missile trailing right behind them.

The proximity alarm shrieked at them. Al looked at it worriedly and saw that the missile was gaining. _Come on, Qui-Gon!_

The Jedi continued to move purposefully but painfully slowly, and then finally, he fired. The _Invariant Beauty_ bucked again, throwing off their trajectory, but it was a repercussion of the missile detonating _behind_ them rather than _on top of_ them; Qui-Gon had hit the target.

Al would have whooped with excitement if he weren't frantically realigning the ship with the fast approaching hangar.

"We're clear of any fighters," Qui-Gon noted, and Al nodded, his lips pursed.

The _Consul'_s hangar grew larger by the second. Al released the throttle and let them coast at their _unnervingly_ high speed. _This is nuts, this is nuts, this is nuts!_

"Almusian…" Qui-Gon said, a bit of concern seeping into his tone as he laid a hand on Al's chair.

"I know!" Al barked a little too harshly, and he prepared to fire up the reverse thrusters. Right before they hit the hangar shield, Al pulled the lever to maximum throttle, and the reverse engines roared so loudly his ears were ringing. Al and Qui-Gon were thrown into their straps once more, and Al practically felt it tearing through his clothes and into his chest. His breath was knocked out of him, but he continued to grip the controls tightly. They entered the hangar in a heartbeat, and the wall at the back of the hangar grew closer and closer. Al tipped the ship towards the right to avoid a direct crash, and he and Qui-Gon were nearly thrown out of their seats. The _Invariant Beauty_ rotated almost ninety degrees on its horizontal axis before Al flew it in a circle around the hangar to blow off speed. The g forces made him lightheaded, but he fought it, and eventually the ship was hovering just above the ground.

Al let out an enormous sigh of relief, collapsing against his seat.

Qui-Gon immediately unstrapped himself and headed for the exit.

"Nothing rattles you, does it?" Al asked… or at least he would have asked that if his voice would work. For some reason it was failing him at the moment. It probably had something to do with the fact that he could barely catch his breath.

A console beeped, indicating that Qui-Gon had opened the landing ramp despite the fact that they were hovering in midair. Al watched through a camera as the Jedi Master easily leapt off the ramp, grabbing his lightsaber as he did so, and land smoothly on the floor. He spared no time to look around, rushing towards the hangar exit.

Al eventually, slowly, started the landing process. His hands were shaking the entire time, and as soon as his ship touched the ground he finally lowered his hands to his lap, trembling from head to foot from the ordeal.

* * *

Was it possible for one man to eliminate an entire ship's security force? Because Erwyna was fairly certain she hadn't seen a single Rebel within the past few minutes, and she _knew_ they'd all swarmed on Vader while he chased her. Also, she was pretty certain that Darth Vader was responsible for sabotaging the other Rebel ship—whatever it had been called—because the longer she ran through different corridors and backtracked down dead ends, the more alarms blared, and she knew it wasn't all coming from the battle outside.

Panting for air, the Salkenden lieutenant climbed yet another level in the emergency hatch ladder. When she reached the next level, she gasped, stumbling back against the wall. The hallway was littered with Rebel corpses, and Darth Vader was standing in the center, his yellow eyes glowing in the shadows cast by the harsh emergency lights. His lightsaber was deactivated, no doubt to hide his presence since its hum was a dead giveaway, but as soon as he saw her, it hissed to life.

Erwyna immediately opened fire with her pistol, aiming for his head. He deflected the shots easily, and even redirected them towards her. Erwyna dove out of the way, cursing under her breath. Shooting was pointless; there was no way she could break through his defense, and she had nothing to protect herself from his attacks. She had to find a way to get rid of that lightsaber.

As the lieutenant theorized how she could accomplish such a feat, she suddenly felt her throat clench as if someone were strangling her. Choking, Erwyna gripped her throat feebly, wondering what was happening, and she quickly surmised it must be another Force power that the Sith possessed. She fired the pistol again in an attempt to do _something_, though she wasn't sure what, and he deflected it again. One bolt hit her directly in the shoulder, and she would have cried out if she weren't quickly running out of oxygen.

The world shifted strangely, and Erwyna suddenly felt impossibly light. Was this because she was losing consciousness? She thought it might be, but the pressure from her throat immediately disappeared, and Vader stumbled a little, looking at his feet. Erwyna felt her own feet leave the ground, and she quickly realized that the gravity generators must have failed. Taking advantage of the Sith's distraction, she tossed her blaster—firing it only seemed to get his attention and make him block the attack—directly for his head; if the gravity was gone it should be a straight shot. Her aim was true, and since it wasn't an attack the Sith Lord was expecting, it smacked him in the face, making him jump. Erwyna grabbed the wall and used it to push herself forward as she floated steadily higher in the hallway, and she rammed the Sith right after her pistol smacked into him. The lightsaber slid from his loose grip, and Erwyna finally landed a punch on his jaw.

Vader growled angrily, and he shoved her off of him with unnatural strength, sending her spiraling across the hall. She hit her head against the ceiling and then partially fell to the floor in some dizzying fashion. Her stomach lurched, and she grew a little queasy—she wasn't trained for this kind of zero gravity combat. Still, she would make do.

As Erwyna fixed her sight upon the Sith Lord again, she was confused when she saw him thrust his arm upward uselessly. However, her confusion turned to alarm when she was hit with a crate that had been thrown at her. Great. Telekinetic pummeling. That was all she needed.

Erwyna did her best to dodge the items the Sith Lord tossed at her, but she could only do so much contortion in midair. As the seconds ticked by she was steadily more and more injured, and she _knew_ she'd probably at least cracked a rib after a particularly sharp object hit her directly in the chest. Finally, she curled into a ball (ignoring the searing pain in her chest as she did so) and let a crate push her towards the back wall so she couldn't be hit from behind. Then she grabbed a piece of debris and held it in front of her like a shield, deflecting everything he threw at her. Vader eventually grew impatient and used the Force to pull her towards him, at which point she hid behind her makeshift shield long enough to pull out two daggers that she used for close quarter combat. She heard Vader grab his lightsaber (she supposed he'd pulled it towards himself like he had to her) and she kicked the shield ahead of her, watching him slice it in half. As he did so, she thrust one of her daggers forward, but the Sith Lord dodged the attack. She twisted as best she could to avoid his counterattack, but his lightsaber still cut deeply into her upper arm, making her shout loudly.

Screw it, she was going to play dirty.

Grabbing his arm, Erwyna bit down, making the Sith Lord also yell equally loud. He hit her across the temple, but she managed to cut him along an already open wound. Blood poured out, floating in strange droplets all around them, and she knew some of it was probably hers as well. But now her head was pounding, she could barely catch her breath, her world was spinning, and she was down one arm. It was only a matter of seconds before he finished her off.

With another stomach lurching maneuver, Erwyna suddenly felt herself get yanked away from the Sith Lord. A _snap-hiss_ emitted from beside her, and a green glow added to the red tint of Vader's blade.

"Get out of here," a stranger advised, holding a green lightsaber.

Yeah, she definitely wasn't going to argue with this guy. Grabbing the wall to help her turn, Erwyna pulled herself back into the escape hatch, intent on contacting the bridge and at least getting rid of any other boarders while the newcomer handled Vader… assuming he _could _handle Vader.

Back in the hallway, the Force swirled with such vehemence and pain that it gave Qui-Gon a headache. Darth Vader stood—or, rather, floated—before him, the Force palpating off of him in vicious waves that didn't seem to have any rhyme or reason to them. The boy was obviously enraged, but he was also unstable. This wasn't quite the Sith apprentice Qui-Gon had expected to see, but he supposed his famous calm disposition was a façade that hid all of this inner rage and turmoil. Had Palpatine's death set it off? That would be a strange reason for a Sith to be upset; most wanted to kill their masters anyway.

In either case, Vader wasn't going to wait for Qui-Gon to ponder the matter. The young Sith slammed Qui-Gon into the floor, or at least he _attempted_ to; Qui-Gon twisted his body so that his feet hit the ground soundly when he was thrown downward, bending his knees and pushing himself forward whilst pulling Vader to him with the Force. The boy riled against the maneuver, but they were already close enough to lock blades, and Qui-Gon attacked first. Some blood droplets that were floating in the air splattered against Qui-Gon's face, but he ignored it, focusing on the fight. Every blow they exchanged pushed them apart from each other with equal and opposite force, and the two always had to readjust and go to each other once more. Sometimes the duel was interrupted when one opponent or the other attempted to use the debris to their advantage, but it only resulted in stalemates. Eventually Vader reached out and grabbed Qui-Gon's wrist, using his other hand to try and hack the Jedi's arm off. Qui-Gon grabbed the boy's other hand, holding him back, and the two were locked in this manner when the Force warned him of something and he immediately sensed gravity returning, shoving both combatants to the ground.

Qui-Gon kicked the boy, trying to get him and his lightsaber away from himself. Vader recoiled, apparently having already sustained an injury there, and gasped for air, flinging Qui-Gon away from him with the Force. The Jedi Master landed easily on his feet. The Force swelled as Darth Vader grew frustrated, and Qui-Gon heard the internal pane of glass in the viewports crack; if the boy didn't calm down he'd get them _both_ killed. Taking the initiative, Qui-Gon attacked first, bringing his lightsaber in a low swing for the boy's legs, but Vader leapt over the blade, bringing his saber down towards Qui-Gon's neck. A little Force push tripped the boy up enough to avoid decapitation, and Qui-Gon quickly had Vader stepping back more and more as he pressed the attack. The situation didn't remain this way for long, though, as the Sith apprentice grew steadily angrier at being pushed back. The two locked lightsabers, and Vader's strength began to overpower Qui-Gon, bringing both sabers steadily closer to the Jedi's face. Qui-Gon deactivated his blade and quickly moved to the side, unbalancing the Sith, who almost fell flat on his face from the sudden shift, and the Jedi prepared to finish him off. However, Vader sensed the attack from behind and sent Qui-Gon flying across the hall, but the Sith took far longer to recover than was expected.

This fight wouldn't last long; the boy was already worn out from previous altercations, and his raging emotions were preventing him from thinking clearly. The _real_ question was what Qui-Gon would do with him. Their mission had been to kill the Sith, after all, but… this boy was incredibly young, and though the Dark Side swirled hungrily around him, it didn't quite emit _from_ him. He utilized it now with his anger, but before Qui-Gon had ever left Hoth he'd only sensed the Dark Side from the emperor. Darth Vader was… not quite a Sith, though certainly not a Jedi, either.

As he suspected, the fight turned in the Jedi's favor rather quickly. The Light Side flowed through Qui-Gon, giving him peace of mind and the clarity required to see each attack coming, the speed required to parry every blow, and the wisdom to realize that he didn't need to kill this opponent. Vader's attacks slowed steadily, and his desperation increased. In a last burst of energy, Vader yelled out, increasing his strength and attacking the Jedi relentlessly, but Qui-Gon blocked every attempt to reach him, and he saw multiple openings, all of which he took. Vader fell to his knees, but he still held his blade stubbornly, glaring at Qui-Gon with ferocity. The Jedi had won, and they both knew it, but the boy refused to give up. Qui-Gon attempted to disarm him, but Vader wouldn't allow it; when the Jedi used the Force to summon the Sith's lightsaber, the apprentice used energy reserves that Qui-Gon had not felt and nearly broke the Master's hand. Qui-Gon spared no expense, then, and charged forward, cutting through Vader's defense, slicing his lightsaber hilt into pieces, and knocking him out.

Seconds later, Almusian rushed into the area from the other side of the hallway, blaster at the ready. He was apparently scouring for Imperials, but he wasn't expecting to see the Sith apprentice on the ground; as soon as he laid eyes on the boy and recognized the pieces of the lightsaber around him, his eyes widened and he gasped, taking several large steps back. He aimed his blaster at the unconscious Sith as if he expected him to leap to his feet. "Is he…?"

"He's alive," Qui-Gon said, having finally caught his breath; despite the boy's injuries, he'd still put up quite the fight.

Almusian looked at the Jedi Master uncertainly. "Well, shouldn't we…?"

Qui-Gon shook his head. "No. We're taking him prisoner."

Before the Zabrak smuggler could reply, the ship shuddered, and gravity disappeared once more. However, the danger Qui-Gon had sensed diminished greatly, and when he looked out of the cracked viewports he realized why.

Their reinforcements from Ghanu'jivo had finally arrived.

Almusian, who also looked outside, whooped with relief and delight. "We got 'em! Qui-Gon, we got 'em!"

The Jedi smiled. Yes, this battle was won. The Force hummed with victory, and the Light Side bathed everything in its gentle warmth. It felt so _freeing_ to finally have the shroud of the Dark Side lifted, even if it still waited ominously in the background – after all, the Empire was nowhere near defeated, but it had lost its key players.

"I can't believe it!" Almusian continued happily. "We beat them, we _killed_ the emperor and we've captured Darth Vader! I—this is—this is—how do we get out of here?"

Qui-Gon laughed at the smuggler's sudden concern over floating in the middle of the hallway. "I believe we'll manage."

Almusian laughed a little shakily. "Yeah, you're right. But… what about… _him_?"

"I will take care of him," Qui-Gon answered. "With the reinforcements here this battle will be over quickly. We should transfer him to a ship with a functional detention facility."

"Right. Transfer him. Right." The smuggler nodded before he suddenly registered that Qui-Gon was looking at him intently. "Wha—no, no, _hell_ no, we're not taking him aboard _my_ ship!"

"I assure you, he won't be waking up anytime soon," Qui-Gon remarked, amused.

"No!" Almusian argued. "What if he does some weird Sithy thing in his sleep, like, I don't know, like turn us into orange goo or something—I saw a holovid that showed Sith making people turn into slobbering lunatics just by _staring_ at them, and—"

"Sith are not invincible, as today's events have proven," Qui-Gon interrupted the man's frantic tirade. "Darth Vader is incapacitated. He can't do anyone any harm."

Almusian stared at Vader long and hard before looking at Qui-Gon, muttering begrudgingly, "If you say so…" Then he quickly added, "But we're tying him up with at least five different cords, and we're putting electrobinders on him, and a gag, and we're putting him in the storage compartment the entire trip!"

"It's better to leave him somewhere we can keep an eye on him. After all, Sith can spontaneously teleport." Qui-Gon said with as straight a face as he could muster. Almusian's look of astonishment and horror nearly broke the Jedi's strong defenses, though, and the Master had to smile.

The smuggler quickly caught on to the joke. "You murglak!"

Qui-Gon chuckled softly. "Come, let's take him to your ship."

The trip to the _Invariant Beauty_ was interesting enough, what with pushing a floating unconscious Sith apprentice through the hallways, but it was only compounded by Almusian constantly prodding the Sith in every direction to ensure he was still unconscious. The gravity generators came back online just as they reached the hangar, and Qui-Gon landed easily on his feet while Almusian fell face first on top of the Sith. Yelping, the smuggler scurried away on all fours and pulled his blaster out, aiming it at the Sith, who remained motionless.

Qui-Gon cleared his throat, partly to get the smuggler's attention and partly to cover a laugh. "Come now, Almusian. I already told you he won't wake up anytime soon."

The Jedi walked over to Vader and slid his arms under the boy. Vader winced slightly due to his injuries, so Qui-Gon gently picked him up, walking up the ramp of the ship. Almusian protested when Qui-Gon placed Vader on the couch, but there was nowhere else to put him unless the smuggler wanted Vader on his bunk.

The two waited in the lounge, Qui-Gon meditating and Almusian pacing restlessly, as they waited for the battle to finish. As they did, Qui-Gon prodded the Force around the boy, shutting out the space battle temporarily. With his rage drained out of him, Darth Vader was a jumble of emotions and images that were nearly impossible to decipher: waterfalls, the emperor, hatred, loneliness, Naboo, confusion, Senator Amidala, regret, desire, training rooms, love, walking, sparring, loss… nothing could form into a coherent picture, and Qui-Gon steadily realized that part of the reason was because Vader was fighting to wake up. Focusing, Qui-Gon sent soothing waves through the Force, easing the boy into a heavy sleep. Just after doing so, a message played over the intercom in the hangar, and it was loud enough that they heard it—albeit muffled—within the _Invariant Beauty_.

"_The Imperials are in full retreat. Emperor Palpatine is dead. We have won the day!"_

Immediately the Force cried out with joy. It resonated from the fleet, and Qui-Gon sensed it trickling through his steadily developing bond with Obi-Wan and Siri.

Elsewhere on the cruiser, Erwyna leaned against a wall in relief, having been finishing off the marines. She sat on the floor, exhausted, and then she smiled. The smile continued to blossom into giggles and then full laughter until she was laughing so much her sides and chest hurt.

On Hoth, Obi-Wan let out a sigh of relief and happiness while Siri practically jumped up and down. She grabbed him fiercely and wrapped him in a hug that stole his breath away, but he didn't complain, hugging her in return. When they released each other it was only for an instant before his wife pulled him into a kiss.

After so much heartache and defeat, they had finally won. After losing Padmé, they had finally killed the emperor, the source of everything that had gone wrong… and if the emperor was gone and the Rebels had won, then there was no doubt that Darth Vader was dead as well.

For the first time since Padmé's death, Obi-Wan dared to hope that they would win this war.

* * *

Tarkin groaned as he shifted in what felt like a bed. His head was _killing_ him. When he blearily opened his eyes, he recognized his surroundings to be the medical bay. What had happened? The last thing he remembered was…

The _Dominator_. Palpatine. _Vader_.

Tarkin bolted upright. A wave of nausea hit him and he hissed, leaning back slowly. He'd always wanted the emperor dead – that had been his end goal for years. But for it to happen _now_, when Darth Vader was still attached to the man and Tarkin hadn't established the situation in his favor… this wasn't how it was supposed to happen. And where the blazes was that idiot boy?! He'd stormed off, ready to murder every single person in the enemy fleet, but he hadn't been in the right shape or mindset to do so…

A medical droid approached him, advising him to lie down fully and rest, but Tarkin interrupted it. "I need to speak to the captain."

"I will inform the captain that you wish to speak with him after you get the appropriate rest." The droid replied.

"I'm not waiting until I get _the appropriate rest_, damn it," Tarkin snapped, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and ignoring the droid. "Get the captain _now_!"

The droid seemed like it was about to argue again, but a doctor appeared. "Grand moff, please stay in bed. I'll call the captain for you."

After the doctor walked away, Tarkin eyed the droid. "What happened to me?"

"You received a concussion and were admitted to the medical bay one hour ago."

An hour ago?! "Where is Lord Vader?"

"I don't know his whereabouts, sir," the droid answered.

The grand moff felt a shiver run down his spine. He had a bad feeling about this. After waiting impatiently for a few minutes, the captain of the _Adjudicator_ finally arrived, looking grim. That _didn't_ help Tarkin's spirits.

"Sir," the captain acknowledged with a salute.

"Report," Tarkin immediately ordered.

The captain took a slow breath. "The Rebels received reinforcements, sir. We had to fall back or we would have been destroyed."

Tarkin gaped at the man. "Where is Lord Vader?"

The captain's mouth became a thin line. "We tried to contact him, sir, but the marines he had been traveling with were all dead. We… believe he fell to the Rebels just as the emperor did."

Tarkin leapt to his feet. "You _what_? You _left him behind_?! You didn't even attempt to _confirm_ if he's dead or not?!"

"Governor, we lost all of our boarding parties," the captain argued. "There was no way we could make contact with Lord Vader to confirm or deny anything, and if we'd stayed any longer we would all be dead. He's gone, sir."

_Gone_? He _couldn't_ be gone. Tarkin _refused_ to believe it; that boy was far too stubborn to have died at the hands—

What was he thinking? They'd killed the _emperor_. It wasn't impossible for them to have killed Vader too.

The grand moff grew cold and empty. This… it wasn't supposed to end like this. It _wasn't_. He shook his head. _Stop it. Think logically_. Palpatine died because he couldn't escape the _Dominator_'s explosion fast enough. That was an acceptable death. But Darth Vader hadn't been in any dire environmental situation; he'd been boarding Rebel ships. Sure, he hadn't been in his right mind, but he wasn't in his right mind when he'd faced two Jedi a few weeks ago and he'd still won, albeit with injuries… would the Rebels really be able to kill him?

_Well now that we've _abandoned_ him they can!_

"When did the retreat occur?" he asked, his voice sounding hollow.

"Forty-five minutes ago, sir."

_Forty-five minutes._ Could Vader survive that long? Would they even be able to track the Rebel fleet at this point? They wouldn't have remained in the same location, not by now…

The _real_ question was would the Rebels _capture_ Vader? It was possible… in fact, it was highly likely. Yes, _yes_, that had to be it – Vader was alive. He _had_ to be. Tarkin dismissed the captain and grabbed his comlink, keying in for his spy. He was not giving up on that boy.

_Stay strong, little one._ _We'll find you._

* * *

Obi-Wan and Siri were at the front of the crowd waiting to congratulate the returning Rebels and Jedi. Siri was slightly worried about Al, but Obi-Wan hadn't sensed anything drastic, so he knew that the man was alright, and the same applied to Qui-Gon. In fact, he sensed them rather quickly amidst the crowd, and he led his wife to them. Siri rushed ahead once she honed in on them and Obi-Wan saw her nearly tackle Al.

"Thank the gods you're okay," she laughed, picking the smuggler up and twirling him around.

"Yeesh—Siri, put me down!" Al whined somewhat frantically, causing Obi-Wan to laugh.

"All right, you baby," she complied with a smile before asking, "Where's Qui-Gon?"

"He's, uh… with the prisoner." Al replied.

Obi-Wan and Siri exchanged confused glances. "The prisoner?"

Al shifted, suddenly looking nervous. "Qui-Gon lost his mind. Instead of killing Vader, he took him captive."

"What? He captured Darth Vader?" Siri repeated. Obi-Wan could only watch the exchange, astonished. Obviously it was good he hadn't escaped justice, but… wasn't the point to kill him? He supposed the man had valuable information, but he wasn't sure they'd actually get anything out of him. He was tougher than durasteel; Obi-Wan wasn't sure any sort of interrogation would work on him. And the idea of having a Sith at the base made him just a tad nervous.

As Siri and Al argued about the matter, Obi-Wan sensed another familiar presence and he walked through the crowd of excited people, noticing Lt. Erwyna. She looked a little worse for wear, but happy nonetheless. He acknowledged her with a nod, and she returned the favor, exiting the area. He supposed she would return to Salkende now, and perhaps her report would convince the warlord to finally bring troops.

Abandoning that thought process, Obi-Wan next focused on finding Qui-Gon. Sensing his master was more difficult since he was still developing a bond with him, but he eventually found his way. It became fairly obvious where Qui-Gon was after a while since the crowd started to separate so the soldiers could walk through. Darth Vader was tied to a gurney, covered in lacerations, burns, and bruises. The people hushed as the gurney passed, and everyone gripped their weapons, waiting for something to happen. The trip was uneventful, however, and Obi-Wan eventually caught sight of Qui-Gon.

"Master," he acknowledged as he approached him. "Why did you choose to spare Vader?"

"He has potential," Qui-Gon replied cryptically. "Besides, he no doubt has useful information for the Alliance."

Exasperation filled Obi-Wan. Why did he have a feeling that Qui-Gon simply had a penchant for charity cases, just like Padmé? Surely the Jedi Master was wiser than his sister had been. "Potential, Master?"

Qui-Gon noted Obi-Wan's irritation in his tone, and he eyed him carefully. "Yes, Padawan. Don't write him off just yet."

_If you say so_, he thought to himself, hoping the Master couldn't hear it. Somehow he suspected the sentiment crossed their fledgling bond, however, since Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows slightly. Obi-Wan lowered his gaze apologetically, though he didn't feel apologetic at all. Still, he tried to listen to the man; he wasn't nearly as trained, so it wasn't like he could sense whatever _potential_ Qui-Gon sensed. After all, he still recalled Padmé's words about the man, even if they were paradoxical to the very nature of a Sith Lord.

On the other side of the base, Erwyna exited the medical bay with her arm in a sling. The irony of it wasn't lost upon her as she called Éothen, who would take the report in his mother's stead. When his hologram appeared, he immediately grew concerned. "Erwyna? What happened?"

As Erwyna explained the situation, she watched her friend's expression change from worry to astonishment to jealousy. "You did _what_? And I missed out on it?!"

Erwyna smirked smugly. "Yep. That's what you get for moping."

Éothen groaned. "I can't believe this! The opportunity of a lifetime, and I missed it!"

"Well you can always come over and watch Vader's interrogation," Erwyna shrugged and then winced at the pain.

"How about you just tell me about it," Éothen sighed. "I'm not big on interrogations."

"I'm not sticking around that long."

"You coming back already?"

"No," Erwyna answered. "I have other business I have to take care of first."

Éothen looked at her confusedly. "Other business? What other business could you have?"

"It's…" Erwyna paused, unsure if she should bring the issue up to him. She wasn't sure if mentioning his dead fiancée would put him in a sour mood again, and Mother knew she didn't want to deal with his sulking. "I'll tell you when I get home, okay? Just make sure it's fine with the warlord."

Éothen sighed dramatically. "Well it's not like we actually need you, you know, so I guess you can just go wherever and disappear off the face of the planet for the next few years. You won't be missed."

Erwyna rolled her eyes. "You're going to miss me every night, dufus."

"I'll find someone else to comfort me, then."

Erwyna laughed. "Yeah, you do that. I'll see you around."

"Be safe," Éothen said seriously. "The Empire's going to lose its mind because of this."

"I know," she nodded firmly. Yes, there was little doubt this would cause some sort of succession fight – after all, the emperor didn't have children, so there was no heir, right? "Mother watch over you."

"_You'll_ need her protection more than me."

"Yeah, well, don't do anything stupid anyway." Erwyna replied and then cut the connection. Pulling the shoto out of her bag, she looked it over before heading off to the hangar. Maybe Brek could give her a ride to Imperial Center once things settled here at the base.

* * *

**This chapter isn't as long as the last one, but I figured we all needed a breather, haha. Thank you all so much for the feedback! (And Star Lord, you're probably right, there might just be a 'I hate Vader' club in Jedi heaven, or at least a 'I'm very irritated with Vader's stupidity' club lol)  
**

**Sneak peek for the next chapter - Vader is interrogated (and, since it's Vader, chaos ensues), Erwyna begins her investigation into Padmé's strange gift and the events of chapter 30, Tarkin has to deal with the fallout of everything that's happened, and his handy dandy spy is on the job hunting for the Rebels.**

**Hope you enjoyed the update! :)**


	37. Interrogation

The Rebel base was buzzing with activity. After their successful attack, celebrations had been rampant, but there had also been a lot of mourning, planning, and rearranging. They had lost many people in the fight, including the Jedi Council's leader, Mace Windu. The sadness was heavy in the air, and it muted the celebrations somewhat. However, now was also the best time to take the offensive against the Empire since there would no doubt be a power struggle for the throne, but they still weren't entirely sure they had enough manpower for that. More importantly, a reinforced cell had to be built within a few hours to ensure their new prisoner didn't try anything.

Their new _prisoner_. Obi-Wan still couldn't believe it. Of all the different scenarios he'd come up with, this had _not_ been one of them. He was still reeling from the fact that the emperor was dead. Everything had happened so quickly, from constructing his lightsaber to all the insanity that had occurred over just a matter of a few hours. A very small part of him wanted to hope that this meant they were one step closer to defeating the Empire, and though he normally didn't indulge in false optimism, the Empire's fall seemed within reach now that Palpatine was gone.

_Gone_. The emperor was _dead_. He couldn't believe it. And Vader…

Siri was still shocked and a little angry at Qui-Gon's decision, but she didn't voice it to the Jedi Master himself. In fact, Obi-Wan was surprised to notice that she hadn't really voiced it to anyone apart from her initial reaction with Al. Instead, he sensed her irritation simmering under the surface, and he continuously tried to subtly remind her that she should release that anger. After a few failed attempts, however, Obi-Wan reluctantly broached the subject, knowing that with Siri he sometimes had to be more direct than he preferred.

At the moment, Siri was pacing restlessly in front of the duraglass window that showed the interior of their new makeshift cell. Vader was tied to a seat, and interrogators were preparing different drugs. A few of the Jedi were there as well, some watching Vader, some watching the interrogators. The Force rippled with a sensation that made Obi-Wan uneasy, and it felt about ten degrees colder here than in the rest of the base. Just _looking_ in Vader's direction gave him a headache.

"I can't believe the emperor's dead," Siri remarked before Obi-Wan could say anything. "I mean… as much as I wanted it to happen, I… I guess I never considered it actually _would_. Stupid, huh?"

"He seemed untouchable. I feel the same way." Obi-Wan replied as he approached her.

"What do you think the Jedi are going to do?" Siri asked. "They… _we_ lost our leader. We lost _a lot_ of people."

It was still a little strange viewing the Jedi as part of their own now, but Obi-Wan was steadily growing more accustomed to it. "I suppose the Council will do whatever the Rebels decide to do."

"And what will that be, I wonder?" Siri muttered, leaning against the wall.

"For now, I don't think we have enough people to attack the Empire directly." Obi-Wan surmised. "We'll probably lay low and just watch the chaos unfold. You know Imperial Center will be a warzone because of this."

"Padmé would have loved to see this day," Siri suddenly said, her eyes glazing. "She would have…"

Obi-Wan felt his stomach clench a little, but not nearly as much as it used to. Instead, he just sighed and nodded. "I suppose, though with our current guest I'm not so sure."

Anger spiked through the Force. Obi-Wan used it as his opportunity. "Siri… you're a Jedi now. You have to let go of your resentment towards Vader."

"I don't—" Siri began, but she stopped herself; they both knew she couldn't lie to him about this. Siri took a slow, calming breath. "I know I'm supposed to release my anger. I know that. It's just… not as easily done as it's said. He _corrupted_ her."

"Only temporarily." Obi-Wan tried to assure her and himself. "She'd gone on to her next insane plot by the end of it."

Siri laughed, and the tension in Obi-Wan's chest eased a little, indicating that she was relaxing. "Yeah, you're right. Blast, I never thought I'd say this, but I miss her crazy stunts. I still can't believe she proposed to Éothen."

"Well, it did open up the doors to Salkende, even if it was questionable," Obi-Wan smiled. Based on what he could sense, the conversation seemed to eliminate Siri's anger altogether, so he was content. At least until he thought about all the other issues with which they had to contend… but it would come in its own time. There was no sense in worrying over what he couldn't control. All he had to do right now was report to Qui-Gon and watch the interrogation, if he so desired.

"Obi?"

Obi-Wan looked at his wife, a little surprised at how soft her voice had become. "What is it?"

"I… thank you." Siri crossed her arms tightly, taking on a defensive, slightly insecure posture. Seeing her that way worried her husband slightly, who took another small step towards her. "Thank you for now and… for earlier. I… all those people who died… all those _Jedi_… I knew it would be a tough battle, but I… I didn't expect it to be so costly. I would've been in that casualty count if you hadn't stopped me from going."

A small shiver ran down his spine at the thought of losing his wife and child, and he felt nauseous for a second, but Obi-Wan pushed it aside. It hadn't happened, and there was no purpose in dealing in _what if_ scenarios, as Qui-Gon had taught them. It wasn't the Jedi way. Instead, he smirked. "You can thank Qui-Gon, not me. He's the one who ordered both of us to stay. As I recall, we should be meeting him now, anyway."

Siri rolled her eyes, insecurity and concern gone. "Great. More meditating."

Obi-Wan smiled cheerfully. "Ah, yes, our favorite pastime."

"Don't make me hurt you, Obi."

"Well, if you do, I'm sure you can explain your outburst to our master."

"You can't hide behind Qui-Gon!" Siri snapped jovially, and the chill of the room seemed to dissipate a little.

"It wouldn't be hiding," Obi-Wan rebutted with a shrug, motioning that they leave the area. "It would simply be doing my duty as a Padawan; I would bring the grievance to my master."

"You sound like some teacher's pet," Siri grumbled, following her husband's lead.

The couple walked through a few passageways before reaching an empty hangar, which served as a training room for the Jedi. Qui-Gon was sitting on a crate, legs crossed and eyes closed. He sensed their approach, raising his head in acknowledgment as they arrived. The first thing they immediately noticed, that Obi-Wan had completely missed when he saw Qui-Gon at the end of the battle, was that the Jedi Master's right hand was wrapped tightly in a bandage.

"What happened?" Siri asked, motioning towards the extremity.

Qui-Gon glanced at his hand before looking at his pupils once more. "Lord Vader wasn't very happy with me when I tried to disarm him."

"Why did you take him alive?" Siri pressed before Obi-Wan could stop her. He sighed inwardly; he'd thought their conversation had helped, and after a moment he realized it had – Siri no longer felt angry so much as baffled. "The mission objective was to kill the Sith."

"Lord Vader was… different than expected," Qui-Gon answered. "He presents a unique opportunity."

"Does the Council approve of this decision?" Obi-Wan questioned, making a point that Qui-Gon had gone against orders but also genuinely curious. After all, he hadn't heard much from the other Jedi, so he wasn't sure what their opinion on the matter was. The Rebels were eager to tear into the Sith and get as much information out of him as possible, but Obi-Wan figured they weren't likely to actually succeed… at least not without the Jedi's help.

"The Council trusts my judgment, young Padawan," Qui-Gon replied, raising an eyebrow. "You should too."

Obi-Wan took the rebuke for what it was, bowing slightly in deferment.

Siri, however, wouldn't simply be chastised. "So let's assume they're okay with it, then. What do you mean he was different than expected? I mean, whenever we were with him, the Force made us uneasy around him, like he was, I don't know, off in some sort of way. Wasn't that the Dark Side? Isn't that expected of a Sith?"

"What do you sense from him now?" Qui-Gon inquired calmly, leading them to some sort of conclusion.

Obi-Wan and Siri paused. He wasn't sure how to feel Vader out through the Force, though when Obi-Wan closed his eyes and concentrated, it became fairly obvious which pulsating signature belonged to the Sith Lord. It was… he wasn't sure how to describe it. It felt like a blizzard, stormy and cold, but it would erupt like a volcano, sudden and searing hot. It drummed in his mind and left him with a headache, and it trickled everywhere like blood from a wound. It made him sick. This… was not what he felt the last time he'd been with Vader.

"I don't know." Siri eventually answered, recovering from the sensation faster than Obi-Wan… or perhaps she just didn't sense what he had. "It's all over the place…"

Qui-Gon nodded. "Lord Vader is widely known for his emotional control, is he not? Something has changed. What do you think that is?"

Obi-Wan and Siri exchanged bemused glances, and Obi-Wan shrugged, offering a suggestion. "I presume… his master's death?"

Again, the Jedi Master tipped his head, still guiding them. "Let's say this is the case. If his master's death caused this newfound emotional turmoil, then what would that suggest?"

"He's angry we killed him," Siri immediately surmised. "He wants revenge."

"He is indeed angry," Qui-Gon acknowledged. "And he no doubt wants revenge. But there's more to it than that. Anger can lead to many things, can _feel_ like many things in the Force… but this isn't just anger. This is sorrow, fear, anguish… the emperor's death didn't make that boy angry. It _destroyed_ him."

Obi-Wan immediately understand what he was implying. "He cared about him."

Siri whirled on him. "What? That… Vader doesn't _care_ about anyone."

"You must see beyond your prejudice against him," Qui-Gon insisted, standing. "Obi-Wan is correct. Darth Vader cared about the emperor. That is why I captured him."

Siri crossed her arms, not quite angry, but still disbelieving. "So let me get this straight: _assuming_ Darth Vader actually does have a soul, you went against orders because he showed a little concern for his master?"

"Sith are selfish. Their only concern is power, and how they can gain more of it. It's often typical for Sith to kill their own masters and apprentices. For Darth Vader to show attachment to his master implies that he may not be entirely corrupted by the Dark Side."

"But he _is_ entirely corrupted by the Dark Side—he's a monster!" Siri argued.

The Force rippled slightly at her vehemence, and Qui-Gon eyed her carefully. "Be mindful of your feelings, Padawan. You should feel no hatred towards that man."

"I don't feel hatred towards him," Siri shook her head. "I just find it ridiculous that anyone would have any sort of _positive_ thoughts about him. Look at what he's done!"

"I know what he's done," Qui-Gon said, his voice quieting slightly, and Obi-Wan sensed growing frustration between both of them. "I have seen the destruction firsthand, Padawan."

"Well, speaking of Darth Vader, isn't there an interrogation happening shortly?" Obi-Wan interrupted, clasping his hands behind his back. He needed to distract both of them before Siri pushed Qui-Gon too far. It was pointless to continue this debate.

Qui-Gon sighed, the tension in his muscles relaxing. He nodded and departed, leaving Siri rubbing her face with one hand.

"You shouldn't argue so much," Obi-Wan remarked, watching the Jedi Master leave the hangar.

"I know, I just… I couldn't stop myself." Siri said as she slowly sat on a crate. "I thought we all agreed Vader was a monster. He's a murderer. He's a _Sith._"

Obi-Wan mulled it over. Yes, Darth Vader was all of those things. According to Padmé, he also seemed to be… brainwashed? Too far gone? He didn't know. Whatever Padmé had thought he was didn't seem to be entirely the case, however, since… well, he just didn't know. No one knew the circumstances of her murder. Only that it was caused by the Imperials and the likely killer was an Intelligence agent. Maybe Vader had nothing to do with it. Maybe. However, it was far more likely that the Sith Lord was fully aware of the assassination, considering he'd been assigned to watch her.

With a bone chilling realization, Obi-Wan concluded that it was actually _extremely_ likely that Vader himself did the killing.

Dizziness overcame him, and he felt physically ill. Leaning over, Obi-Wan heard Siri ask what was wrong as she rose and took him by the shoulders. He wasn't sure he could even look at the Sith after that sickening conclusion.

"Is he alright?" Several other Jedi who had been training took notice of Obi-Wan's reaction, approaching him and Siri.

"I'm not sure," his wife replied, still trying to get his attention. Obi-Wan felt her prod his mind through their bond. "Obi?"

"I… I'm fine." He eventually said, shakily sitting where Siri had just been.

His wife eventually shooed away the other Padawans and she knelt in front of him. "What was that all about?"

He wanted to tell her, simply to get it out of his head and into the open air, but he couldn't. Siri had enough prejudice against the Sith Lord, and this was only a possibility, not a certainty. Nothing good would come of telling her that he might have been the one to kill Padmé. Obi-Wan closed his eyes for a moment, relaxing and releasing his stress into the Force. He acknowledged it and then acknowledged that unless he had proof, there was no more reason to concern himself about it. They had an interrogation to watch. "Sorry. I think it's just everything going on—caught up with me."

Siri furrowed her brow. "Obi…"

He looked her in the eye, emptying his mind of anything pertaining to it. He opened himself up to her and the Force, and he let it calm him. "Come on, Siri. Let's go before the interrogation starts."

His wife continued to watch him suspiciously, and he knew she'd continue to harp on him until he'd revealed what had bothered him, but she at least had the courtesy to delay that conversation. Sighing heavily, she nodded and stood, offering him her hand. Obi-Wan took it and let her help him stand, and the two headed back towards the Sith Lord's cell.

* * *

"You have to tell me what's going on!"

"You'll find out soon enough. I must go. Make sure things remain secure here."

"What about my husband?"

"As I said, you'll find out soon enough."

"I demand answers _now_!"

What the blazes…? Where was…? Who was yelling? What was going on?

"You will have your answers soon. I have to leave. _Now_."

Everything _hurt_. Everything was so foggy… nothing made sense…

A blurry figure of some woman stood off in the distance, looking elsewhere. The woman wasn't familiar at all. Nothing about this place was familiar.

"Watch her."

The world dissolved into darkness.

* * *

Erwyna gritted her teeth as she took another painkiller. This was going to be a _long_ trip to Imperial Center with the way she was feeling. The base was far calmer after a memorial service and a few zealous celebrations. Erwyna was tempted to stop by the prison to see if they had Darth Vader under control, but she decided to avoid the area; he was their responsibility now, and she wasn't in any shape to take him down if he did manage to escape, anyway. Now she had her own mission to worry about.

Stiffly walking towards one of the lounge areas provided to the soldiers, Erwyna caught sight of the smuggler who served as Salkende's liaison. He had plenty of underworld contacts and knew Imperial Center well, so he would be of great help in this endeavor. Erwyna approached him and cleared her throat to get his attention.

The Zabrak, who had been reading a report of some sort, glanced up and raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. "Lieutenant?"

"Captain," she acknowledged with a tip of her head. "Look, I… need a favor."

The smuggler grew confused. "A favor?"

Erwyna sighed, trying to find the right words. She supposed it didn't matter if he knew what she was doing or not, but she didn't like sharing her business with others. What if he told Éothen? To be honest, the smuggler would have no reason to tell him, but she still wondered. After all, Brek had known Amidala, hadn't he? She'd been the one to call him on the op they'd worked on together. Well… she had to tell him enough to at least get the help she needed. She'd leave out anything she didn't think was absolutely necessary. "I'm going to Imperial Center to investigate the circumstances of Amidala's murder. I could use some help doing that."

Capt. Brek stood slowly, even more baffled and starting to grow slightly apprehensive. "Padmé's murder? What's there to investigate?"

"Well, does anyone know exactly what happened?" Erwyna asked, shifting her weight to ease the pressure on her chest and arm. "Apart from being shot, it's pretty vague."

Brek furrowed his brow and shrugged. "We know the Empire is responsible. There were Intelligence agents everywhere, so we assumed it was an Intelligence job."

"Assumed. So there's been no formal investigation?"

"No," the smuggler replied, crossing his arms. "We haven't exactly had the luxury of just hopping on over to Imperial Center and asking around."

"You're right. You don't have that luxury." Erwyna noted pointedly. "But, as of now, I do. She was the warlord's son's fiancée. Salkende has a right to know what actually happened."

"Not sure what else there is to know, but okay," Brek muttered. "So what do you need?"

"I need some contacts. Your slicer, for one." Erwyna answered. "What was her name again? Okima-something?"

"Okima'yak," Brek corrected her. "Yeah, sure, I can get you in contact with her. And… there's another guy, but I wouldn't use him too much; he's a little… jumpy, and his priority is to report to me on Intelligence activity."

"You've got an in to Intelligence?" Erwyna raised her eyebrows, surprised.

"Yeah, but like I said, his priority is the Rebels, not investigating something that's already happened." Brek insisted. "So use him sparingly. I'll give you his information alongside Okima'yak."

"Fine," Erwyna acknowledged, receiving a piece of flimsiplast with comlink frequencies and instructions on it. She offered a small smile and another nod in thanks before leaving; she'd use her own transport to get to Imperial Center. Reading the flimsiplast, Erwyna felt her pain dissolve (though that might have been the painkiller too) and she blew out a sigh of relief and purpose. This would help her get a good start, and she _would_ figure out what Amidala had been trying to convey through the shoto. The woman at least deserved that much, as did Éothen.

* * *

It was sunset when the fleet finally returned to Imperial Center. Tarkin took a shuttle down to the surface, feeling electrified and numb at the same time. To think that just a few hours ago he had been lying in his bunk wondering what the emperor was planning for their little vacation was just… he didn't even know how to describe it. It felt like a lifetime ago now. But there was little point in brooding about it, even if he did feel a little dizzy at how quickly events had changed; they had a crisis coming, and he had to be ready for it. The gentle, warm evening air and the stillness of the palace was only the calm before the storm. And Force, there was going to be a hell of a storm.

Tarkin walked to his quarters, observing how quiet everything was. The palace felt immensely empty. No one knew what had happened yet, except Intelligence and the fleet's personnel, of course. The military would find out shortly, assuming the captains hadn't already reported to their system admiral. The word would spread like wildfire in the ranks, and the grand admirals and generals would all suddenly vie for power, curry for favor. They would either join up with some regional governor or would step out on their own with their own force's backing. Then the regional governors would learn: the other grand moffs and all their underlings, including senators.

_Senators_. Yes, the senate would eventually hear the tale, and once news spread that the emperor was dead and his prince was missing in action, all hell would break loose. Would the senate rally against the regional governors? Would they try to elect—_elect!_ As if they could do such a thing!—a new emperor, some sort of figurehead they could manipulate? It was unlikely. Those corrupt wastes of flesh would simply want the safest, best, and surest deal they could get, and that would mean kissing up to their moffs and allying with them; it wasn't like the senators really had any power of their own anyway. They were already slaves to their regional govenrors. It would be a power struggle like no other. All six grand moffs would suddenly arm themselves, and instead of worrying about the obvious threat that the Rebel Alliance presented, they'd only be concerned about themselves and who could sit on that throne. Tarkin had to ensure that the internal war was swift and that he was the winner.

He had a lot of work to do.

First he had to contact all his allies. He'd had no reason to contact his spy; Intelligence would have already recalled her. They were going to be searching within their own ranks, fervently looking for the leak that had tipped off the Alliance. After all, the leak _had_ to be from Intelligence – they were the ones who had arranged the trip. No one else had known apart from the task force. It was possible the spy was in the military somewhere, and Tarkin was certain Intelligence was exploring that avenue as well, but the most likely culprit was an agent. While they were doing all this, however, Tarkin would also ensure that they were searching for the Rebels themselves – while the captain may have been convinced that Darth Vader was dead, Tarkin was _sure_ he was still alive. He wouldn't think any other possibility until he saw the cold, hard proof for himself. Once he'd ensured that Intelligence was doing what he needed, he had to make contact with his new allies in the military.

Tarkin had befriended several moffs and at least two grand admirals, but it wasn't enough to tame the entire Empire. This had all happened _too soon_ – if Vader had been the one to kill Palpatine, then Tarkin would have all the backing he'd need; Vader's claim to the throne would be legitimate, detracting most, and Tarkin's allies would quell any argument from those who were foolish enough to disagree. Once the boy became emperor, he would name Tarkin his replacement and would resume his original position as second-in-command. At least that was how it was _supposed_ to be.

The grand moff swore softly under his breath. He was exhausted, and his head was pounding from the concussion he'd received from Vader himself. _Darth Vader_ had given him a concussion. The boy was a wreck, and now he was in the hands of the enemy. The Empire was on the verge of imploding. He had to bring order to the oncoming chaos. He had to.

What a mess.

* * *

The Force tingled with anticipation. Jedi and Rebels crammed the hallways and the room that viewed the prison cell. The area was abuzz with conversations, excited whispers and fears bouncing in the air.

"This won't end well. You know it won't." One Jedi Knight remarked to another. "Master Jinn should have never brought a Sith here."

His companion shrugged. "He must have had his reasons."

"The Dark Side is consuming this place; he brought it with him. It'll corrupt everyone." The Jedi replied, shuddering at the chill in the air.

His companion remained silent, unsure.

Farther into the room, Shaak Ti, the new de facto leader of the Jedi Council and the remainder of the Order, approached Qui-Gon, watching the prisoner carefully. Vader hadn't moved since he'd awoken. He was slumped in his chair, unable to fidget much due to his bonds, and the Force, which had been icy around him, had begun to stir with steadily increasing strength, thought it wasn't focused on anyone or anything.

"The boy is dangerous," she said softly as she reached the fellow Master.

Qui-Gon, who was also eying Vader, remarked, "He's caused no harm here."

"Yet," Shaak reminded him. "He may be searching for an opportunity."

"You sense what I do." Qui-Gon faced her. "He is not wholly corrupted."

"Perhaps," Shaak conceded, looking elsewhere, her mind wandering with the possibility. "But that doesn't mean he's harmless, either. Nor does it mean he can be saved."

"The boy may yet have a chance. The Force works in mysterious ways." Qui-Gon said cryptically. "Would you eliminate any hope the boy has?"

Shaak smiled at his stubbornness. _Mace would have been growing frustrated by now_, she mused, feeling a twinge of pain and sadness at the loss of the great Jedi. She then sighed and released her pain; she'd already attended the memorial service arranged by the Rebel leaders to mourn all those who had died. It served her no purpose now to continue to dwell on her friend's death, certainly not at this moment. "No. But tread carefully, Qui-Gon; you don't have many allies in this venture, and I highly doubt the Sith will help your case, either."

"You are the Grand Master of the Order," Qui-Gon said pointedly, holding his hands behind his back. "Do I have an ally in you?"

Shaak considered it. She sensed the same key difference in Vader that Qui-Gon had sensed; she detected the boy's uncertainty, his pain and remorse. He was filled with confusion, regret, and sorrow. He was an emotional wreck, a walking disaster. He was also a murderer, a Sith apprentice, and—now that Palpatine was gone—the new emperor. When she looked at him, she saw all of this, but she also saw one very important fact.

He was a youngling.

Still, she couldn't let her emotions get the best of her. His young age didn't make up for everything he had done, though it might explain it. The boy was obviously still very naïve, and perhaps he wasn't so much an advocate of the Sith ways than a slave to them. But was that really enough to save him? Or was he too brainwashed to be recovered? Shaak understood Qui-Gon's desire to help him, but there was more at stake here than one boy's sanity, and though she was remiss to abandon anyone who could be helped, this person in particular could lead to the deaths of many. Was it possible to have an attachment to the Sith already simply by the mere idea of his redemption? Perhaps Qui-Gon wasn't attached to the boy so much as the idea of what the boy could become. In either case, an attachment was an attachment. She couldn't let that cloud her judgment as it had clouded his, especially since she was the head of the Jedi Order now.

"No," she eventually answered, and she sensed Qui-Gon's quiet frustration at her reply. "But I'm not your enemy, either, Qui-Gon. I will observe and make a decision soon. In the meantime, the Rebels may obtain what information they can from him. I have already spoken to Viceroy Organa about the matter, and the Alliance has agreed that Vader is in the Jedi's custody and therefore bound by our rulings."

Qui-Gon remained silent for a moment, taking in what she had said and leaning away. He returned his focus to the Sith bound to the chair, his eyes clouded. "Who will interrogate him?"

"I've allowed the Alliance to lead the interrogation. Two Knights will be present in the room in case anything happens."

"Knights?" Qui-Gon questioned. "Shouldn't you have Masters in there?"

Shaak smiled at his subtle attempt. "You won't be in the room. At the moment, there is only one other Master, and she is recovering in the medical bay. We lost more Jedi than you realize."

Qui-Gon sighed heavily. "I know how many we lost; I just wasn't aware they were all our remaining Masters."

"Most died on the _Dominator_," Shaak explained sadly. "You, Mace, and I were all that was left of the Order's Masters before the Purges, and there haven't been many who have reached the rank since then."

The two said nothing for a few minutes after this, watching the Rebels finish their final preparations for the interrogation. Eventually, Shaak changed the subject. "How are your Padawans?"

"They are learning," Qui-Gon answered neutrally before he smiled softly. "Obi-Wan seeks guidance from the Code as if he knows it was missing from his life. Siri seeks focus for her energy and emotion. They will be excellent Jedi Knights."

"And their attachment to each other?"

"Their connection to each other is deeper than any that I have sensed, but they are learning. I think they could teach the other Jedi through their example."

Shaak chuckled. "That would be… interesting. There are some Padawans who find it hard to accept the rule of non-attachment, but others are so adamant in following it they think Kenobi and Tachi shouldn't be trained."

"As I recall, the Council didn't have any qualms with training them," Qui-Gon replied, some force entering his voice as he grew slightly defensive.

"I still agree that they should be trained," Shaak appeased him. "Hopefully the rest of the new Council will also concur, once I've decided who to choose. The offer still stands for you, you know."

Qui-Gon smiled, his eyes sad. "Once the Council would have refrained from offering me a seat for my tendencies. Once I would have been proud of that, proud to be able to do what the Force willed even when it didn't align with the Council's wishes. After Order 66… I… felt betrayed. The Force had seemingly abandoned the Jedi, had left us all to die… I'd thought I could accept anything it gave me, but that… that I could not accept. Not for many years. Now, I feel that I would only hinder the Order's progress by sitting on the Council. I would have never reunited with Obi-Wan and Siri if I had been a part of the Council. No, Shaak; I will remain as I am. It's better for everyone this way."

The Togruta Master accepted his reply with respect. She understood his reasoning, even if she thought he would make an amazing councilman. His guidance would lead the Jedi Order to many great things. But she supposed he wished to remain as mobile as possible and not bogged down by the day to day affairs of the Jedi Order. Shaak herself didn't mind the monotony of it; it gave her some sense of stability. She preferred her original position as head of the enclave while the rest of the Council concerned itself with outside affairs, but she knew she would have to make do. Besides, Mace had left a data pad full of information in case he'd perished in the fight, and she'd yet to read it, so it might have some helpful advice that would make this transition easier.

The sound of a door hissing open caught both Jedi Master's attention, and they turned to see the Rebels entering the cell, accompanied by the two Knights Shaak had assigned. The interrogation was about to begin.

Towards the back of the viewing room, Obi-Wan and Siri subtly maneuvered through the crowd to get a better view.

"You think it's starting?" Siri whispered as she stood on her toes over the heads of the other onlookers.

"I believe so," Obi-Wan answered as he saw people enter the cell. Eventually the couple found a spot where they could both watch comfortably.

Darth Vader didn't budge as the interrogators approached him. An interrogation droid hovered around him, and two Jedi Knights flanked the back wall, watching him carefully. Obi-Wan and Siri exchanged nervous glances. The Force trembled with energy, but most of it seemed to be coming from everyone except for Vader. Either that or Obi-Wan and Siri had grown accustomed to sensing the maelstrom swirling around the man.

Despite everyone's apprehension, the inquiry began rather uneventfully. The interrogator first started by simply asking questions. When Vader continued to stare at the ground and remain still as a statue, the interrogator progressed to giving him some truth serums to loosen his tongue. The Sith still said nothing. He didn't even bother looking at anyone in the cell.

"You sure Qui-Gon didn't give him some kind of brain damage?" Siri questioned somewhat sarcastically.

Obi-Wan let out a snort at the remark, but something bothered him. In an instant, something changed. Nothing was different in the cell, and the interrogator was still pumping Vader full of drugs. The other Rebels were still as tense as ever, if not growing a little restless. The Jedi, however, had stiffened. Siri felt it a moment later.

"Obi…?" she muttered, stepping forward slightly.

He didn't reply. He didn't know what was wrong. It felt like the ground had shifted, like the wind had changed directions, like the tremors from everyone around had suddenly been muted. But nothing _looked_ different.

The interrogator started to talk again, but this time he wasn't just asking questions. He was prodding, antagonizing. He remarked about how the Empire was full of corrupt fools who would end up killing each other, how the system could never last. He talked about the oppression and how the people would stand up against it, how they already _had_ stood up against it.

And then he talked about the emperor.

"You may think you're invincible because you have the Force," the interrogator said, pacing in front of the Sith. "But you're not. We all know it. We learned it firsthand today, didn't we? I tell you, when the _Dominator_ exploded, it was the best moment of my life. To think the emperor is—"

It was almost as if lightning struck. Every hair on Obi-Wan's body stood up, his gut was on fire, and his head filled with excruciating pain. He gasped, bending forward, and in the instant it took his breath away, in the heartbeat that he was no longer looking at the prison cell, he heard screams and thuds and the Force filled with so much turmoil he couldn't think straight. Siri doubled over, groaning, and around them the room exploded into motion. Obi-Wan put a hand on his wife's shoulder as they both took a second to adjust to the jarring change, and Siri nodded to confirm that she was fine.

Obi-Wan finally caught his breath and looked up, and he saw chaos all around him. There were bodies littering the floor of the cell, including one of the two Jedi Knights. Vader had somehow broken out of his restraints, and his face was contorted with rage and pain. His right hand was extended out, clasping thin air as the other Jedi floated in front of him, clutching her throat. Rebels were rushing in, and multiple Jedi grabbed their lightsabers, also pushing their way to the small entrance to the cell.

Siri hurried forward. Obi-Wan called out to her, pursuing her. There was no way she could hold her own against that monster, and they both knew it. Why did she have to feel compelled to do something when she knew she couldn't?!

More soldiers and Jedi fell. One Jedi managed to throw Vader across the room with the Force, but he sent an even stronger wave back, flinging the chair at the people in the entrance. The doorway to the cell was becoming ever more congested, preventing people from entering as the bodies piled up in a sickening barricade. Eventually, a Togruta Jedi Master—the Grand Master of the Order, Obi-Wan realized—activated her lightsaber and sliced into the large duraglass window that everyone had been looking through. She then thrust her hand forward, using the Force to break the window and send the glass shards flying towards Vader. A ray shield covered the area immediately after, a safety precaution installed in case Vader should try to escape, but now it only hindered the Jedi Master's progress. Vader cried out, covered in new cuts and embedded with several glass shards, but it only made him angrier.

By this point both Obi-Wan and Siri had reached the front of the room, and they were just a few steps from the mob of people trying to enter the cell. The Togruta Master rushed to a control panel in order to deactivate the ray shield.

Again, the Force shifted, but this time no one seemed to notice it in their haste to fight the Sith. The intention of every person in the room was suddenly clear to Obi-Wan, and he knew that they would not simply pacify the Sith Lord – they were going to kill him. The bottom dropped out of his stomach, and the noise seemed to grow muffled as his mind lit up with a strange clarity. He was tempted to focus on his wife once more, but Qui-Gon's words echoed in his mind, reminding him to be mindful of the living Force. But he said not at the expense of the moment, didn't he? Was this the expense of the moment? What was he sensing? And why did no one else feel it? Even Qui-Gon was preoccupied, trying to help the others. Was Obi-Wan just suddenly going crazy? Was this some trick by Vader?

The ray shield disappeared. Time slowed. Should he try to stop his wife? Should he try to help the wounded? Should he fight the Sith? Should he simply watch? He was suddenly filled with so many different outcomes, so many different choices and sensations; Obi-Wan didn't know what to do. He released his held breath and closed his eyes, trying to let the Force guide him. He tried to allow it to act through him, to lead him to whatever it was so obviously trying to show him.

Before he knew it, Obi-Wan had leapt through the window. _"Stop!"_

Darth Vader was in the midst of strangling some other helpless victim, but as soon as he heard the command, he stiffened. For a millisecond no one moved, and for a millisecond the Sith Lord locked eyes with Obi-Wan. A shiver ran down the Jedi Padawan's spine, and he felt as if Hoth's wintery winds had just torn through him, leaving him bare, empty, and impossibly cold.

Vader dropped the soldier, who coughed harshly. In the next second, the Sith was knocked over by at least five Rebels and Jedi, who pinned him to the ground. A Jedi reached for his lightsaber, ready to finish the Sith off, when the Togruta Master called out and prevented him.

"That's enough!" she ordered, making everyone face her. Except for Obi-Wan, at least; he was still standing, frozen in place and panting for air, completely flabbergasted that he'd done such a ridiculously suicidal action… and that Vader had actually _listened_ to him. "Subdue him and restrain him, but don't kill him."

The Rebels hesitated, but the Jedi did not, immediately knocking Darth Vader over the head. The man stopped fighting under their grip, his body relaxing into unconsciousness.

Shortly thereafter, Vader was once again strapped to the chair, looking worse for wear. He was left alone in the cell, and the Grand Master stood in the center of the viewing room, garnering everyone's attention. "He is to be guarded but not interacted with. Qui-Gon, bring your Padawans and follow me."

Obi-Wan jumped, a little startled. Terrific. He wasn't sure what to expect, but it probably wouldn't be good. Nevertheless, he followed his master obediently, and Siri fell in step beside him.

"What the blazes were you thinking?" Siri whispered to him.

"I… don't know. I just reacted." Obi-Wan replied, confused and rattled.

Siri slipped her hand into his, throwing him a half exasperated smile. "Huh. And I thought I was bad at being irrational."

Obi-Wan huffed. "I wasn't—"

"You totally were. Who in their right mind jumps into a room with a rabid Sith Lord and tells him to stop, expecting him to listen?"

"What rabid Sith Lord _actually_ listens?" Obi-Wan rebutted, still shocked over that fact.

Siri sighed, slowing her pace. "I… don't know."

The two pondered the matter for a moment before realizing they'd fallen behind, and they hastily caught up to the rest of the party. Obi-Wan was too worn out from what had just happened to prod the Force for any clues as to how the other Jedi were feeling about the situation, and he could derive nothing from their body language. Blasted Jedi calm – he couldn't wait to master that.

Well, no matter the outcome, this… would be interesting.

* * *

**So I was going to include Erwyna's arrival to Imperial Center and the beginning of her investigation in this chapter, but I figured after the craziness of the past few chapters it would be too much too quickly. Let me know what you think of the pace. :)  
**

**Thanks for all the feedback!**


	38. Picking up the Pieces

**Okay, I'd like to say something general: there is no such thing as being "just" a Guest reviewer; you guys all make me smile every time you leave feedback about the story. Just because you're anonymous/don't have an account doesn't mean your opinion/review doesn't matter - I love every single one of them! You guys are the sweetest reviewers I've ever had, haha, so never feel like you're not being listened to. ;)**

**Back to the story, lol. Do you want to help Erwyna with her investigation? I left hints about Padmé's fate strewn throughout part 2 and the end of part 1, and I'll start pointing them out as we go along. Go back to chapter 30 and see if you can find the three hints I left behind if you'd like to assist Erwyna! :)**

* * *

"He's too dangerous to be kept alive!"

"I will decide that for myself."

"We left that decision to you, and now we've lost fourteen people!"

"My mistake was allowing your people to lead the interrogation. That mistake will not be repeated."

"This is _our_ fault?"

Obi-Wan shifted uncomfortably by the back wall. He and Siri had followed Qui-Gon and the Grand Master as instructed, and as soon as they'd entered a conference room the Jedi had been confronted by General Crix Madine, one of the Rebel's top generals on the Alliance war council and the man who had organized the attack on the emperor's fleet. He had been less than happy with what had happened, but what apparently infuriated him the most was that Darth Vader was still breathing after that fiasco. Bail Organa had arrived shortly after, but he was mainly watching the argument unfold between Gen. Madine and the Grand Master.

The Togruta Jedi sighed heavily. "No. This is _not_ your fault. The fault is mine, as I said. You were not prepared to face a Sith Lord; I shouldn't have put that burden upon your men."

"Perhaps not," Bail finally interrupted. "But our main concern still stands. Can we even control Vader? If there's a chance this will happen again, we shouldn't keep him alive. It isn't worth the risk."

"We lost a lot of good people to ensure _both_ Sith were killed," Gen. Madine added gruffly.

"We can't make any guarantees about his actions," the Grand Master shook her head. "But we may have found a solution."

Obi-Wan listened intently, leaning in slightly, when he realized with a lurch that the Jedi was suddenly looking at him.

Siri seemed to catch on before her husband. "_Obi-Wan_? Look, just because he startled Vader doesn't mean he can fix every problem the Sith presents."

"He didn't startle him," Qui-Gon corrected her before anyone could offer an argument. "Darth Vader listened to him."

Obi-Wan felt his heart beat a little harder. It wasn't as if he hadn't observed the fact already, but having it confirmed by his master somehow made it sink in, and all he could do was ask, "Why?"

"_That_ is what we need to be figuring out," the Grand Master said pointedly before looking at her fellow Master. "Qui-Gon, I need you and your Padawans to answer that question immediately. In the meantime, no one is to approach the Sith."

"He's not much use to us if we can't even interrogate him," Madine sighed irritably, crossing his arms.

Bail, however, was more inclined to trust the Jedi. "Very well. I see no harm in it, so long as he doesn't cause any more trouble. Master Ti, I must warn you: if Vader has another outburst like that, we'll have to put him down."

Master Ti nodded gracefully. "I understand."

With that, Bail guided the flustered general out of the room, speaking softly to him. The silence in the room was heavy as Master Ti faced Qui-Gon fully. "Be swift and thorough, Qui-Gon. For everyone's sake. If there's any way I can help, let me know. I have to go survey the damage."

Qui-Gon bowed, and his Padawans followed suit as the Grand Master left. Then it was just them, and Siri immediately spoke first. "What the blazes are we supposed to do?"

"First we must eliminate all preconceived notions about Vader," Qui-Gon replied, walking over to the conference table with his hands behind his back. "We cannot make any assumptions about this."

Obi-Wan nodded and eyed his wife, who he knew was the real target of that statement. She understood that too, and sighed. Of course, Obi-Wan would have to let go of a few sentiments as well, including the theory that Vader had murdered his little sister.

Blast it. Just _thinking_ that made his chest clench. He wasn't sure if it was sadness or anger, and he didn't like that. Breathing deeply, he focused on the conversation at hand.

"You've met the Sith Lord before. How did he interact with you in the past?"

Obi-Wan snapped back into focus at the question. He mulled over his previous dealings with Vader objectively. "He was always calm, blunt… there was one point in the beginning when he seemed interested in my dealings with the Alliance but it never panned out; he latched on to Padmé instead. He never really noticed me after that."

"So we have a Sith Lord who—as I recall you describing him back at the enclave—is unflappable, cold, and manipulative. He's known for his self-control, always obeys orders, and had little interest in you." Qui-Gon summarized. "Master Windu had said that you brought some other information to him some time ago."

Siri turned, looking at Obi-Wan confusedly. Obi-Wan sighed. "I… it was what Padmé had told me. I wasn't sure how reliable it was since she was… conflicted about Vader, but I'd figured I should at least report it."

"Conflicted?" Qui-Gon repeated.

Obi-Wan glanced at Siri. She looked a little upset that he'd brought this up, but it wasn't as bad as the last time. When he'd almost told Qui-Gon about Padmé's romantic feelings back on Ghanu'jivo, Siri had stopped him dead in his tracks. He supposed now she trusted Qui-Gon more, felt more comfortable around him. He knew he had to tell Qui-Gon, but Obi-Wan still waited for some sort of approval from his wife.

Siri sighed, looking away. _Go for it._

"There's something we haven't told you about Padmé," Obi-Wan finally said slowly, looking at his master once more.

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. He crossed his arms, leaned against the conference table, and waited for Obi-Wan to continue.

The Jedi Padawan cleared his throat. "Padmé… had a plan to distract Darth Vader. This was long before we even knew of your existence, before the final recess. I'd told you that he had interacted with my sister a lot before the recess, but… that was her own doing. She wanted to distract him from our operations, to ensure that even if he did find out he would be… less inclined to turn us in."

Qui-Gon continued to listen patiently, showing little reaction. Obi-Wan sighed, struggling to find the right words. "She took Vader to Naboo with her for the recess. Siri and I weren't very happy about it, but Padmé had said she could handle him so we could go to Salkende. When we reunited… she…"

"She'd gotten a _bad boy_ complex," Siri finished for him, her voice low in some bizarre mixture of regret, shame, and annoyance. "She was convinced she was in love with him."

Qui-Gon stood straight, his arms slowly relaxing to his sides. His brow furrowed in surprise.

Obi-Wan tried to elaborate before the Jedi came to any bad conclusions. "Padmé claimed that Darth Vader wasn't exactly what we had perceived him to be. She'd said that she'd gotten to know him and realized that he was… I suppose _brainwashed_ is the best word to describe it."

"Brainwashed?" Siri repeated, looking at her husband. "Wait, I didn't hear _this_ part; just the romance."

"Yes, well, that's about all there is to it," Obi-Wan shook his head. "Padmé wouldn't elaborate much. She said that Vader was raised to be obedient, was raised to be a soldier. That was enough explanation for her, apparently. He…"

Again, Obi-Wan faltered. He was reluctant to admit this last bit of information simply because he'd kept it hidden for so long, partly to prevent Siri from blowing a gasket on Padmé when she'd been alive and partly because he'd forgotten in the storm that had blown through since her death. In either case, he knew it had long since passed the point where both his wife and his master would be upset that he hadn't mentioned it earlier, particularly in light of what had happened today. "He asked Padmé for help."

Both Siri and Qui-Gon stepped closer to Obi-Wan, the air thick with anticipation and tension. "What?"

"I don't know what kind of help he wanted, or if he even wanted any – he could have just been playing her." Obi-Wan shook his head. "All I know is what she told me… and she wouldn't even tell me why. She said he had some sort of secret, and she didn't trust me enough to elaborate."

Admitting that _hurt_. He still couldn't believe Padmé hadn't trusted him. What could he have done to change that? If he'd made her feel more welcome, would he have been able to prevent her death?

_Stop it. Jedi don't deal in what-if scenarios_. Obi-Wan internally rebuked himself, clenching his jaw. Releasing this emotion was particularly difficult, but he eventually exhaled deeply and focused on the conversation at hand.

Siri was gaping at him, her brow furrowed in utter shock. Qui-Gon was stroking his beard, mulling it over.

"We must meditate on this," Qui-Gon eventually said. "Together we can review the information and find an objective conclusion. After that, we can test our theory."

Obi-Wan was about to question exactly what _test our theory_ meant (he had a bad feeling it would include Vader directly), but Siri stepped between him and Qui-Gon, facing the exit. Her eyes were downcast, and her fists were clenched. The Force revealed very little, which indicated Siri herself hadn't quite settled on a proper reaction to what she'd just learned. It was expected, but in this case it was a little unnerving – Siri tended to be swift to act but slow to _react_. She could respond to a situation immediately, come up with counterarguments in a heartbeat, prepare for a mission in a minute, and she always did so with far more gusto and emotion than was really necessarily… but her true feelings never came until _later_. She never actually let the situation sink in until long after the situation had ended, or at least long after the initial spark.

In this case, however, she didn't even seem to know how to respond to the immediate situation, even though Qui-Gon had laid out a pretty clear plan. Perhaps it was just the meditation itself? Obi-Wan knew she wasn't particularly fond of it.

"I'll join you two later," she muttered, walking swiftly towards the exit.

Obi-Wan turned to walk after her, but Qui-Gon placed his hand on the Padawan's shoulder. "Let her go, Obi-Wan."

Mild irritation coursed through him; he was Siri's husband and had been dealing with her for many years, and now his _master_ was telling him how to handle her? He took a deep breath. _No emotion. There is no emotion._

Once he'd calmed himself, Obi-Wan surmised the true reason for Qui-Gon's statement was simply to ensure Obi-Wan focused on the mission. Was this because of the rule of non-attachment? He couldn't worry about his wife?

Obi-Wan sighed. He supposed that really was the case. He had to focus on the mission first, _then_ Siri. This Jedi training was going to be far more challenging than he'd originally thought.

* * *

Erwyna coughed as she disembarked the shuttle. Imperial Center's air was just as foul as she remembered it. She'd heard that without the air scrubbers it would be infinitely worse. She couldn't even imagine it; the atmosphere smelled like a chemical factory. Even a _hospital_ didn't have as sterile a taste to it. It felt as if anything healthy had been sucked out alongside the pollution. And it wasn't like the pollution _couldn't_ be detected – Erwyna had observed on her last visit that the air had a distinct odor to it at the rush hours of the day.

The ground beneath her feet moved slightly. Erwyna tried to ignore it. With all the skyscrapers as tall as they were, the wind was a very familiar friend to all the planet's inhabitants… to Erwyna it was more like an unsettling nuisance.

Erwyna exited the docking hangar where her shuttle was parked. Her pilot would stay at a nearby hotel and worry about the ship while she ventured into the city. She'd already reviewed the information Capt. Brek had provided for her, and she'd figured she would indeed save Odeki Rubar for later; apparently he was quite new to spying in general, and Erwyna neither had time nor patience to deal with a fumbling operative. She'd contacted Okima'yak as soon as her shuttle had exited hyperspace, so they were going to meet at the Drunken Dewback Cantina in the lower levels.

The trip to the cantina was uneventful. The lieutenant spent most of her time pondering her investigation. She carried the shoto with her wherever she went, stashed away in her knapsack that she hauled over her good shoulder. It would serve as a good reminder to keep focused (not that she really needed one, but it also was good to keep it away from Éothen) and it might just come in handy; she'd seen what these kinds of blades could do firsthand.

The Drunken Dewback was just as noisy as she'd remembered it. Erwyna smiled and walked over to the bar; though she didn't like Imperial Center itself, she could never refuse an opportunity for a good drink, and she would be the first to admit this place had _excellent_ drinks. After obtaining one, she strolled to the back of the main room, sitting in the shadows at a booth.

Erwyna observed the clientele and sipped her refreshment, keeping an eye out for the slicer. Eventually she saw the familiar face of the Twi'lek female, and Okima'yak locked eyes with her. Okima'yak smiled and approached the booth.

"How's it goin'?" she asked, taking a seat across from the lieutenant. "Where are your other friends?"

"Seeing the sites," Erwyna shrugged. "They're not part of this job."

"Uh huh," the Twi'lek grunted, plopping her elbows on the table. "So what's the job?"

"I need access to security feeds in an apartment complex," Erwyna explained. "500 Republica."

"So one of your friends _is_ part of the job," Okima'yak remarked, leaning in slightly.

Erwyna furrowed her brow, shaking her head. "No. It's just me."

"500 Republica is Amidala's apartment complex, isn't it?" The slicer asked. At Erwyna's startled expression, the Twi'lek chuckled. "Relax, it's not like I had anything to do with her death. Didn't even realize I'd done a job with her until I saw her face plastered all over HoloNet a few days later. Guess somebody else didn't keep her involvement quiet?"

Erwyna considered it for an instant. Éothen obviously wasn't a suspect. Capt. Brek wouldn't squeal on his friend – there was no reason for him to have told the Imperials that she'd busted into one of their prisons. Okima'yak had just admitted she was innocent; while Erwyna was far from stupid enough to take her word at face value, she also realized that the slicer wouldn't be volunteering both her time and knowledge so easily if she did have anything to do with Amidala's death. Unless, of course, she was just very good at covering up her emotions and was taking the job to _ensure_ Erwyna didn't find anything incriminating on her… but that seemed highly unlikely. The woman had no motive, and if Erwyna recalled correctly, the slicer had asked Amidala for her name; she hadn't recognized her.

So had something happened in the prison that had caused someone to identify Amidala? She hadn't removed her helmet the entire time they'd been inside the prison or anywhere within its perimeter. No skin had been exposed, so there couldn't be any DNA left behind. No, the more she thought about it, the less likely it seemed that the prison break had played into Amidala's demise.

"Yeah, glad you figured out who I'm looking for," she eventually said. "So I guess that means you know what I want specifically?"

Okima'yak shrugged. "Security feeds from the apartment the morning she died."

Erwyna nodded. "You think you can get me that?"

The slicer barked out a laugh. "It's the fancy district in town; they've got higher security, so it'll cost you more. But yeah, I can hack it just fine. Mind you, if your stiff liked her privacy, she probably doesn't have any cameras in her apartment. I can get you all the halls, lifts, entrances, and exits, but I can't guarantee getting inside her home."

Erwyna took the information in and waved a dismissive hand. "Get me everything you can – forty-eight hours, from the day before the murder to the end of the day it happened."

"Got it," Okima'yak acknowledged. "I'll have that ready for you by nightfall; say six hours, give or take a bit. Same place?"

"Yeah," Erwyna affirmed. "See you in a little while."

The slicer stood and left. Erwyna sighed, running a hand over her face. While Okima'yak busied herself with the security cameras, Erwyna would have to look through every report of the senator's death to see what she could glean from HoloNet – not that she trusted that source too much, especially since she figured the Empire fed people what it wanted them to hear rather than the truth, but it at least allowed her to do _something_. She had to start from somewhere, and her main source of information was going to be the security feeds themselves.

Pulling out her data pad, Erwyna accessed HoloNet and started sifting. The drink she'd had gave her a warm fuzzy feeling and dulled most of the pain in her ribs and arm, so she was able to relax as she scrolled through different articles and videos. They all basically said the same thing: dead senator found murdered in her apartment by Rebels. One piece of information, however, caught her eye.

_Her body was found by one of her faithful handmaidens in the early morning hours of last Natunda._

A _handmaiden_ had been there. She had found the body. She would have seen the scene of the crime before any Imperial touched it. Erwyna hastily looked up the senate in order to find the Chommell Sector's employees. When she pulled up the site dedicated to the Imperial Senate, she was bombarded by pictures and propaganda statements about how the senate had such history to it and led the great Empire and _blah, blah, blah_ – _holy Mother_ did it go on and on. She selected the link to the list of senators and was presented with an enormous list. After spending a good five minutes sifting through irrelevant data, Erwyna finally found the Chommell Sector and selected it… which then led to a site talking about the great senator who would ensure that the Chommell Sector was properly represented and would bring up key issues and _by the stars_ did they _ever_ shut up?! She just wanted to figure out who was working with this guy!

Erwyna moaned. She really missed having military access to information. She had no authority here, and it was starting to grow extremely annoying. It was a good thing she had some money to throw around so she could use people like Okima'yak.

Eventually, Erwyna spotted a section that talked about the delegates under the senator. There were three representatives: one for Naboo, one for Nimo'alk, and one for the colonies in the sector. This was still irrelevant.

Growing frustrated, Erwyna pushed the data pad away from herself, huffing an irritated breath. She doubted she'd be able to find out who the handmaidens were by looking it up on HoloNet. Maybe she should just go to the senate? She could meet up with Tlenden… but she didn't really want the senator to know she was here. Tlenden was the head of her clan and was extremely busy, and if the Imperials found out that the senator of the Tsograda Sector was investigating something pertaining to the Chommell Sector it might cause problems. Perhaps one of the representatives could help? Or maybe Erwyna could go undercover as one of Tlenden's aides? The lieutenant smiled. _That_ sounded _way_ better than looking up information on HoloNet.

But… how would she explain it to her elder?

Erwyna muttered a Salkenden curse under her breath. She would have to face Tlenden… but she didn't have to tell him the _whole_ story, she supposed; she just wanted to ensure that she still led this investigation and that Tlenden didn't shut it down – Erwyna knew the man didn't like getting involved in situations that could get him killed or expose Salkende to harm. Besides, considering how he'd reacted to her last escapade with Éothen, she doubted this would go well if she told him exactly what she was doing. She really didn't like this; although Tlenden was the leader of her clan, she didn't know him that well, and she didn't hold him in high regard since he was heavily involved in politics. Nevertheless, she'd have to tell him _something_; she couldn't do this alone, even with Okima'yak's expertise, or she'd be paying that slicer so much she'd go broke by tomorrow.

Erwyna swore again and then grabbed her comlink. When she called Tlenden, she got an aide instead.

"Senator Tlenden's office," he acknowledged with a polite smile. The aide recognized Erwyna, however, and he immediately added, "Lieutenant, I'm afraid Senator Tlenden is busy at the moment; the senate is in session."

Erwyna bit her lip. She figured this comm. channel wasn't secure, so she didn't quite know how to phrase this without raising suspicion. "Well, just tell him I'm in town for a bit and would like to say hi. I'll avoid the senate—not a place for socializing, anyway—so I'll just meet him at his earliest convenience at his apartment."

The aide seemed to understand her meaning, and he nodded. "Of course. I'll inform him of your visit."

Erwyna thanked the man and cut the connection. Grumbling, she dragged herself out of the cantina and to the nearest street so she could get a taxi to the senator's apartment. It took almost an _hour_ to get there, and once she finally arrived her arm and ribs were hurting again. Thankfully she knew the security code to enter the apartment, and once she'd gone inside she made her way to the den and delicately laid down on the sofa. It was likely that Tlenden would come quickly once his aide informed him of her visit, so she _should_ have time to talk to him and figure things out before she had to meet up with Okima'yak once more.

Erwyna mulled over how she would explain the situation before slipping into a comfortable nap. The sound of someone entering the room startled her awake, and she saw her clan elder pause in the doorway. He was examining her, his brow furrowing as his eyes settled on the sling that held her arm.

"Far," she acknowledged, using the man's proper title. She tried to sit up and winced as a result.

"Stay there," the senator said quietly as he entered the room and sat in a chair beside the sofa. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm taking some leave," she lied smoothly. "Just got out of the fight of my life and my body's still recovering from it."

"Fight? The war is over." Tlenden noted confusedly and worriedly. "What have you been doing?"

Erwyna bit back a laugh. She would have thought he'd known by now, but this actually worked _perfectly_. "I was sent to our buddies to see if they were doing okay, and they happened to find the emperor's fleet while I was there."

Tlenden's eyebrows rose sharply, and his body tensed. "What happened?"

"You'll hear about it soon," Erwyna assured him. "I can't give you details because if you know before everybody else it'll look suspicious. Suffice it to say my leave has to do with that. I'm going to need your help with something."

The senator narrowed his eyes slightly, automatically suspicious. Erwyna hid a smirk; she supposed she did have a reputation of being just a _little_ mischievous when she was with Éothen and they were on leave… but Éothen wasn't here. This was business.

"I need to know who all the personnel in the Chommell Sector are," she explained. "Specifically the helpers: aides, handmaidens, everything. I need to know who they are and how long they've been there."

"I'm sure one of my assistants can find that information for you," Tlenden nodded, still looking suspicious. "Why do you need it?"

"I already told you I can't say," Erwyna answered, happy that the man was still in the dark about recent events. "It has to do with our friends. When will I have what I need?"

"Tomorrow." Senator Tlenden replied, standing. "I'll have guest quarters arranged for you. Is the Perillinen here?"

"No, Éothen's not here. It's just me."

Her elder nodded before looking her over one last time. "Do you need any medical attention, lieutenant?"

Again, she shook her head. "I'm fine, Far. I'll just rest in my room."

Tlenden acknowledged her and told her to contact him if she required anything. Then he left the room, probably to attend to other duties; she hadn't been expected, after all. Sighing, Erwyna referenced her chronometer and figured she still had a few hours before she needed to meet up with Okima'yak. When a servant told her that her room was prepared, she slowly rose and made her way there, ready for another nap, but her mind was buzzing with a million different theories about what she might find out from the slicer. She certainly hoped the security feeds yielded useful information, especially when she added what she would learn from them to what she could learn from the handmaiden.

She was off to a promising start.

* * *

The cold chill of Hoth was normally held at bay by the heating units in the Rebel base, but all of a sudden Siri felt as if ice had formed inside her veins. Her stomach churned, tightening into knots. Her breath hitched, her chest tight. Even though she was in layers of white winter clothing, she felt like she was already dying from exposure to the elements.

Padmé had withheld vital information about Vader. _Obi-Wan _had withheld vital information about Vader _and_ Padmé… he'd withheld it from _her_. From his own _wife_. Why would he do that?

Siri stopped walking and squeezed her eyes shut, pinching the bridge of her nose as her body violently reacted against everything that was happening. She _knew_ why. He hadn't trusted her. He _still_ didn't trust her. Obi-Wan had faith in his wife, he would trust her with his _life_, but when it came to this _one issue_ he wouldn't reveal anything. Siri wasn't stupid; she knew it had everything to do with how she would react. Obi-Wan didn't want her to get angry, to let her emotions take over, to be anything but a perfect Jedi Padawan.

Well she _wasn't_ perfect, damn it. She was a _human being_. _Of course_ she was going to get angry, _of course_ she was going to take it out on someone, _of course_ she would be upset about this! Vader had asked Padmé for _help_?! It hadn't been pure foolishness on her part - he had _tricked_ her! This was _important_ information!

Siri didn't know whether to be angrier at herself, Vader, or Obi-Wan. Seeing as one of the three was a murderer and a Sith Lord, she was eager to lay all her emotions on him. Honestly, if she just made herself stop and think about it, she might have prevented herself from walking down this hallway, but she _really_ wasn't in the mood to think right now. She just had to get rid of this feeling.

Resuming her walk, Siri stormed by several Rebel guards and into the viewing room for the prison cell. She paced back and forth, glaring through the ray shield that had been reengaged after the earlier incident. Darth Vader was again slumped in his seat, breathing slowly. She didn't even know if he was conscious or not, she didn't even know if he could sense her—she herself couldn't really sense anything in the haze of emotions swirling through her mind. Right now, she didn't care about any of that.

Siri walked to the cell door. One of the guards put his hand on her shoulder. "Hey, Master Ti said nobody's supposed to go in."

"I'm a Jedi. Let me through." Siri said firmly, glaring at the man.

The guard watched her uncertainly. "Do you have Master Ti's permission?"

"Yes." She replied automatically. Some part of her mind cringed at the immediate lie, but she ignored it.

The guard exchanged a glance with the other, who shrugged. They were hesitant to argue with a Jedi, especially since most people in the base implicitly trusted them based on their reputation and how much they'd helped in the fight against the emperor. Sighing, the man stepped aside.

Siri entered the cell. As soon as the door closed behind her she took several large steps towards the Sith Lord, having forgotten any previous fear or discomfort about being near him. The Force was still mute to her (or she just couldn't hear it over the din in her head, the constant screaming of _he doesn't trust you_ and _there is no emotion; there is peace_ and _just get rid of the problem like everybody wants to do_ and a million other things). Anger and hurt were primarily what she felt; hurt at Obi-Wan's lack of confidence in her, anger at him for the same, anger at herself for reacting _exactly_ as he'd known she would (which was the _exact reason_ he hadn't wanted to tell her—she was a kriffing _idiot_, wasn't she?), anger at Vader for being at the root of all of this. And he _was_ – this monster was at the root of _everything_ wrong in her life personally: all the turmoil since Kuna's death, Padmé's loss of judgment, her _murder_, _everything_. And now he'd set his eyes on Obi-Wan for some reason; with just one action Darth Vader had made Obi-Wan everyone's new test dummy to see if they could use this Sith Lord.

She'd had _enough_ of this.

A part of her didn't even know why she was in here. She'd left the conference room to just blow off steam—or at least that's what she'd thought she would do—and then immediately after the door had closed she'd just lost any semblance of control over herself. She knew she wasn't supposed to feel anything, that she was supposed to _release it to the Force_, but what the hell did that even mean?! Imagine it floating away and then prancing off in a flurry of Jedi bliss? Why couldn't anyone give her concrete help, concrete solutions to all the problems that she and everyone else had?!

Whatever was left of her rational side reminded her that she was standing barely less than a meter away from the most dangerous man in the galaxy. Focusing, she observed the Sith Lord, but he hadn't seemed to have noticed her. He probably was still unconscious.

Well to hell with that. She wasn't going to let him _stay_ unconscious; if the blasted Rebels wanted information out of him, _she_ would get it. Heaven only knew what the Jedi wanted out of him. But she would make sure he didn't get anywhere near Obi-Wan again, she would make sure—

Siri shook her head, grasping her hair and growling. She didn't even know _what _she was doing in here. She just wanted all of it to _stop_. She didn't want there to be a reason for Obi-Wan to keep secrets from her, she didn't want any of her friends and family to be threatened anymore, she didn't want this freak to be alive!

Siri kicked the Sith Lord squarely in the chest. She heard a soft grunt, and the force of the blow knocked the chair on its back, taking Vader with it. The anger in her grew; she needed more of a reaction than _that_. She grasped his shoulders and shook him harshly, his head hitting the floor a few times. She couldn't blasted stop herself, and her heartrate rose in a panic as she continued to shake the man.

He still wasn't reacting. His eyes were open, but he wasn't even looking at her. Siri punched him in the face, flinging his head to the side. He did nothing. She punched him again.

This was pointless. She didn't care. She hit him a third time.

_The baby. You're putting the baby in danger._

Siri froze.

Darth Vader was panting slightly, blood trickling from his lip. It also began to slowly leak out of a few other cuts; none of his previous injuries had been treated, and her roughhousing had reopened a handful of them. His eyes stared blankly at the wall, his head still turned to the side. As soon as Siri had stopped, as soon as her priorities had shifted, the Force came rushing back to her as if a dam had been released. She gasped at the anguish that tore through her, and she suddenly wasn't sure if the influx of emotions she felt were hers, his, or a mix of the two.

Siri shuffled back on her knees, taking a few deep breaths. When she looked at the Sith Lord again, the hatred she felt drained out of her. Her muscles tensed in anticipation to some kind of reaction, but Vader was motionless. The more she stared at him, the less she felt of… anything. Exhaustion overcame her, and then she finally made an observation that she hadn't noticed in the past.

This guy was too kriffing pathetic to hate.

Siri couldn't feel any sort of positive feelings towards him, but she suddenly seemed devoid of much negativity towards him too. She supposed she felt a bit of pity, but now she honestly felt guilty more than anything else for basically pummeling the guy needlessly. Of course, she wasn't _too_ guilty – he'd done far worse. But he wasn't even defending himself now. He was a broken mess. He was just _broken_. There was nothing left to interrogate and nothing left to fix.

Siri watched him for a few seconds longer, catching her breath, and then she started to tremble, overcome by everything she'd felt and done. Standing shakily, she backed out of the cell just as the guards entered, looking startled and confused. They weren't sure if Vader had hurt her or the other way around, but she wasn't in any shape to explain it. Siri hurried past them and ran out of the area, heading for the farthest corner of the base. Once she'd reached it, she slumped against a wall, hugging herself tightly and using what little training she had to just make herself disappear.

* * *

She hadn't seen Intelligence this worked up since a terrorist attack had taken out a grand moff and a military base seven years ago. Of course, this most recent catastrophe was far more… devastating than that. A grand moff could be pretty easily replaced, after all.

Tarkin's spy walked through the crowds of frantic agents who were dashing back and forth around headquarters. Analysts were being hassled to get more data, minders were being ordered to interpret it faster, and handlers were being briefed for new missions that they had to organize whilst operatives ran to and fro, preparing for whatever new assignment they'd been given.

"Fixer 23?"

Years of training prevented her from curling her upper lip in distaste at her new title, so she simply turned on her heel and faced whoever was calling her. It was astonishing that after three years she still had such a repulsive reaction to being called Fixer. She used to be a cipher, Cipher 8, and that was always what she would be; no forced "retirement" from the field would tell her otherwise. Still, it had its perks; being part of the internal security gave her far more freedom to maneuver, which allowed her to operate as Tarkin's spy.

An elder handler approached her, looking haggard. "Keeper wants to see you. He's in his office."

Tarkin's spy nodded. "I'll proceed there immediately."

As she headed to Keeper's office, her mind whirled as to what was going to happen next. She'd heard the news from her comlink implant basically as soon as it had happened – Emperor Palpatine was dead. It had… not been expected. It also meant her life was going to be quite interesting for the next few weeks, possibly even months. She'd heard nothing about Darth Vader, and even Palpatine's death had taken a while to actually confirm – analysts were still acquiring what little data they could recover from the _Dominator_. Intelligence would certainly have its hands full for quite some time.

Of course the biggest problem for Cipher 8 was simply that this would cause quite the headache for Grand Moff Tarkin, which inadvertently caused a headache for her. She would have no clout with any other official if someone else took the throne. She had to ensure Tarkin won the oncoming power struggle… assuming Darth Vader was dead, which was an entirely different problem. In either case, she was going to be busy; the fact that Keeper was sending for her also indicated that he suspected the Rebels found the emperor through a leak in Intelligence.

As she assumed, the first thing out of Keeper's mouth when she arrived in his office was, "Fixer 23, I have an assignment for you."

Cipher 8 nodded and stood still, her hands clasped behind her back. The tall, tan skinned, elderly man in front of her paced restlessly, somehow looking even balder and greyer than the last time she'd seen him. "I stand ready, sir."

"Emperor Palpatine assigned us with the simple task of ensuring he arrived on Naboo safely and without anyone's knowledge." Keeper explained. "We were the only ones who knew of his trip to the Chommell Sector. I'm having outside sources investigate the possibility that someone in the military leaked the information to the Rebels, but it's far more likely that their agent is in our own ranks. I need you to lead a team of fixers and investigate the matter."

"Give me background. What do I have to work with?" she requested.

Keeper held out a data chip. "This contains all the personnel who were involved with the mission. They _should_ be the only people who knew of its existence. Do not limit your investigation to them, however; this is only a starting point."

Naturally; she'd be a sloppy agent if she didn't explore every possibility. "Yes, sir."

Taking the data chip, she left Keeper's office and headed towards the section of headquarters that served as the home base for Internal Security. She would assemble her team there and begin the investigation. Then she would check on the grand moff; she had to make sure Tarkin didn't stumble and fall… at least not yet.

* * *

Tarkin paced the conference room impatiently. He hadn't left the palace since his arrival, so it was immensely useful that the building had amenities for just about anything. This particular conference room was just what he needed; its walls were sound proof and, most importantly, the seat at the far end of the table was larger and had the controls for the entire room; it exuded power without having to say anything. Tarkin would make his station quite clear when the others arrived.

When the Empire had first been created, Palpatine had installed Tarkin as a moff over the core worlds. There had been eighteen moffs altogether, each with his or her own territory; their jobs had been simply to ensure everyone within their jurisdiction behaved. The larger the territory, the more prestige for the moff; the game of power was fairly clear and straightforward. But then the Rebels had arrived, and suddenly there were hotspots of activity. Certain moffs failed to keep the Rebels out of their jurisdiction, and the emperor had… replaced them. Other moffs were killed by the Rebels themselves. In either case, it had eventually become apparent that more was needed; the military had been doing what they could alongside Intelligence, but it hadn't been enough to squash out the rag tag team. There had been too many attacks in too many different parts of the galaxy, and the centralized military was spread thin chasing false leads planted for Intelligence to find. As a result, he emperor had reorganized a few portions of the galaxy into oversectors, centralized locations where the Rebels were most active, and he had placed grand moffs in charge of them. That had created an entirely new game; suddenly destroying the Rebels was a great way to curry favor, but one couldn't _entirely_ destroy them or the area would lose its status as an oversector and the grand moff might get demoted. Tarkin had never liked that approach; instead he had worked actively to crush any rebellion in his jurisdictions in order to prove a point, to show the emperor that he could handle any situation. It had worked, and as soon as he had quelled uprisings in one oversector he was moved to another. He'd never lost his rank since he'd first obtained it eleven years ago.

His latest jurisdiction was the Seswenna Oversector, which included his own homeworld, Eriadu. It was strategically important since two major trade routes passed through it, and the Rebels had been trying to obtain access to trade routes for a while before Tarkin had squashed them into the dust (or at least he'd _thought_ he had – apparently he was wrong…). Now he had some of the wealthiest senators in his pocket, the clout of his family name on his homeworld, and partnerships with a handful of officials who he would meet in a few minutes. All the fleets stationed in his oversector were technically under the command of a grand admiral, but Tarkin essentially owned him, so that wasn't a problem.

Tarkin heard the door to the conference room open, and he faced the entrance. Slowly all his allies trickled into the room until they were seated around the conference table. Moffs Jorent, Ukoz, and Lael sat beside each other as if huddling together would give them more clout. Jorent and Lael were simply power hungry and held too little to sate their appetites. Ukoz, on the other hand, was naïve and had allied with Tarkin in order to ensure his own jurisdiction remained at peace. Across from the moffs were Tarkin's three grand admirals, Ran, Ghent, and Otoren. Ran was relatively new to his rank, but he had battle experience, which was far more than Otoren, who had merely gotten his position through connections with other officials; the man wasn't incompetent, but he wasn't nearly as useful. Still, those connections would serve Tarkin well. Ghent was the grand admiral in charge of the Seswenna Oversector, Tarkin's jurisdiction. Several senators and representatives also sat at the table, and they were all looking at the other occupants nervously. Finally, Tarkin's sole fellow grand moff sat across from him.

Tarkin stood at the table, towering over them, and got straight to the point; he'd already told them he'd summoned them for an urgent reason. "The news will spread quickly, but it is essential you learn first: Emperor Palpatine is dead."

The air rustled as the occupants around the table shifted. Gazes drifted, darting from one person to the next. Tarkin could already see the cogs turning in their minds as some panicked and others rejoiced, as some wondered what the blazes would happen next while others wondered how they could benefit from it. Sitting at the head of the table, he continued strongly, "With that comes a reality that we must prepare for: everyone will be vying for the throne."

The grand moff, Governor Mikemna, leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. "What about Lord Vader? He is the heir."

"The Rebels, the ones responsible for the emperor's death, have taken Lord Vader prisoner." Tarkin explained. "That doesn't the fact that he is still the rightful emperor… but he is not here, and there will be many who will refute his authority or claim that he is dead. We must ensure no one takes the throne until he returns."

"What proof do we have that he's alive?" Moff Jorent asked, a greedy glint in his eye.

"The more important fact is that there is no proof of his death," Tarkin said firmly. "Until Intelligence gets said proof, we are to act accordingly, unless you want to answer to Lord Vader upon his return."

The moff shifted uncomfortably, leaning farther away from Tarkin and remaining silent.

After eying the moff for a few seconds longer, Tarkin returned his attention to the group as a whole. "I need you all to speak to your respective contacts: representatives, get your senators to our side; senators, speak to your regional governors; moffs, make allies; I don't have to tell the rest of you, I trust?"

"What's our first move?" Grand Adm. Otoren asked, slightly nervous.

"I believe he just said it," Grand Adm. Ran sighed before paying the other officer no mind. "We'll have to ensure we have defenses in strategic parts of the Empire, particularly here. There will be some who will go to war for this."

"I know," Tarkin nodded, appreciating the experienced man's intellect. "I will handle Imperial Center's security. I need all of you to ensure other key points are guarded against attack. Never forget that despite the pure lunacy and idiocy that is to come, the Rebels are our greatest threat, and they will take advantage of this."

"Apart from the Rebels, who will we mainly have to worry about?" Moff Ukoz inquired.

"Grand Moff Rhaegon," Governor Mikemna immediately answered before Tarkin could. "The man is a good strategist and fighter, but most importantly, his mother is a power hungry lunatic. She's always wanted the throne for herself; this will be her window of opportunity."

"But if it's just his mother…" Grand Adm. Otoren tried to reason.

Tarkin shook his head. "Rhaegon follows his mother's every order; she's the main reason he's in his position. He has a sizable portion of the galaxy under his control, and her followers are fanatical. Threats will not deter them."

"We need to silence them before they can start a war," Mikemna remarked.

"We can't kill a grand moff!" one of the others argued. "That _will_ cause a war – it'll look like we're part of the succession struggle!"

Tarkin considered sending his spy to do the dirty deed, but he figured she'd be busy at this point. She was still actively part of Intelligence; they no doubt had a list of assignments for her by now.

"But what will we do about the empire as a whole?" one senator questioned. "Let's assume that we manage to keep the throne nice and empty for Lord Vader's return – who rules in his stead?"

"The senate should choose," another senator immediately stood. "We—"

"There is no possible way the senate will agree on who shall rule as emperor regent; there are too many conflicting interests." Tarkin interrupted. "That is out of the question."

"It'll have to be somebody we can trust, then," Moff Ukoz muttered worriedly. "Someone who has the proper authority to make the people accept their temporary rule."

Tarkin hid his smile. This was what he'd been waiting for. "Who do we know has all that is necessary for the task?"

"It can't be anyone from the senate," Moff Jorent nearly spat in the senators' and representatives' direction. "Governor Tarkin has already made that clear."

Grand Adm. Otoren opened his mouth to no doubt throw his name out into the open, but Grand Moff Mikemna spoke first. "It can't be an officer, either; everyone will assume the military is attempting to take over. We have enough paranoia for that – this has to be someone the majority will accept."

The room was silent, and then, just as Tarkin had predicted, the naïve Moff Ukoz looked innocently at Tarkin. "What about you, sir?"

Tarkin felt his heartrate increase. _Good boy, Ukoz; that's why I chose you_.

The others looked slightly ruffled at the idea, but Mikemna, who Tarkin had befriended specifically because the man desired order above everything else, spoke up. "It is a suitable choice; you know Darth Vader better than anyone here."

"Is this necessary—" someone tried to object, but Mikemna interrupted him sharply.

"Unless any of you wishes to make decisions in Lord Vader's stead and then explain yourself to him upon his return, I say Tarkin is our best option. The Sith Lord is not remiss to kill his own men if he finds their abilities inadequate."

Any argument was immediately silenced. Tarkin took a deep breath and nodded. "Very well, then. Grand Adm. Otoren, I trust you can ensure the high justices will find it suitable for me to take the throne until Lord Vader's return. Now, you all know your duties; go attend to them, for the security of our Empire and our new emperor."

Everyone stood, bowed, and departed. Tarkin didn't relax until he was alone, at which point he slowly sat in his seat once more and smiled widely, letting out a soft chuckle. Now he had the proper backing for his regency. Otoren had half the high justices in his pocket, so convincing them to name him emperor regent wouldn't be too hard a task, so long as Otoren didn't get any ideas. Tarkin didn't trust the man, but he _did_ trust the man's sense of self-preservation; everyone else in the conference would have his head if he did anything against their wishes. The greatest immediate problem now was simply being prepared for people's reaction to his new title. The others would secure key strategic points in the Empire and would ensure that more were brought to the fold. Tarkin himself had to secure Imperial Center, and the best way to do that was through its police force – Grand Adm. Otoren was in charge of the Core's military, so Tarkin didn't have to worry about any naval issues. Just Coruscant Security, or CorSec as it was called.

Of course the only problem with that was Tarkin had… a rocky relationship with the security force's chief. He was fairly certain the man remembered their conversation from the party for the Festival of the Stars. This would be interesting.

Sighing heavily, Tarkin rose from his seat and left the conference room. He probably wouldn't be able to meet with the chief immediately, but he could attempt to arrange something. The man would no doubt make him wait for his earlier transgression. His gut clenched slightly; they really couldn't afford to wait. They had to focus all their energy on the Rebels, on finding _Vader_.

A thought crossed his mind ever so briefly, but he dismissed it. No, that wouldn't work. Shaking his head, Tarkin made his way to his office in the senate building so he could make arrangements. He was at least one step closer to achieving what he required.

* * *

The Force felt so _alive_. Obi-Wan hadn't meditated since before the emperor's death, and now that he was gone the murkiness seemed to have lifted a little. What was once a stagnant, polluted, partially frozen lake was now a flowing stream; it still had its blemishes, and there still seemed to be a relatively close border blocking his vision beyond a certain area, but it was _something_, and it felt _amazing_.

Obi-Wan marveled at the sensations around him for a short while before he felt a mental nudge from Qui-Gon. Taking a deep breath, he focused on the information that he had about Darth Vader. What would motivate the Sith to listen to him? What connection did they have? Was it because of Padmé? Or was it because of the Rebels? Was he still somehow trying to fool them into thinking he was redeemable? That seemed unlikely; killing the Rebels and Jedi wasn't exactly a great argument in favor of his redemption. No, he couldn't be trying to convince them that he could switch sides – far from it. So what _was_ he trying to accomplish?

Honestly, the more Obi-Wan thought about it, the less anything about the Sith made sense.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes with a mild headache. Meditating was peaceful, but sometimes it was also taxing; it required far more concentration than most realized. In meditation one was supposed to just float in the Force, let it flow through them and wash away their ignorance about a situation… for Obi-Wan the floating part was just fine – he was perfectly at ease sensing the life around him and just existing in it. The interpreting part was still tricky, though. He'd only been a Jedi for three weeks; he didn't have enough training to maintain his concentration for any lengthy amount of time, at least when it came to mulling over information such as this. _Especially_ in this case, where there seemed to be so little information to work with.

Sighing, he was about to close his eyes and try once more when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He felt uneasy all of a sudden, and he looked around, confused. Was that Siri?

_Focus. Mission first._ Obi-Wan closed his eyes again, but the feeling only grew more distracting. He wasn't sure he could block it out, but he did try.

_Do or do not. There is no try._

Stifling a groan, Obi-Wan opened his eyes. Fine. He would _do_ – he would find Siri, figure out what was wrong, and then get back to the mission. He wasn't sure if this was choosing an attachment over an assignment, but right now he just wasn't trained enough to deal with everything concerning Vader and block out whatever was bothering his wife. Besides, before they were ever trained he wouldn't get a feeling like this – something was genuinely wrong.

"Padawan?"

Obi-Wan looked at Qui-Gon, who was now watching him. "Master, I… have to check on something. I'll be back."

"There is no danger, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon assured him. "We must focus on this task."

Obi-Wan felt a twinge of annoyance, and he held back a retort. Instead, he simply bowed his head. _My concern for my wife is an attachment, but your obsession over this Sith Lord isn't?_ He needed to speed this up. "Master… there's only so much we can ascertain through meditation. Shouldn't we seek answers?"

Qui-Gon smiled. "Yes. That is what I was trying to relay to you, but you were distracted. You must speak with Vader."

His stomach clenched. Blast it, somehow he knew that it would end up like this. Why couldn't Qui-Gon look after his own pathetic life forms so Obi-Wan could check on his wife and _not _have to deal with a Sith Lord? "Will you be there?"

"I will be just outside," Qui-Gon reassured him. "I doubt the Sith will be inclined to speak if he thinks he is being interrogated."

"But it _is_ an interrogation," Obi-Wan insisted.

"You must not let him realize that."

How the blazes was he supposed to do that? Sighing, Obi-Wan stood. "May I prepare?"

Qui-Gon nodded, but the knowing glint in his eye indicated he understood Obi-Wan's motive behind his question. Still, he didn't stop the Padawan, and so as soon as Obi-Wan was in the hallway by himself he searched for his wife.

For some reason Siri was at the edge of the base. Obi-Wan wondered if she was still mulling over what he'd revealed earlier. The closer he was to her, however, the more he realized that she felt almost as emotionally tangled as Vader had earlier in the day. He hastened his pace a little, and he eventually caught sight of her huddling in the corner of a large hangar. He didn't have to say her name as he approached; she sensed him before he could really do anything.

Lifting her head from her knees, Siri watched him with guilty eyes. Obi-Wan grew all the more ill at ease; he had a funny feeling he wasn't going to like what she had to say, but Siri didn't speak. She just watched him. She didn't have to say anything – her eyes told him enough. _I'm sorry._

"What did you do?" he asked slowly, quietly.

Siri swallowed. "Exactly what you thought I would."

For a second Obi-Wan was confused before it clicked. Dread filled him, and he knelt down in front of her, looking her over. She didn't look harmed, so whatever action she did at least hadn't ended up with any sort of injury… at least not on _her _part. Had she hurt someone else? He had initially kept the secret from her because he feared her reaction against Padmé – he knew she would be angry at her. But Padmé was dead, so who would Siri…?

Obi-Wan's heart skipped a beat. "You didn't."

Siri looked down.

Electricity shot through his body. Obi-Wan grasped her by the upper arms, and he tore into the Force, sensing out the baby's presence. The little life pulsated healthily, and some of the tension in his body relaxed. "Siri—how could you—you—"

"I know," she muttered, interrupting his breathless stuttering. "I know. I shouldn't have gone to him. I'm not hurt. No one is… well, no one on our side. He's still alive. I just… I'm sorry. Obi, I'm so sorry."

He was relieved to hear no one had been hurt, but now frustration bubbled within him. "You _know_ better than to do that, you _know_ better than to let your emotions get the best of you like that! You could have been killed! The _baby _could have been killed! The guards will report this, you'll get in trouble, the Jedi will be accused of not even keeping their own word—"

"I know!" Siri snapped, pulling her arms away from his hands. Her anger diminished quickly, however, and she sighed, standing. Obi-Wan followed suit. "I'm going to report to Qui-Gon. I am. I just… needed time to collect myself. I'm better now than I was."

Obi-Wan felt another rebuke trying to escape his lips, and so he bit his tongue. Lecturing her would only make things worse right now, especially since she was in the process of resolving it on her own. The best thing he could do was to send her off to Qui-Gon. She did seem far better than he would expect considering what she'd said she'd done – he couldn't even imagine what had happened in the cell. Still, the more he thought about it, the more anxious and confused he became – if Siri had gone to Vader and had vented her frustrations upon him, why hadn't he reacted?

"Palpatine seems to be his trigger," Siri remarked as if she'd read Obi-Wan's mind. He didn't bother pondering whether she really had – it was likely the case. "Just don't mention him and the guy's dead weight."

"He took your hits?" Obi-Wan asked, somehow surprised and not surprised at the same time; Vader had done that earlier, after all, but it was still baffling as to _why_.

Siri sighed, looking exhausted. "Yes. He… just _exists_ now." She looked him in the eye. "He doesn't deserve mercy, but… someone should kill him. For his sake. They won't get anything out of him."

"We need _answers_, Siri."

"You _won't get_ answers." She shook her head. "He acted like a rag doll in there when I was _beating _him. The interrogators didn't get anything out of him but violence. He _won't talk_. He's too far gone for anything. Just… let him go."

"Don't be so eager to give up on him."

Obi-Wan and Siri turned, not quite startled, as they saw their master approach. He watched them both with mild concern, but judging from what Obi-Wan could sense from their training bond, the man already knew what had transpired.

Siri bowed her head in shame, unable to speak.

"He may be too far gone, but we don't know that." Qui-Gon explained. "It is the duty of a Jedi to try every possible avenue before resorting to violence. You don't know whether the Sith is willing to speak; he may simply need prompting."

Before either Padawan could talk, Qui-Gon looked at Siri. "Come with me, Padawan; we can discuss your actions while Obi-Wan speaks with Vader."

The Jedi Master didn't give her time to acknowledge him, turning and walking away. Siri sagged, leaning against the wall. "Is it possible to get kicked out of the Order even when they're hurting for numbers? That has to be a new all-time low."

Obi-Wan wanted to reassure her, he wanted to just tell her it would be fine, but he himself was a little angry and disappointed in her. He really shouldn't be, though – that secret, though few in words, was enormous, and it had no doubt hurt for her to realize he hadn't trusted her with it. Exhaling slowly through his nose, Obi-Wan released his negative emotions and placed his hand on her shoulder. "Siri, whatever happens, happens. Just don't let your emotions cloud your judgment; don't let them affect you like this. There's no stopping what's to come, and there's no changing what you did. Learn from it and move on."

Siri smiled softly, placing her hand over his. "Your sympathy is overwhelming, Obi. But I understand. Just… be careful around Vader. Don't mention Palpatine at all."

"I won't," he acknowledged eagerly – he had no intention of provoking the man. "I just have to figure out how to interrogate him without him realizing it's an interrogation. Supposedly that will make him more eager to answer me."

Siri stood tall once more, furrowing her brow in thought. "Nobody's looked him over – medically I mean. You could go in under the pretense of treating him."

Obi-Wan grew uneasy. "I'm not exactly an expert at treating injuries, you know."

"Just clean him up, at least," Siri shrugged tiredly. "He's a mess."

It was strange hearing her say that so… calmly, for lack of a better word. He was used to anger tingeing her speech whenever it concerned Vader. Maybe it was just because she looked so tired. Obi-Wan gazed at her a little worriedly. "Are you going to be alright?"

Siri sighed and walked to him slowly, hugging him. "Eventually. I'm sorry, Obi. I'm sorry I gave you a reason to not trust me, and I'm sorry I did exactly as you feared I would. I… I just…"

"I know," he whispered into her hair, holding her tightly.

Eventually the two released each other and exchanged a reassuring smile. Siri then walked away, following Qui-Gon. Calming himself, Obi-Wan cleared his mind of any distractions and headed towards the medical bay to grab some supplies.

Then he would face Vader.

* * *

**I know, I know, it probably seemed like not a lot happened in this chapter but there was just so much to set up. I promise we'll have Vader/Obi interactions in the next chapter.**


	39. Discoveries

Obi-Wan sifted through the medical bag that had been provided to him. Gauze? Check. Bacta patches? Check. Oh, there was tape too… he supposed he would need that for the gauze. And… wait, what was that? Or _that_ rolled up thing? Was that more gauze? What was in the big bag? Or the case? Or… blast it, he was clueless.

Sighing, Obi-Wan sealed the seemingly endless pouches and slung the bag over his shoulder. He wasn't sure if he was more nervous about dealing with the Sith Lord one-on-one or treating him with the aid of tools he didn't recognize alongside his own scant medical knowledge.

The Rebel guards looked at him warily. He hoped they would let him pass after what had transpired with Siri. It seemed that Qui-Gon had notified them ahead of time, however, since they stepped aside to allow him entrance. When Obi-Wan gazed into the viewing area, he noticed with a jolt that no one was in there; Qui-Gon had apparently taken Siri elsewhere to speak with her. Should he wait? Or should he proceed? If Vader didn't sense Qui-Gon and Siri around, it would make this seem more informal, but… _but_…

_There is no emotion; there is peace._ Obi-Wan took a deep breath, calming himself. A Jedi didn't fear anything. He had to face this alone.

The cell door opened with a gentle hiss, and the air grew immensely colder. Obi-Wan entered, turning towards the seat where Vader would be. He was extremely unnerved to notice that the chair was unoccupied… and _floating_. Everything in the room was floating, save for one solitary figure lying on the ground, facing away from him.

How had the guards not noticed that Vader had somehow loosed his bonds?! Obi-Wan whirled back towards the door, keen on informing them, but the Force surged gently, practically shoving him away from the door. Was that Vader or was that the great mysterious energy field's not-so-subtle way of saying _get your asteroid in there and talk_? Obi-Wan shook his head at the rude imagined order – blast Siri had been influencing him too much.

Slowly making his way towards the man, Obi-Wan avoided the objects hovering in the air. It was as if he were in a room with zero gravity but he was completely unaffected. It was a very odd feeling. It didn't help that it was _freezing_ in here – were the heating units not working?

Obi-Wan's head throbbed slightly, and the closer he got to Vader, the worse the headache became. Squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, he tried to focus on anything _but _the pain. He eventually reached the Sith Lord and hesitated once more, peering over to see if the man was asleep or not.

Vader was staring at the wall, his eyes half closed. Obi-Wan looked nervously at the floating objects once more. He certainly hoped he didn't give the Sith Lord any reason to turn those into projectiles. Then he took another calming breath; he could handle this. He was good at speaking with others.

"I'm here to help you," he eventually said, surprised at how soft his voice sounded.

Vader's eyes opened fully, and his entire body stiffened. Obi-Wan waited patiently for a few seconds, tense with apprehension, but the Sith did nothing else. Eventually, Obi-Wan knelt in front of the man and placed the medical pack on the ground beside him. He paused, eying the Sith carefully. "Will you let me help you?"

Vader didn't answer, and the room grew colder. Obi-Wan wasn't sure if that was acquiescence; though his headache was intensifying, he wasn't getting any warnings from the Force. Leaning forward slightly, he stretched his hand over to the man, trying to prevent his fingers from trembling. As soon as his fingers brushed the Sith's shoulder, Vader hissed and tucked in tighter, and Obi-Wan jerked his hand away, his heart beating hard and fast in his chest. His other hand reached for his lightsaber (though honestly, what the blazes could he do against a Force user who had infinitely more training than him?), but he didn't activate it. Vader grew still once again.

Obi-Wan sighed heavily, stressed and exhausted. This Sith was going to be the death of him. "I can't help you if you don't let me."

Vader remained motionless.

How could he make him speak? Obi-Wan tried having a one sided conversation instead of asking any questions. "You know, there are some who think you're redeemable. Some who say you can still be helped. Of course, there are others who claim you're too far gone. In either case, nothing will be accomplished if you continue as you are. It doesn't matter what your plans are, Vader; if you let yourself stay in disarray like this, you won't be able to do anything."

The Force hissed a warning. The objects floating in the air crashed to the floor. Intense power bore down on Obi-Wan's left wrist, and he gasped as his mind registered that the Sith had grabbed him. Yellow, feverish eyes glared into his own. The Sith looked like he wanted to say something, like he was screaming so many words all at once, but he didn't speak. His hand squeezed tighter, and Obi-Wan bit back a moan of pain.

Perhaps that _wasn't_ the best way to handle the matter, then. Trying to ignore his drumming heartbeat and his growing panic, Obi-Wan fought his body's automatic reaction to strike back and grasped the Force, attempting to ease the pressure off his wrist. He imagined Vader's grip loosening, and as he did, the Sith's eyes darted down to his hand. The man released him, seemingly startled.

"You can use the Force," he whispered hoarsely, gazing at Obi-Wan with suddenly brilliant blue eyes. "You're one of them."

He really never had detected Obi-Wan's sensitivity to the Force? The Padawan shouldn't have been surprised, but he still was. He brushed past it quickly enough, though, and at least the man was now _talking _(but _Force_ his wrist _hurt_)_._ "One of them?"

Vader slinked back, slowly sliding to the floor as if he were returning to his previous dazed state. Obi-Wan grabbed his wrist, mirroring his earlier move. "Talk to me. I'm here to listen."

"I thought you were here to help," Vader muttered, not looking at him.

Obi-Wan smiled in spite of the situation. "That can be the same thing, you know."

The Sith Lord said nothing. Blast, there had to be _some_ way to get him to talk. Obi-Wan shifted, sitting on the floor. He looked the young man over and began to notice little details he'd missed in all his previous dealings; old scars that were obvious on his unnaturally pale skin, a touch of ginger to his hair, powerful muscles, and such a young, _young_ face. He also noticed the new features: angry red blisters from lightsaber burns, blood stains from recent wounds, blossoming bruises, bloodshot eyes, and a swollen lip.

Obi-Wan swallowed, and he eventually decided upon something that ought to garner a reaction. "Why did you ask Padmé for help?"

Vader tensed. The air grew immensely heavy, and Obi-Wan bent forward slightly, leaning on his arms. Then, as quickly as the weight had come, it left. Before Obi-Wan knew it, Vader was sitting up and staring at him, centimeters from his face. His brow was furrowed marginally, his lips parted ever so slightly. "Why did she say that?"

_Breathe. Breathe. There is no emotion; there is peace._ "She didn't want to keep a secret from me."

Alarm sang through the Force. "She told you everything?"

Obi-Wan paused. He wasn't sure if he should admit that she hadn't entirely trusted him… it might give Vader an advantage. But what if he did tell him? Would it matter? "She told me enough."

Vader looked down, losing his energy. Obi-Wan decided to get what he could while the man was still talking. "Why did you listen to me earlier?"

The Sith Lord slid to the floor once again, curling even tighter than before. The room was filled with heavy silence for a moment before Obi-Wan heard a broken whisper.

"Because you're her brother."

Something tingled in the back of Obi-Wan's mind. He let his body relax. The pressure on his chest eased away. The Force felt suddenly hollow, and the weight of the air vanished, though the room remained so frigid it stole his breath away.

Had Vader really cared about Padmé so much that he would listen to Obi-Wan simply due to association? Why would he have let her die, then? Why would he have allowed any of this? The Force didn't lie, and nor did the man's broken demeanor; he hated himself for allowing her to die. But…

Obi-Wan had to know. "How did she die?"

The pressure in the Force returned tenfold. Vader closed his eyes, trying to block out everything. Obi-Wan waited patiently, nearly holding his breath, desperate for the answer. It felt like an hour passed before he heard anything from the Sith.

"…I killed her."

He… he…

Obi-Wan's normal emotional control slipped. Waves of anger and grief destroyed his defenses. The room turned red hot. His entire body trembled. The truth tore through him, ripping his heart to shreds, making his mind scream, _demanding_ that this be fixed, that justice be dealt. The words of the Jedi Code didn't even exist anymore. The image of Padmé's corpse flashed through his mind, and before Obi-Wan knew it, his hands had clamped down around Vader's throat. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, and he felt hot tears burn his eyes. His breathing became erratic, and all his energy was devoted to choking this man, to hurting the man who had done that to his sister, who had _murdered _his _baby sister_.

Vader didn't fight back. He stared at Obi-Wan with such sad eyes, with such emptiness and pain. He wanted this as much as Obi-Wan did.

And that was what made the Jedi Padawan realize what he was doing. For a second he still chose to strangle the Sith. Just for a second. And then he allowed himself to remember that he was Obi-Wan Kenobi. He was a Jedi Padawan. He was not a murderer. And the man in front of him was nothing more than what Siri had already said: a broken mess.

_There is no emotion; there is peace. There is no ignorance; there is knowledge. There is no passion; there is serenity. There is no chaos; there is harmony._

_There is no death; there is the Force._

Obi-Wan let him go.

Crying freely now, all he could do was ask with a thick voice, "Why?"

Vader shook his head, gasping for air.

Obi-Wan didn't have the strength to continue this. Pulling away from the Sith entirely, he leaned against the wall, burying his face in his hand and trying to eliminate the quiet sobs that were racking his body.

"Master told me to."

Obi-Wan pulled his hand away to stare at the man. Hatred reared its ugly head once more, but Obi-Wan fought it with every ounce of strength he had left. He couldn't think straight, couldn't fathom how a man who obviously had feelings for his sister could just _kill her_ because he was _ordered_ to.

"_Darth Vader was raised to think he was nothing more than a tool for the emperor. He has no opinion of himself. He was _raised_ a soldier, he was _raised_ to follow orders."_

Listening to Padmé's words just _hurt_ now. Had she realized the extent to which Vader would follow those orders? Had she even thought about whether the emperor would take her actions into account, would perceive her as the threat that she so obviously had been? Had Vader ever suspected it would happen? Had he somehow tried to prevent it?

Did the man even know any better?

_Oh Padmé… why didn't you realize? Why didn't you see that this could only end badly?_

"Master wanted her dead. So she's dead. I killed her." Vader was rambling now, completely oblivious to Obi-Wan's presence. "He wanted her dead. And now he's… I…"

The room seemed to swirl in front of Obi-Wan's eyes. The Force swelled with pain, anguish, loss… the emotions were so familiar to Obi-Wan, immediately recognizable. He'd sensed them from himself, from his wife… he'd sensed it from his parents, from Sola… it had surrounded him ever since Padmé's death.

But this didn't just have to do with Padmé.

Obi-Wan grew nervous. He recalled Siri's warning; Palpatine was a trigger for violence. This… he couldn't ask about the man. It was too dangerous. He had to at least establish some kind of rapport with the Sith Lord first.

Establish a _rapport_ with his _sister's murderer_.

He really shouldn't be angry or disgusted. He knew that. He should feel pity. This man was obviously devastated by Padmé's death just as they had been. Though Obi-Wan had banished most of his immediate hatred away, however, he couldn't _quite_ get himself to feel sorry for the Sith. He would need time for that. Time to recover from the realization that his hunch had been correct, time to meditate… he would just need time.

Now that he had gotten that out in the open, Obi-Wan wasn't even sure what else to talk about, what else to ask. He would have to discuss this with his master. Obi-Wan pulled farther away, preparing to stand, when he saw the medical bag and blatantly remembered his original 'reason' for coming here. Sighing, he opened the pouches and then reassessed the Sith.

"Don't."

Obi-Wan jumped, startled, and looked at Vader. "Don't? Don't what?"

Vader closed his eyes, sighing. Obi-Wan watched him for a while before slowly resuming what he had been doing earlier. When he pulled out some bacta paste, he looked at the Imperial again, hesitant. He would have to pull away the man's tunic, and… wait, come to think of it, Obi-Wan just realized that while everyone in the base had cold weather attire, Vader was dressed for a temperate climate. The man was probably half frozen.

Now that he looked closely, he _did_ see that the man was shivering.

Pulling off his outer jacket, Obi-Wan laid it over Vader, who flinched and looked at him. The Force wavered, anguish turning to confusion, emptiness turning to aggravation. The Jedi watched the Sith carefully, and Light and Dark briefly clashed before the Darkness receded back into the Sith, consuming him from the inside.

"I said _don't_," Vader repeated firmly.

"You don't want me to help you?" Obi-Wan surmised. "Why?"

"I…" Vader tried to explain, but his voice cracked and he immediately looked away.

After waiting almost a minute, Obi-Wan started to prompt him. "You…?"

"Leave." Vader ordered, pulling himself into a sitting position and shrugging off Obi-Wan's jacket.

Obi-Wan was tempted to listen merely to get away from the Sith. Instead, he waited, and he listened to the Force. It was strangely silent, as if even it was holding its breath in anticipation. _Anticipation_. He was on the precipice of discovering something. He just had to hold out a little longer, push a little farther.

"And if I don't?" he queried, holding on to his resolve. "Will you kill me as you did Padmé?"

The words stung. Vader flinched and shifted back, looking at the floor. Obi-Wan grabbed his jacket and placed it around the Sith's shoulders, tightening it so the Sith had to turn his attention to him. Obi-Wan looked sternly into his eyes. "I said I would help you. That's what I'm going to do."

"Why?" Vader asked, suddenly confused and desperate all at once.

Obi-Wan blinked. Blast. He supposed he should have had an answer ready for that. "Because you're hurt."

Simple enough, right? Yet for some reason that answer didn't satisfy Vader at all. In fact, the Force suddenly cried out in warning, and Obi-Wan was on his feet in a heartbeat, reaching for his lightsaber when Vader grabbed him by his shirt and shoved him against the wall, pinning him. The Sith's face was twisted, darkened by the shadow of the harsh cell lighting and by some kind of monstrous hatred that was eating its way out of him. "I killed your sister! I've killed Jedi! I've killed thousands of Rebels, all of your operatives on Naboo—entire _systems_ have fallen to my blade! _Why are you helping me_?"

The cell door opened and guards rushed in. Vader's attention shifted to them, and ferocity suddenly accompanied the hatred of his features. The Force's warnings turned to screams, and Obi-Wan grabbed the Sith by the wrists, garnering his focus once more. "Don't do it, Vader."

The guards raised their weapons, and Obi-Wan quickly looked at them. "Stop! It's fine."

The guards looked at him incredulously, probably wondering if he'd lost his mind (honestly he himself was beginning to wonder that); he no doubt looked ridiculous claiming the situation was under control whilst dangling from the Sith Lord's grasp. "Vader's going to put me down and calm himself. There isn't a problem. Please leave."

Obi-Wan then looked a little pleadingly at the Sith Lord. The Imperial watched him, his narrowed eyes slowly opening, and his face eventually relaxed into confusion as he let Obi-Wan's tunic slip out of his fingers. The Jedi's boots hit solid ground, and he leaned heavily against the wall to stop himself from shaking.

The guards slowly lowered their blasters. After one more suspicious look, they backed out of the cell.

"There," Obi-Wan said breathlessly, attempting to smile. "That's better, isn't it? We don't want a fuss."

Somehow his words upset the Sith even more, but this time he didn't get an angry outburst. Vader shuddered, lowering himself to his knees and elbows and holding his hair as if he were about to pull it out.

"You have to keep me alive," he panted. "You need me. All of you. Information. I'm a tool, I'm a tool, I'm always someone's damn thing to use…"

Obi-Wan stared at him, baffled and shocked. Where had this come from? He hadn't expected quite so much… self awareness; every Sith apprentice was nothing more than a means to an end in the eyes of their masters. The fact that Vader knew this and was only bothered now that his master was _dead_ was… well, it didn't make any sense. On top of that, Padmé had mentioned that Vader had been raised in this manner, but that would imply several different outcomes: one, Vader wasn't aware of this and simply thought it was normal, or he was aware of it and had no qualms with it, or alternatively, he was aware and _was_ bothered by it. It seemed like the third option was the most likely, but if it had bothered him before, why was he only showing it now? Nothing had changed in that the last time he and Obi-Wan had spoken they were enemies; that was still the case, wasn't it? Sure, Obi-Wan was Padmé's brother, and Vader in some twisted way had apparently assumed he could show respect for her by listening to Obi-Wan, but… blast it, this didn't quite make sense. If he was aware of his position in life and had issues with it, then why hadn't he refused to kill Padmé? Obi-Wan felt like some key piece of information was missing, and he was almost certain it had to do with Palpatine.

Of course, now his main problem was that he had a Sith Lord who was borderline hyperventilating, and he had to do something about it before the man worked himself into more of a frenzy. How had this gone from Obi-Wan strangling Vader to Obi-Wan having to calm Vader from his own random panic?

"Calm down," he said a little helplessly; he'd never been good at reassurances, and honestly he wasn't quite feeling up to assuring this particular man_._

Vader shot to his feet again. "I've no more use, no more function—I failed, don't you get it? Get out!"

Obi-Wab tried to make himself sound braver than he felt, though he was genuinely curious as well. "How did you fail?"

Vader stared at him incredulously. Then he backhanded him. Obi-Wan grunted, falling and holding his lip, which slowly began to ooze blood. His mind whirled, both from near panic over any more possible retaliation (he was angry too, but he was smart enough to realize that picking a fight with _Darth Vader_ would _not_ end well) and, more importantly, from bewilderment. How in the blazes was he supposed to reach him? Why had his question upset him?

Palpatine. This had to do with Palpatine. Was it because he'd died? Did Vader somehow feel responsible for that? Why did the man even _care_? Obi-Wan bit back the question, knowing it would only lead to more unfortunate situations, at least with the state Vader was in. Instead, he slowly stood and wiped the blood away, asking, "Will you let me treat you now?"

Vader bit his lip, looking at the floor. He balled his fists, and the Force grew heavy for what felt like the millionth time. The man's mood swings were bringing Obi-Wan's headache back tenfold. He somehow needed to alleviate this tension; Obi-Wan wasn't sure why requesting to treat Vader's wounds was such a travesty, but it wouldn't do anyone any good to keep him this upset. He needed to change the subject.

"How old are you?" he suddenly asked; it would catch the Sith off guard and it would answer one of his many burning questions. After all, the more Obi-Wan looked at Vader's face the younger the Sith seemed.

Vader's head shot up as he locked eyes with Obi-Wan, brow furrowed. His expression mirrored the guards' earlier bewildered looks.

Well, yes, it was a random question considering what had just happened, but Obi-Wan was willing to try just about anything to figure out how to speak to him without starting a fight.

"Nineteen."

Obi-Wan blanched. Vader was a _teenager_?! Memories flooded him of that period of his own life; it had been a stressful time since he'd been with the service corps, and he remembered the constant issues of hormones, mood swings, fighting for more independence… Obi-Wan hadn't been a typical teenager, but he hadn't been immune to many of the trials they endured, either. There were times when he now looked back that he wondered why the Naboo allowed their people to do such things at such a young age; it was important for them to get exposure, but to put younglings in precarious, risky, stressful situations like that seemed a little too much sometimes. Still, it made him who he was now… but _gods above_… for a teenager to experience and do everything _Vader_ had done?! Obi-Wan could hardly fathom it; the more it sank in the more he remembered hearing about so many atrocities Vader had committed over time, going as far back as six or seven years ago.

Force, _no__ wonder_ the boy had so many issues. Was he simply a natural psychopath or had Palpatine molded him into one?

Taking a deep breath, Obi-Wan approached the situation differently with this new information. If Vader was that young then Obi-Wan was his superior simply by seniority; he would brook no argument from the Sith. "Well, then. Let's sit down, shall we? I'll look over those wounds and get you some warmer clothes."

Vader shifted his weight, but he didn't sit. "…What happens when you die?"

Obi-Wan blinked. What? "Eh… I could give you a host of answers to that question, but no one really knows."

"Would you still care about what happens here?"

Where had_ this _come from? "I don't know. On Naboo it's believed that when you die, if you're cremated your spirit returns to the planet; you become part of Naboo."

Vader stared at him, looking slightly concerned. After a few seconds he crossed his arms, his face darkening. "That's stupid."

Obi-Wan sighed heavily. _Now_ he was sounding like a teenager. This conversation had taken the most bizarre turn he could imagine, and he wasn't quite sure whether he wanted to continue it… but at least Vader wasn't in a fit of some sort. "Why?"

"Because it's pointless," Vader immediately answered loudly, growing agitated. "They would _never_ do something that pointless."

"They?" Obi-Wan questioned carefully. When Vader didn't reply, it gave him the answer he expected: Palpatine and Padmé. A small part of the Jedi bristled, screaming that Vader had no right to ever think or speak about Padmé again after what he'd done, but Obi-Wan silenced it.

"Besides, what if you don't die on a planet? Do you become part of space?" Vader argued irritably.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, bemused. "I take it you've been thinking about this quite hard."

Vader's frustration melted away, and he was left looking exhausted and empty once more. He leaned heavily against the wall and sank to the floor. Obi-Wan took the quiet moment as an opportunity to organize the insanity that had occurred over the past few minutes (_few minutes_ – it felt like an _eternity_). He felt himself grow colder as he thought about what Vader had done to Padmé, which he supposed was better than feeling angry about it. Looking at the boy he _almost_ felt a sliver of pity worm its way into his heart, but then he remembered Padmé's funeral, and all he could do was just ask _why_ over and over again.

"She loved you, you know," he said quietly.

Vader stiffened and lowered his head into his hands, snarling, "Love is a weakness; a filthy, disgusting _weakness_."

The Force trembled. Obi-Wan was flooded with overwhelming grief that wasn't his own, and he put the pieces together fairly quickly.

Vader had loved her in return.

The realization shook the Jedi, and he couldn't imagine how any brainwashing would compel the Sith to murder the woman he loved. He couldn't fathom how it must feel to just be _him_.

All right, perhaps he did feel just a _miniscule_ amount of pity for Vader. But why the absolute obedience? _Why?_ Surely the boy could have realized that the way he'd been raised was wrong, or at the very least he could have decided that no matter what way he'd been raised he _didn't want to kill her_.

Sighing, Obi-Wan grabbed the medical bag and knelt in front of the Sith. Somehow Palpatine must have left him no choice, though he couldn't figure what leverage the emperor would have had over the boy. In either case, both Vader and Obi-Wan were too fatigued to continue this, and so the young Sith allowed the Jedi Padawan to pull off his tunic and look over his numerous injuries. A lot of them seemed to be flesh wounds, even though the blistered burns looked fairly unpleasant and possibly needed more treatment than he could offer. The most notable wound, however, was a seemingly old one: a large bluish yellow stain that spanned most of his lower left abdomen. Obi-Wan cleaned everything and then put gauze over most of it, though it looked like some cuts would need stitches. Vader flinched as Obi-Wan smeared bacta over a particularly bad laceration that stretched almost ten centimeters, but apart from that he did nothing. Eventually Obi-Wan found every wound there was, and he repacked the medical supplies, standing. The Sith remained where he was, shivering from the cold.

Obi-Wan picked up his jacket and put it around the boy's shoulders once more. "I'll come back later."

With that, the Jedi Padawan left the cell. Outside in the viewing area there was a veritable platoon waiting for him. Obi-Wan immediately sensed their intent.

"Don't go in there; you'll only antagonize him," Obi-Wan advised after the cell door had closed.

"He needs to be put in binders… again," one of the guards said without much gusto; he didn't seem eager to put useless electrobinders on someone who could easily kill all of them. _Smart man._

"He's calm now," Obi-Wan explained. "If you go in there and try to tie him to a chair, heaven only knows what he'll do." The guards still looked uncertain, so he added, "Besides, Master Ti ordered no one to enter his cell without her permission. Leave him be."

This last remark seemed to be enough incentive, and they slowly nodded and backed away from the door. One of them said he would inform his superiors that Vader wasn't bound, but apart from that they didn't seem keen to cause the Sith Lord any trouble. Obi-Wan glanced around to ensure everything was fine and then he headed off to find Qui-Gon and Siri.

* * *

The Drunken Dewback was especially lively tonight. There had been at least one fight that the bouncers had broken up, and the musicians were getting tipped so much that they grew overjoyed and played louder than ever. One particularly large party bought a round of drinks for the entire cantina, and everybody was suddenly best friends with the people around them, even though no one knew each other's name.

Erwyna sighed happily as she swirled the ice cubes in her drink. She'd had some time to rest back at Tlenden's apartment before she wandered back here. She hadn't been waiting too long, and honestly the environment kept her entertained. Eventually, she saw the green skinned Twi'lek sauntering over with a data pad and a drink of her own.

"Those people are the best!" she said happily as she nearly collapsed across from Erwyna. "They know how to party."

"Yeah, too bad we're here for business," Erwyna reminded the slicer carefully; as much as she loved a good drink, she was here for the security feeds.

"Meh, we could join the fun after," Okima'yak shrugged, putting the pad on the table. She kept her hand over it and raised her eyebrows, waiting.

Erwyna pulled out a money pouch and dangled it in front of the slicer. "Forty-eight hours of feeds?"

"Hey, you've seen me deliver before," Okima'yak remarked, shoving the pad in front of the lieutenant. "You doubting me now?"

"I've got no reason to," Erwyna replied, tossing the pouch to the slicer. "Did you see the feeds yourself?"

Okima'yak shrugged. "A little. Not sure how much you'll like it."

Feeling as if she'd finally shine some light on all this insanity, Erwyna accessed the security camera recordings on the data pad. She had the option of viewing any of the halls, lifts, and a few of the apartments, but she wasn't particularly interested in anything beyond public areas, especially near Amidala's apartment. She sped through most of the first day's footage and saw nothing out of the ordinary, though it was very strange to see Amidala wandering around as if she were still alive. There was some action in the middle of the day where Amidala, Obi-Wan, Siri, the Jedi, and a foreigner Erwyna didn't recognize all rushed through the halls in a huddled bunch before vanishing into Amidala's apartment, which had no cameras. The stranger left first, though now she was dressed as Amidala had been and bore such a striking resemblance to her that Erwyna didn't realize it wasn't the senator for a second. Then Kenobi departed a little later before he returned after about two hours. Apart from that, the day was uneventful until late evening, and then Erwyna realized that she knew why all those events had happened.

There had been an attack on Siri. She'd almost forgotten – it was the entire reason they'd left for Salkende with her. That hullabaloo earlier must have been their frenzied reaction just after the incident. She recalled that Kenobi had explained that there had been some sort of infiltrator disguised as a handmaiden who'd been responsible.

Well that was old news, then. What was important was what would happen after midnight; the beginning of the next day's feed.

The new day started quietly; a few inhabitants of the apartment were wandering around, but it was mostly still by one in the morning. At two, however, Erwyna caught sight of the Jedi Master—Qui-Gon something—leaving Amidala's apartment. The Jedi didn't look too thrilled, and he was constantly on his comlink as he left. Erwyna sped the feed once more as the minutes ticked by innocuously, and she sipped her drink.

Two thirty… Three… three thirty… four… _there_ it was. Wait… what?

Erwyna furrowed her brow and leaned forward. Between the Jedi's departure and 0400 nothing was amiss, and then suddenly the police were everywhere. Where were the Intelligence agents that Brek had reported were there? What about the murder? Where was the perpetrator? How did he or she get in and out? How did the police seemingly appear out of nowhere?

"What the blazes…?" she muttered.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Okima'yak nod. "Yeah, I figured you wouldn't like it. I checked out the specs for the senator's apartment; she's got an open veranda. Supposedly it had an energy shield, but it would be the best spot to enter without being noticed."

"Aren't there security cameras on the exterior of the building too?" Erwyna asked a little impatiently.

"At all the entrances and exits, sure," the slicer leaned back in her seat, propping one arm on the booth behind her. "I got you those, but they've got nothing incriminating on them."

As Erwyna grew increasingly more frustrated, the slicer suggested, "You know, there are security feeds for the streets too, as well as adjacent buildings. If you get enough angles you ought to see the entire apartment complex, both inside and out."

"Can you get that?" Erwyna asked, growing more impatient by the minute – she really missed military intelligence now; they would have already given her all of this the first time.

"Sure," Okima'yak replied nonchalantly.

"How long will it take?"

"Few seconds."

Erwyna looked at her disbelievingly. "It took you almost six hours to get this much."

"I already got it, though," Okima'yak smirked. "That's why it took me so long. People don't hire me for nothing, you know – I'm thorough. You want to see what happened in that apartment? I get you what happened in that apartment."

For the first time since the slicer's arrival, Erwyna started feeling some hope and excitement. "Well hand it over!"

"Fee first."

"I already paid you!"

Okima'yak shrugged. "This was extra work. You only asked for 500 Republica."

Erwyna sighed heavily. "How much?"

After the slicer named her price, Erwyna grudgingly handed over the money. She'd barely have enough for the taxi fare back to Tlenden's apartment at this rate.

As soon as the credits were in the slicer's fingers, she pulled out a data chip and inserted it into the pad. More feeds appeared, and Okima'yak pulled up several. "These are your best bets, I should think; they provide a good view of the penthouse apartment, especially this one, which shows the veranda."

Erwyna watched the indicated footage. At approximately 0300 a speeder hovered just outside of the veranda for a few seconds before landing. _So much for an energy shield._ It was impossible to see the driver, however, which was aggravating beyond belief. Pausing the feed, she pointed to the speeder. "Is there any way you can zoom in on the driver?"

Okima'yak shook her head. "No. But if we get enough security cameras we could find one where the speeder's close to the camera. You know, like when it's on its way to the apartment or on the way back. I can recognize the model, at least. We just need traffic cams."

Erwyna felt her gut clench. She wasn't sure she had enough credits to pay for that on top of everything else… at least not on her person. She _did_, however, have access to emergency funds provided to all the Bidra, and Mother knew Tlenden had plenty to add to that account. But that would leave an electronic trail unless Okima'yak was willing to cover her tracks.

The speeder sat at Amidala's veranda for almost ten minutes before it took off once more, slipping into traffic. Erwyna was getting ready to pause the feed and ask for traffic cams when the image seemed to jump slightly. Blinking, she gazed at the slicer confusedly. "What was that?"

"That," Okima'yak said dramatically with a big smile. "Was the best part."

Erwyna raised her eyebrow, bemused. "A weird little tick in the footage?"

"It's classic for anyone who knows what to look for," Okima'yak explained, her smile growing. "Somebody tampered with the feed. If you look carefully, it's only the feeds that show the veranda. Same kind of handiwork as the apartment footage."

Erwyna felt her heartrate rise—_now_ she was getting somewhere. Then she grew confused. "The apartment footage was tampered too?"

Okima'yak laughed. "Of _course_ it was—wasn't the same person, though, at least not initially. The veranda feeds were doubly messed with, though I don't know if that was intentional or not."

"What do you mean?"

"There were two slicers for this job," Okima'yak explained. "One hacked the feeds of 500 Republica _and_ all the buildings around it. The other only tampered with the surrounding buildings. Our first hacker messed with the feed right before CorSec showed up and around the same time with the other buildings, while our second hacker messed around just after the speeder left the veranda."

"So either hacker or the speeder pilot could be the murderer," Erwyna muttered as she looked at the paused feeds. "One of those hackers has to be Intelligence."

Okima'yak shifted, suddenly uneasy. "Intelligence?"

Erwyna paused, wondering if she should tell the slicer what she knew about the incident. Well… the Twi'lek already knew about her investigation anyway. "My sources said a lot of agents were on the scene when Amidala was found. They had to have done some of the tampering so people wouldn't notice they were there."

The slicer nodded slowly. "Okay, well, that's one out of our three mysterious perps. I can get you traffic cams by tomorrow afternoon."

"Is there any way to recover what Intelligence messed with?" Erwyna asked.

Okima'yak sighed, crossing her arms. "A lot of classy places have backup storage for security footage, which trips up most amateur slicers because then investigators have a template that they can compare the doctored feed to. Intelligence isn't filled with amateurs, though, and worst of all, they're perfectly legal; I've no doubt they wiped everything the apartment security forces had. Still, if this was for some sort of mission, they might have records in their own computers as to what they did and why."

Erwyna eyed the slicer. "So we'd have to break into Intelligence's computers."

The slicer's face hardened. "You're not actually suggesting we do that, are you?"

Erwyna continued to gaze at the woman firmly. Okima'yak blew out a breath, looking away for a second, and then she leaned in. "Are you out of your kriffing mind? I don't care what kind of offer you give, I ain't _breaking into Intelligence_. I value my _life_, thanks."

Well, Erwyna supposed she'd found the slicer's limits. She wouldn't tell the woman about Odeki Rubar, then, but perhaps Okima'yak could still be useful in this manner. "Could you design some kind of computer spike at least? I'll find my own way in."

"I'd have to know the systems, and even if I did, I _still_ wouldn't do it," Okima'yak hissed. "They'd trace it back to me—Intelligence _always_ finds its mark. If you want to live, _don't_ get anywhere near them."

"So let me get this straight," Erwyna surmised. "You can hack into military computers just fine and break into Imperial penitentiaries, but you won't touch Intelligence?"

"Kark yes," Okima'yak immediately answered. "You'll be hard pressed to find someone suicidal enough to tangle with Imperial Intelligence. _Nobody_ messes with them. They're the freaking secret police!"

"All right, all right, calm down and I'll buy you another drink," Erwyna eventually blew out an annoyed breath. "Get me those traffic cams, though, got it?"

"Fine," Okima'yak replied. "I'll have them by noon tomorrow… now where's that drink?"

Erwyna rolled her eyes and headed to the bar. At least she had something to work with now. If Intelligence had been the ones to kill Amidala, though, then who was her late night visitor, and who else tampered with the security footage? Could the Jedi have been the one driving the speeder? No, that would make no sense; he'd apparently been there to be Amidala's protector, so if he'd returned (why had he left in the first place?) he would have saved her.

Fat lot of good _he'd_ been.

Erwyna leaned against the bar as she waited for the drink. The more she learned, the stranger this got. And now that she really thought about it, she hadn't seen a handmaiden anywhere in those feeds, either; the news had specifically said that a handmaiden had found the body… so where was the handmaiden? Intelligence would have no reason to mess with that, wouldn't it? She had to look into this further.

Well, at least it was _something_… but stars above, this was one big fat mess.

* * *

Hoth felt particularly damp at the moment, though Obi-Wan was fairly certain it had to do with the blizzard outside and his lack of a heavy outer coat. He was heading towards the medical center in order to return the pack he'd borrowed for his conversation with Vader. He was intent on finding his master and his wife afterward, but the closer he got to the med bay the more he realized that they were there too. Growing slightly confused and concerned, Obi-Wan quickened his pace a little.

When he arrived he saw Siri lying on one of the provided cots. Al was sitting beside her, watching her. Siri's eyes were on the doorway; she must have sensed Obi-Wan's approach.

Obi-Wan immediately went to her, but before he could say anything, she asked, "Where's your jacket?"

"I gave it to Vader; he was freezing." Obi-Wan answered dismissively. Al and Siri exchanged completely flummoxed glances, but he didn't let them comment. "What happened?"

"Morning sickness," Siri grumbled in a tired voice, looking at him once more. "Haven't gotten sick except the one time, though."

"One time?"

Al laughed halfheartedly. "Yeah, that was _almost_ on me and Qui-Gon."

Obi-Wan bit back a snort of amusement at the thought. At least Siri wasn't hurt. "I thought you'd skipped morning sickness, at least according to yourself."

"Guess I was wrong, then," Siri moaned, sitting up a little.

"Now here's the funny thing," Al piped in. "I thought morning sickness was only, you know, _in the morning._ It's nighttime!"

Obi-Wan looked at his chronometer curiously and noted that it was well after midnight. _Blast_… no wonder he felt exhausted. Today had been the longest day of his life, from arriving in time for the Alliance to engage the emperor's fleet to Vader's capture to everybody's celebrations to Vader's interrogation to their realization that he listened to Obi-Wan to Siri's loss of control to… _blast_. "I suppose technically it is morning."

"It happens at any time of the day, you shaaks," Siri sighed heavily. She looked more drained than Obi-Wan, and he remembered abruptly that while he had taken a nap during the flight from Ilum to Hoth, Siri hadn't. They'd left Ilum around midday local time, and they'd arrived on Hoth in the early morning hours; she'd practically been up two days. Siri interrupted his thoughts when she sat up fully and asked, "How was it?"

Obi-Wan sighed, trying to find a word to describe it. "It was… interesting."

"I can't believe you went in there alone," Al shook his head. "You're _both_ nuts; I'm still surprised _Siri's_ alive."

"Speaking of that," Obi-Wan began, and his wife answered his unasked question.

"Lots of meditation. And a ridiculously long lecture about controlling one's emotions," Siri remarked with a small smile. "I didn't argue; as much as I don't like meditation, I figure I deserve every bit of it for what I did."

"You _need_ it," Obi-Wan corrected her.

His wife looked like she was about to make some snide remark when she saw something on his face, and she traced the corner of his mouth with her fingers, her brow furrowing in concern. "He hit you?"

Obi-Wan felt her fingers glide over the now clotted and frozen blood that had previously flowed from where Vader had backhanded him. "Just once… I might have pushed him a little too far."

"I thought the point was that he wouldn't attack you," Al piped in worriedly.

"He… is willing to listen to me, I think," Obi-Wan guessed halfheartedly. "It's complicated. Where's Qui-Gon?"

"On his way," Siri answered, her demeanor slightly more agitated after learning of Obi-Wan's mild injury. "He left to meditate for a little while, but he should be back about now."

As if on cue, Obi-Wan and Siri both sensed their master's approach, and they turned to face him as he entered the medical bay.

Al shuddered slightly. "You know, it's downright creepy how you guys can smell each other out like that."

Siri laughed. "We don't _smell_ each other, Al."

"It's good to see everything went well," Qui-Gon noted with a small smile.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "You didn't expect it to?"

"It was an uncertain situation," Qui-Gon replied.

"So you were going to let him attack me?" Obi-Wan half surmised and half joked; he knew his master wouldn't do that, but a part of him was slightly irritated at the possibility.

"I had informed the guards to alert me if anything happened," Qui-Gon assured him gently as he walked over to stand beside Siri's bed. "They called me once and said that Vader had you pinned against the wall, but you apparently claimed you had the situation under control."

"What?!" Siri and Al both exclaimed.

Obi-Wan sighed. "As I said, it was… interesting. And complicated. He was having a little trouble with mood swings; it was difficult to predict what would set him off."

"I suspected he might be that way," Qui-Gon nodded. "The Force indicated as much. What did you learn?"

Obi-Wan blew out a breath. Where to even begin? "He killed Padmé."

Siri bolted out of bed just as Al leapt to his feet. Qui-Gon furrowed his brow. _Perhaps that wasn't the best way to start_, Obi-Wan mused, but he couldn't exactly help it; that was one of the matters that was bothering him the most. Before any of them could speak, however, Obi-Wan added, "But he loved her too."

"What?" Siri stared at him in bewilderment, her presence in the Force a flurry of anger, hurt, and confusion. Obi-Wan could sense her desperately fighting to control it, however, which was at least an improvement from what he would normally expect. He supposed he shouldn't be too harsh on his wife; it was common knowledge, after all, that pregnancy played merry havoc with one's emotions… and it wasn't like _Obi-Wan_ had completely gotten over the discovery, either.

"I don't understand it," he shook his head. "Vader obviously feels guilt over her death, but he freely admits he killed her. It _hurts_ for him to say, but he won't deny it. When I asked him why he did it, all he could say was that he was ordered to… but he seemed aware of his position, as if he knew that simply following orders made him an insignificant pawn to Palpatine. I can't… I don't understand it. Did he simply realize it after the fact, now that Palpatine is dead? How could he kill the woman he loves? No order would make me ever kill Siri."

Everyone was silent for a long time, and then Al spoke first, albeit haltingly. "There… there's this story that's told sometimes… about a woman who could use the Force who lived thousands of years ago. She wasn't a Jedi, wasn't a Sith… she had kids, too. One day, she realized that her kids had become monsters… and she decided that she had to stop them. She killed them. Killed her own younglings because she thought they were wrong. But it saved the galaxy, 'cause they were ready to krif the whole place up. You think it's… maybe the same with Vader? He's an Imperial; maybe he thought Padmé was going to mess things up too much?"

"Possibly," Qui-Gon muttered, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "I'm not sure that's the case, however. If Obi-Wan specifically asked why Darth Vader killed Senator Amidala and his response was simply because he was ordered to, I find it more likely that the order itself was his reason, not any sort of argument behind it."

"Nobody follows orders to _that_ degree," Al argued, gesturing angrily. "Not if they care about somebody."

"I'll reiterate what my Padawan revealed earlier since you weren't there: according to Amidala herself, Darth Vader was essentially brainwashed by the emperor," Qui-Gon said pointedly.

"That's some karking brainwashing," Al growled, crossing his arms. "Is the guy a person or a droid? You _can_ make decisions on your own, you know."

"What else did you learn?" Qui-Gon pressed on, looking to Obi-Wan once more.

"He listens to me because of his feelings for Padmé," Obi-Wan continued. "He doesn't seem to have any particular loyalty to anyone at this point. I'm not even sure he realizes he's basically emperor now."

"I heard some of the soldiers talking about using him as some sort of bargaining chip," Siri remarked, still stiff from the earlier realization. "They want to use him to broker a truce with the Empire. I told them they were out of their minds; no Imperial would agree to losing power just because we've got the emperor."

"You figure we can get Imperial info out of him?" Al asked. "Obi-Wan, could you ask him?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "No, I doubt he'll listen to me. He seems too lost in his own grief. I still haven't figured out anything about his concern over Palpatine, except that it is genuinely there. He said he'd failed at one point; I can only imagine he means he failed to kill all the Jedi."

"Or perhaps he failed to protect his master," Qui-Gon suggested.

"Why would he care?" Siri questioned. "It's not like Sith worry about each other. Even if he's capable of feeling _something_, it wouldn't be for the guy who's holding his leash, right?"

"I don't know; he seems pretty screwed up," Al remarked darkly.

"How compliant was he with you, Padawan?"

Obi-Wan shrugged. "So long as I didn't trigger some sort of unpleasant memory, he responded well enough. I assume… you'll want me to establish a rapport with him?"

Qui-Gon nodded. "Yes, that will be necessary. I need you to learn everything you can from him, especially in regards to Palpatine."

Obi-Wan shook off a shudder. The next few days would certainly be interesting. He wasn't nervous – honestly, that was the last thing he felt at this point. He just didn't know if he had the energy to do it… or the wherewithal to know what to say without setting the boy off. _Boy_… that's right… "One more thing, actually: I found out he's nineteen."

Al blanched. "He's a _kid_?"

Qui-Gon furrowed his brow. "Strange… Palpatine normally didn't have apprentices so young. He's exceptionally powerful in the Force for his age."

"There's another Jedi like that too, right?" Siri prompted. "I heard some initiates and Padawans talk about some kind of chosen Jedi who would defeat the Sith. They never said who they thought it was supposed to be."

Qui-Gon's eyes saddened, and he sighed heavily, leaning against the cot. "That's… a different matter. A prophecy made long ago spoke of balance, a chosen person who could bring balance to the Force, casting away the majority of the Darkness. A great deal of younger Jedi thought it was a Padawan who showed more potential and promise than anyone in the enclave."

"Who?"

"A young man named Galen Marek," Qui-Gon answered.

"Hey, well maybe we can send him to interrogate Vader," Al suggested cheerfully. "He can match strength with him, right?"

Obi-Wan didn't have to wait for his master to answer; the man's change in mood was enough to tell him. "Vader killed him, didn't he?"

Qui-Gon tipped his head in acknowledgement. "Galen was the Padawan of a Jedi Knight named Rahm Kota. Both were killed at Vader's hand prior to my arrival on Coruscant."

Al moaned while Siri bit her lip.

"Good thing I don't believe in prophecies, then," Siri muttered.

"It's not like the prophecy is our concern, anyway," Obi-Wan interrupted, brushing the matter aside. "I'll talk to Vader tomorrow, Master."

Qui-Gon, who had grown suddenly pensive, nodded and departed quietly. Al rubbed his face tiredly and sighed heavily. "I'm heading to bed; there's been way too much crap going on today. Night."

Obi-Wan and Siri bade Al a peaceful night and watched him leave. Then Obi-Wan faced his wife. "Are you allowed to leave the med bay?"

"Yeah," she replied with a weak smile. "Are you sure you're going to be okay? With… with all of this? I mean… he… _he_…"

"I know." Obi-Wan looked elsewhere. By this point he'd begun to grow numb to any feeling regarding Padmé and Vader's involvement in her death. Enough time had passed and too much was still going on… and he was frankly too emotionally drained to invest anything into it anymore. It worried him, but he supposed it was the Jedi way, so he didn't bother fighting it. The real problem would be finding ways to connect to the Sith Lord, he supposed, though he did find the boy a little pitiful.

"How can you kill someone you love?" Siri asked, though Obi-Wan knew the query wasn't aimed at him in particular. "Are you _sure _he meant that?"

"He never said he loved her," Obi-Wan shook his head. "He didn't have to. I sensed it."

"I still don't understand," Siri whispered, sounding so lost and hurt.

Obi-Wan watched her, unsure what to say. He wanted to reassure her, but he couldn't find any way how. Instead, he simply agreed with her. "I don't either, Siri. I really don't."

The couple gave up on the venture altogether and slowly exited the med bay to go to bed, too tired to even give themselves strength let alone each other.

* * *

Coruscant Security, colloquially called CorSec, was headquartered in a relatively nondescript building that barely stood in the skyline. It was two sectors from the senate district, and it was always busy. Tarkin was slightly annoyed that he had to go to headquarters to speak with the chief rather than have the man come to him, but he had to do everything in his power to ingratiate himself after their last interaction.

Upon speaking to the receptionist he'd been given a security droid as a guard until the chief could see him. Tarkin sat in a waiting area, growing steadily more irritated as people from all walks of life sat around him or strolled by; he'd never believed himself above others by birth – one had to _earn_ one's position… but when he'd blasted earned his position already, he wanted to be shown some _respect_ for it.

Having someone snoring beside him was not what he had in mind.

After almost an hour's wait (couldn't that blasted man hurry up? Tarkin had places to be and things to do as well… it was a new day and the senate was about to learn of the transition that was to take place), a constable finally showed him into the chief's office.

The chief of CorSec, a Human male named Sanju, was a broad shouldered man with a calming and commanding demeanor. He had dark brown skin, stubble all along his jaw, and short curly black hair. His chocolate brown eyes were hard but never cold. He was relatively young, probably in his late forties, and he typically was buried in work. Today was no exception; the man's desk was littered with data chips and several pads, as well as some other nondescript items that Tarkin didn't care to identify.

Chief Sanju stood politely as Tarkin entered, his fingertips resting on his desk, but he made no other gesture. Instead, he got straight to the point. "What can I help you with, governor?"

"How are CorSec matters going? I trust Imperial Center isn't rowdier than usual?" Tarkin asked conversationally. He was trying to gauge the man and ascertain how best to approach this; he had to ensure no one else bought off the chief and turned him against the grand moff. The last thing Tarkin needed was an insurrection on the capital world.

"Day's only just starting," Sanju replied vaguely, brushing some lint off his uniform. "But CorSec affairs aren't your concern, governor. This isn't your jurisdiction. It's mine."

Tarkin could see the man was already bristling; he obviously remembered their conversation during the party. The grand moff held back a sigh; he had been slightly tipsy and more than frantic at the time, and he hadn't thought about the consequences of his words. Of course he hadn't thought he would ever be in _this _situation, either.

"You are partially correct," Tarkin said. "The Seswenna Oversector is my jurisdiction for the time being."

Tarkin was about to continue when Sanju interrupted him. "I'm a busy man, governor. Kindly get to the point."

Biting back slight annoyance, the grand moff explained, "I am to be named emperor regent very shortly. I wanted to ensure that Imperial Center was secure for the transition."

Sanju crossed his arms, his brow furrowing both in confusion and surprise. "Emperor regent? What happened to Palpatine?"

"It'll be announced in the senate session today," Tarkin waved a dismissive hand. "You'll know the circumstances then. I still need your reassurance, however."

Sanju watched him for a long time, his expression stony. From what Tarkin could gather, the man didn't seem happy about this new predicament, and he looked fairly suspicious too. However, he also seemed careworn, and eventually he sighed. "What happens to the throne is way above my paygrade. If the senate approves of your authority, then fine. I'm just here to keep law and order in this city; the rest of the galaxy is your concern."

"As it should be," Tarkin agreed, and he saw the chief stiffen slightly. The grand moff then sized the chief up. "You seem like a dedicated officer, Sanju. I trust I can count on you, no matter the circumstances?"

The chief walked around his desk slowly, not taking his eyes off the grand moff. When he stopped directly in front of Tarkin, he lowered his voice. It wasn't quite a growl, but was certainly close enough. "I already said: my only concern is maintaining peace in the city. Not your issues or anybody else's. If something happens in my jurisdiction, I will deal with it accordingly. No one is immune to the law."

Tarkin wasn't quite sure to take that as a reassurance or a threat, but one point was evident: Sanju didn't care about all the political maneuvering occurring. Tarkin couldn't sway the man to his side, but nobody else could, either. That would have to be good enough.

Then that was it. Imperial Center was secure. Nodding, Tarkin left the office without another word, his mind already moving to his next objective. Otoren had already spoken to his high justices, and the majority was in favor of Tarkin's ascension as emperor regent. The hairs on the back of the grand moff's neck rose in anticipation just hearing the title. _Emperor regent._ If only he could eliminate the regent part; then he would truly be where he wanted to be, where he _deserved_ to be.

Of course, in order for the regent part to be removed he needed Vader, dead or alive. If the boy was alive, it would only take a little convincing; Tarkin was fairly certain Vader had no desire to rule.

The grand moff's stomach churned. _If the boy is dead…_ he shook his head. He couldn't let himself think about it. It was out of his hands until Intelligence could get solid information. He wouldn't let himself worry. He _wouldn't_.

Did he even need to worry?

Tarkin slowed his pace, slightly taken aback at the thought. It hadn't really occurred to him, but Vader's usefulness was… almost gone now. After all, the mere threat of his presence had done the trick to get Tarkin to this point, had allowed him to become emperor regent. If Intelligence suddenly discovered that Vader was dead, Tarkin would take the throne as his own. It would be official, legal. It would be indisputable.

Tarkin didn't need Vader anymore.

The grand moff shook his head. No, no, he _did_ need the boy… everyone knew there would still be those who challenged his authority, such as Rhaegon and his mother. Vader would help him… right? He would listen to Tarkin's orders, he would eliminate any threats and step down from the throne… right?

_Right?_

What state was the boy in now? Palpatine had been everything to him; his obedience had been paramount, it had superseded everything, including his love for Senator Amidala. Was he an empty shell now, useless? Was he even worth saving?

_Of course he is!_ Tarkin mentally scrambled to find a rational reason why he should keep the boy around. Vader would be his second-in-command. The boy knew how to handle the military; he could continue with that. Tarkin would give him everything he needed, everything he _wanted_. The grand moff wasn't a particularly sentimental man, but even he figured the boy deserved that much. He just had to tame the other half of that problem, and he had to ensure Vader returned in one piece.

Did he even need the other half of that problem?

There were so many new issues to address, and the grand moff felt suddenly overwhelmed. Tarkin resumed his walk with increased gusto, heading towards the speeder that had taken him to CorSec headquarters. He would go to the palace and remain there, watching the fallout in the senate from afar. He would prepare his fleets and have his eyes and ears everywhere. He would think this through. He would have the time then.

He was quickly running out of time, though. As soon as the news of Palpatine's death hit the senate's ears, as soon as it flooded HoloNet… the dam would break free.

Intelligence had to find that base. They had to find Vader. He still needed Vader…

Didn't he?

* * *

It was early in the morning as Erwyna pored through the feeds Okima'yak had provided last night. Senator Tlenden had already left for the morning session, so she was alone in the den with a cup of water in her hand. The sleep had helped her injuries immensely, and she barely felt any pain in her arm. Her ribs were another matter, but she ignored the stiffness as she searched intently for any trace of a handmaiden in the footage.

There was none.

HoloNet had clearly stated that a handmaiden had found her body. Why would they fabricate that? If they didn't, why would Intelligence hide it from security cameras? Or was it the other slicer? It didn't seem likely that it would be the latter since Okima'yak had stated the other slicer only tampered with security cameras from the adjacent buildings, and there had to be _some_ point where the handmaiden would have been caught on camera… unless she flew in through the veranda, of course.

About an hour into her search, Erwyna received a transmission from one of Tlenden's aides. It was encrypted, and it provided the information about the Chommell senator's aides and handmaidens. The new senator was a male, and he brought an entirely new staff of assistants and manservants with him. Apparently there hadn't been much rearranging required, however; as Erwyna continued to scroll through the provided information, she quickly deduced that all of the previous senator's handmaidens had already left for one reason or another. At least their pictures and basic profiles were included, though.

As Erwyna accessed the files concerning the handmaidens, she quickly noticed a possible discrepancy… one that led to questionable conclusions. At the beginning of her tenure as senator, Amidala had employed three handmaidens: Sabé Janren, Cordé Swen, and Siri Naberrie. Sabé had died in a speeder accident two years into the senator's tenure at the end of last year, and she was replaced at the beginning of this year by a woman named Lek Ieru. Siri was obviously not the one who had found Amidala's body; she'd been with Erwyna. Lek and Cordé were the two candidates… but _one_ of the handmaidens had been a traitor; she'd attacked Siri, which had been the entire reason Erwyna had left for Salkende early. Cordé looked like the woman who had been with the Naberrie clan the day of the attack; she had returned to the senate dressed as the senator. She'd been the decoy who would have traveled to Salkende as well. That left Lek as the traitor.

So if Lek was the traitor, then Cordé _had_ to have been the one to find the body. Why wasn't she in the feeds, then? Even more disconcerting was the nature of Cordé's departure from service. Officially, it stated Lek had quit her job and departed Imperial space. Cordé, on the other hand, had retired from service entirely. She'd gone back to Naboo and had contracted some sort of disease; she and her whole family had died barely a few days after Amidala's funeral. That sounded way too… convenient.

The more Erwyna dug, the murkier it got. The most startling information of all was that the death certificates for Cordé's entire family were all signed by the same physician. Surely one doctor hadn't been treating all of them at once? There were eight people in her family. There _had_ to be other healthcare professionals caring for them as well.

Erwyna had been in enough black ops missions to know when she was staring at one.

Had Amidala known that it was coming? Was that what the shoto had been for? How did that play into all this? Erwyna pulled out the weapon, glancing at it. The more she looked at the hilt now, the more it looked eerily familiar, and she realized that the design was very closely based off of Vader's lightsaber.

Erwyna's stomach churned. She didn't like this.

What had Cordé seen that had gotten her killed? Was it Intelligence, or was it the other slicer? How did Vader play into all this? Obviously the shoto had to be related to him somehow; every wielder of a weapon personalized their tools, and if the shoto bore a similar design to his lightsaber, then it was likely he was the one who had designed it in the first place. Had Amidala stolen it from him? Had he given it to her? Why would either be the case? How did it fit into everything else she was finding? It _had_ to be important; Amidala had ensured with her dying breath that it reached Éothen.

Erwyna's heart stopped in realization. Had _Vader_ been the one to kill Amidala? Was _that_ her purpose in sending the shoto?

But what about Cordé? Had she realized Vader was the culprit? Was Intelligence worried she would place the blame on the actual murderer instead of letting the galaxy think it was the Alliance? Was that all it had been?

_But why was she cut from the security footage?_

This still didn't make sense. Even if Vader had been the killer, even if Cordé had _witnessed_ the act, something still didn't fit. Who was the other slicer? Why would someone _separate_ from Intelligence be involved in this operation? How much did the Imperials actually know?

Erwyna paused the security feed on an image during the first day. Cordé was already dressed as Senator Amidala, heading back to the senate as a decoy.

A _decoy_.

The lieutenant felt her blood run cold, and she suddenly frantically searched through the footage again as if the handmaiden would magically appear. After sifting through _everything_ at least five times, the latest conclusion that had taken root seemed all the more likely, and it left Erwyna even more frantic than before.

Cordé looked just like Amidala with a little touch up. She'd been the senator's decoy. She was never in the footage. She was officially declared dead days after the senator's funeral. One of the handmaidens was a traitor.

…

Was Amidala even really dead?

* * *

_Beep… beep… beep…_

Poke.

She groaned. Everything ached so much…

Poke.

"Not now, Vader," she grumbled, swatting at the air. "I thought we finished with hide and seek…"

_Vader._

Padmé Amidala's eyes opened abruptly. Her vision was blurry for a few seconds before she could focus. She was lying on a bed in a white hospital gown. A medical droid stood beside her, prodding around her abdomen.

Where was she? How did she get here? What had happened? Where was everyone? Why did everything hurt? What the blazes was going on? Padmé nearly hyperventilated as all these questions bombarded her mind and she could only scramble and stumble to answer them. Everything seemed to be a blur, her emotions were all over the place, and blast it all her body _hurt_, especially where that blasted droid was touching.

"Please calm yourself," the droid said in a monotone.

Padmé managed to catch her breath. "Where am I?"

The droid didn't answer. Instead, it grabbed a bacta patch. Padmé propped herself on her elbows only to find her arms too weak to hold her weight. With a groan she collapsed against the pillow. Why was she in a hospital gown? Why was she hurt?

"_I love you… but I loved him first."_

He… he'd _shot her_. Vader had _shot_ her.

Padmé exhaled heavily, unable to move, to think, to breathe.

_He'd shot her._

Why? _Why?!_

A second later, Padmé gasped, her lungs hungrily filling with air. Her chest burned. Her heart drummed in her chest. She was shot. She'd been shot. She was on Imperial Center. Where was she now? How did she get here? Who brought her here? How long had she been out?

Where were Obi-Wan and Siri?

"Where am I?" Padmé whispered before her panic manifested itself. Adrenaline surged through her and she pushed down on the bed with her elbows once more. This time she managed to sit up, and she glared at the droid. _"Where am I?"_

The medical droid ignored her, finishing its task. Padmé tried to grab it, but her strength was quickly fading. Just as she reached for its arm she felt her abdomen scream in protest and she fell back, paralyzed by pain and despair.

_Why, Vader? Why?_

"Obi…" she muttered, and then she passed out.

* * *

**Hope you liked it. :) How's the pacing, by the way? (Sorry I keep asking that; I'm a little paranoid about it since I don't have a great track record in that department...) **


	40. Emperor Regent

**Sorry for the wait, school is school. Enjoy! :)  
**

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_The sun shone brightly, warming the city. Enormous crowds had already gathered outside the palace, cheering excitedly. He could hear them just beyond the large stairs leading to the plaza. He stood in the shadows, their calls echoing in his mind, feeling giddy with anticipation and joy and nervousness all at once._

_And then he saw her._

_Padmé stood in her new regalia, her face covered in the elaborate makeup used by the elected monarchs of Naboo. She wore a red gown and a massive headdress. The ensemble made her look so much older, so mature… but all he could see was the anxiety in her eyes, the twitch in her painted fingers, and the small gasps of air._

_All he could see was his baby sister._

_Nineteen-year-old Obi-Wan stepped out from behind a pillar as Padmé stared out into the plaza below, just outside of the crowd's view. The sun lit up her entire body as if a massive spotlight were trained on her. Her handmaidens hadn't arrived yet, but they would join her soon._

"_Are you okay?" he asked quietly so as not to startle her._

_Despite his attempt, Padmé still jumped, though she didn't face him; she seemed too scared she would mess up her headdress somehow or trip over her elaborate outfit. She barely turned her head, just enough to see him._

_Obi-Wan did his best to hide a smirk of amusement, but his sister saw it anyway. "Oh, shut up. I already heard it from Siri – she said I'd get brain damage for wearing something this heavy… I'm kind of starting to agree with her."_

_Obi-Wan laughed and then coughed to cover it as his sister grew all the more indignant. "I'm sure there's some grand tradition to it all."_

"_There is, actually," Padmé replied. She looked like she wanted to move but was still too uncomfortable in her new regalia to do so._

_Smiling, Obi-Wan approached her and walked in front of her, blocking the bright sun from her eyes. She gazed up at him, her face filled with happiness and terror all at once, filled with so much excitement, determination, and wonder. Obi-Wan was happy for her… but he was scared, too. He was so blasted scared._

"_I'm very proud of you," he said seriously, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Enjoy today. You've earned it."_

_His sister smiled sweetly. "Thanks. Do you… do you think I'll make a good queen?"_

"_Assuming you listen to your far wiser brother, yes," Obi-Wan answered, his eyes twinkling._

_Padmé scrunched her nose in reply, and Obi-Wan chuckled. She retorted, "And where will I find my far wiser brother when I need advice? Smooching with his girlfriend in the gardens?"_

_Obi-Wan blushed. "That was _once_!"_

_His sister smiled mischievously, annoying him. Cheeky little princess. No… not a princess anymore. Obi-Wan felt the nervousness return, and he tightened his grip on his fourteen-year-old sister's shoulders. "Padmé… you have your heart in the right place. You always have. Just… be careful. Promise me you'll be careful."_

_Padmé's smile diminished, and she grew somber. Nodding, she said, "I promise."_

_Obi-Wan felt warmth envelop him, hotter than anything that the sun could provide. He knew she'd keep her promise. Padmé was so young, too young to be taking on the mantle of queen. She wasn't the youngest to ever rule, but… he worried about her. He knew she'd say he worried too much, but honestly Padmé seemed to be the only one who _wasn't _concerned. Their parents, Sola… even Siri was anxious. But he trusted his sister. He knew she'd listen to him, and her words were all the reassurance he needed. He leaned forward, kissing her tenderly on the forehead._

_Padmé gasped slightly, pulling back. "Obi! You'll ruin my makeup!"_

_Obi-Wan couldn't stop the bark of a laugh that escaped his lips. Then he smirked reassuringly, stepping away from her. "Oh don't worry – I'll just be walking around with white lipstick is all."_

"_But what if there's a kiss mark or something?"_

"_A kiss mark?" Obi-Wan repeated, thoroughly entertained. "Sweet sister, that has an entirely different name… and you typically don't find it on someone's face."_

_Padmé stared at him blankly, completely lost and oblivious. Obi-Wan reveled in it. Growing annoyed, she shoved him slightly. "You're making fun of me."_

_Obi-Wan looked behind his sister to see the handmaidens approaching. He locked eyes with Siri, who nodded as if to ask if Padmé was ready. Obi-Wan tipped his head in reply, and then he looked at Padmé once more. "Perhaps, but it is a brother's prerogative."_

"_I could have you arrested, you know," Padmé challenged, though the threat was greatly reduced when she giggled._

"_There's no law against being an irritating sibling. In fact, I dare say the laws of nature insist upon such behavior."_

_Padmé groaned. Her handmaidens lined up around her, and a noble approached, preparing to present her to the people. Obi-Wan backed away, smiling brightly and giving his sister every reassurance he could. She composed herself wonderfully—and so quickly, too—and closed her eyes for a second. In the next moment, she walked to the top of the stairs and the crowd's cheers soared through the air._

The cold bit at his ears and nose, but the rest of his body was strangely warm. His back felt stiff, and he sensed his wife's presence beside him. Exhaling deeply, Obi-Wan opened his eyes, pushing the stray dream and memory away. He used to feel some sort of pain or ache when he had such memories dredged up, but lately it only left him empty and drained.

"You okay?"

Obi-Wan twisted in the small bed to look at his wife, who apparently was already awake, a data pad in her hand. Judging from the circles under her eyes, she might not have slept at all.

"I think the better question is are _you_ okay?" Obi-Wan rebutted softly.

"I… couldn't sleep," she muttered, looking away. "What you said about Vader and Padmé… I kept wondering what she went through that night. If she really did love him, what did she feel when he pulled a blaster on her? Scared? Betrayed? Did she even have time to feel anything?"

"Siri… it's best not to dwell on it," Obi-Wan remarked, though he would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about such scenarios before he'd known who the actual killer was.

"Yeah, yeah," Siri sighed, sitting up slightly and leaning against the pillows. "But it just wouldn't let me sleep."

Obi-Wan was tempted to argue that she needed her rest, but he knew it was pointless; it wasn't as if Siri herself wasn't aware of the fact. She would sleep when she could clear her mind. Instead, he motioned to the data pad. "What are you reading?"

"What's left of the Jedi archives," Siri answered, scrolling through the contents. "I've never been a huge academic, but reading about the history of the Jedi Code is… interesting."

"Really?" Obi-Wan asked as he twisted his back to get the kinks out. He wasn't particularly invested in the conversation but he was willing to humor her.

"There was an earlier form of the code," Siri explained, looking at her husband.

Obi-Wan inherently sensed her exhaustion, her pain. The thought of what Padmé had endured hadn't just been keeping her up; it had been eating her alive.

"Siri…" he began carefully, touching her hand in concern.

His wife knew what he was going to say before he could ever find the right words to say it. She pulled her hand away coldly, suddenly agitated. "I can't be angry at Darth Vader because it's against being a Jedi. Because he's apparently too screwed up to blame, which is—I don't know, I mean I _get_ that he's this shell of _nothing_ but—but _blast it_ that doesn't change the fact that he still _chose_ to kill Padmé, he wasn't _programmed_ to do it and couldn't stop himself, and I don't give a _damn_ about his age; you can be as shocked as you want about his age and skill, but we've been considered adults since we were twelve years old, so that isn't an excuse. But no—Jedi aren't allowed to hate, and I don't want revenge… just _justice_. But I can't hate him. I won't hate him. Jedi aren't allowed to.

"I can't even be _angry_ about it, feel _frustrated_ over what's happened. It's pointless, right? I can't think about how I could have fixed the situation, I can't imagine how I could have done _something_ because Jedi don't deal in what-if scenarios. And I can't mourn Padmé either – it isn't the Jedi way to mourn the dead. We're supposed to rejoice for them because they dissolve into nothingness, which is a kriffing _stupid_ belief to have, by the way.

"No, I can't feel anything, I have to move on… but every godsforsaken time I _try_ to move on some new development comes up that drags us back to her! I felt some _pity _for that man and then I find out he's the one who _killed _her! We have her killer in a cell!

"And she _loved_ him! She was such a poor idiot to fall in love with _Darth Vader_, to want to _help_ him, and now _Qui-Gon_ is doing the same damn thing! This isn't about getting information, this isn't about using him to help the Alliance… this is about _fixing him_, and you and I both know that you can't _fix_ somebody—they have to help themselves!"

"Qui-Gon wants me to gain his trust so we _can_ get information from him," Obi-Wan tried to argue, though even he knew how hollow his words were; he himself had suspected by now that Qui-Gon was trying to convert Vader over to the Light Side. It wasn't… a terrible prospect, he supposed, and it could still serve a purpose, but…

"Qui-Gon doesn't even know him! Has never dealt with him apart from beating him in battle!" Siri rebutted, stiffening. The air in the room seemed to move as if a wind was stirring up, and Obi-Wan sensed it was Siri's impact on the Force around her.

Just like Vader…

Feeling his heart rate rise, Obi-Wan placed his hand on Siri's shoulder, trying to calm her. "Siri, please, don't get angry."

"Or what?" his wife nearly yelled. "The Dark Side will come like some bogeyman and kidnap me?"

Despite his best efforts, Obi-Wan felt his own ire begin to rise. "You've _sensed_ the Dark Side, Siri. You've felt it around Palpatine, around Vader. You _know_ it exists."

"I never said it didn't." Siri shook her head, at least managing to lower her voice, though her frustration was still clear in her fierce eyes. "But I've gotten angry before. So have you. We've felt passion before. We've loved, we've _lived_. Does that make us Sith?"

"We didn't have _training_," Obi-Wan stressed. "We weren't aware of our ability to use the Force. That knowledge alone makes us _dangerous_ without discipline. I can already sense it in _you_."

"What difference does it make that we _know_ we can use the Force?" Siri demanded.

"Siri, you _wanted_ to be a Jedi," Obi-Wan said, trying a different tactic as he steadily lost his patience.

"I wanted to defend those who couldn't defend themselves," Siri nodded. "I wanted to help those in need. I wanted to bring down the Empire."

"Jedi are keepers of _peace_. The only reason they fight is because they have no other choice." Obi-Wan said curtly. "Have you learned nothing over the past few weeks?"

Siri shot to her feet. "At least I'm _questioning_ it! You just bow down and lick Qui-Gon's boots! You take everything he says at face value!"

"_I_ was the one who was _reluctant_ to join the Order." Obi-Wan said, his voice growing sharp. "You were all too eager to join their ranks, to be able to run around the galaxy swinging a lightsaber without knowing what it even _meant_. We both accepted the responsibility of being Padawans. We cannot pick and choose our beliefs, Siri. If we are to be Jedi, then we must _live_ as _Jedi_. We're too powerful and too dangerous to do anything else. You can _kill_ people with your power, do you even _understand _that? Do you _want_ to become Vader?"

Siri flinched as if something he'd said had cut to her core, but her brow remained furrowed in defiance. "I _won't_ become Darth Vader."

Obi-Wan watched his wife long and hard. For the first time in his life he felt a sickening fear grip him like no other; the fear of losing one's life or losing a loved one didn't compare to the sheer terror of watching a loved one become something _grotesque _and _twisted_. He had faith in his wife, but saying she could handle this herself was as foolish as saying she was perfect… it was as foolish as the assumption he'd made with Padmé.

"Really?" he asked quietly.

Both spouses remained silent for a long moment, their eyes boring into each other's souls. The Force was thick with tension, and the friction caused the hair on the back of Obi-Wan's neck to stand up. He felt his insides freeze like they had when he was with Vader, but he knew it was from his own cold resolve rather than from anything Siri exuded. His bond with his wife was thin all of a sudden, unconsciously clamped shut by both parties.

Siri closed her eyes, sighing heavily, and the tension ebbed away. "Obi, I'm a lot of things… but I will never be a Sith. I may get angry. I may even have the urge to kill the man who murdered my best friend. But I will _never_ act on it. I won't give in to any of the temptations… but you can't deny the fact that there _are_ temptations. I'm not an island. I'm not a droid. I _feel_ just as much as anyone else. Surely they can _understand_ that, and if not them… you can."

"No one ever said Jedi can't feel," Obi-Wan shook his head, walking towards her. "Everyone has emotions, but it is a Jedi's responsibility to _release_ those emotions, to not let them dictate their actions."

"No." Siri immediately replied. "No. They've forgotten their _own_ history."

Obi-Wan paused in mid step, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I told you, I was researching the Jedi Code," Siri explained. As she did so, the Force finally settled into its usual gentleness, lapping around the couple and intertwining them with soft tendrils built over years of interaction, years of laughter, adventure, concern, and love. "The code didn't used to be phrased the way it is. It used to say _emotion, yet peace._ _Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony. Death, yet the Force._ It used to _acknowledge_ that we're _people_."

Obi-Wan was silent, marveling at the discovery. It was a mild alteration from the modern Code, but it was _massively_ different, just as Siri had noted. It sounded like something Qui-Gon would say, but certainly not any of the other Jedi he'd met.

"Why would they change it?" he asked softly.

Siri shook her head. "I don't know. But _this_… I can live by _this_. Not that emotionless rhetoric they spout. We _have_ lived by this already. Emotion, yet peace: we have emotions, but we don't let them control us. Ignorance, yet knowledge: we realize we don't know everything, so we strive to learn more. Passion, yet serenity: we have passions, but when the time comes to get to work, we don't let them get in the way, we don't let them affect the job. Chaos, yet harmony: there's no denying that where there are people, there is chaos… but we strive to bring harmony to it. Death, yet the Force: people die; always have and always will. But the Force lives on, and we have to hold on to that realization."

Obi-Wan exhaled slowly through his nose, stroking his growing beard. He wasn't sure what to say.

"I never said I was angry," Siri finally sighed, sitting on the bed once more. "I just wanted to vent, I just wanted to point out that I am kriffing _trying_ but the Jedi are one extreme and the Sith the other… and I can't be an extreme. I'm _me_, and I can try to adjust that as best as possible to fit my new responsibilities, but I can't be some _droid_. And I _don't understand_ what we're doing with Vader."

"All we're doing right now is getting him to trust us," Obi-Wan eventually said softly, growing worn out once more at the prospect. He slowly sat beside his wife.

"For what purpose?"

Obi-Wan stared at his hands tiredly. "I… suppose to help him."

Siri scoffed, burying her face in her hands.

"If he could be turned he would be a valuable asset," Obi-Wan suggested.

"That's the biggest _if_ I've ever heard."

"Siri, I don't know what to tell you. Originally this was to figure out why he was listening to me, to figure out if we could use it to our advantage, but—"

"So _order_ him to tell you what we need to know!" Siri interrupted. "Positions of Imperial bases, fleets, who to hit next, where all the VIPs are, anything, _everything_!"

"I told you last night that he wouldn't do so—he's too…" Obi-Wan shook his head, gesturing with his hands to find the right word. "Broken. The only time I seem to get genuine reactions out of him is when I accidentally _upset_ him. _That_ is why I have to earn his trust."

"So he can be Qui-Gon's pet project," Siri muttered darkly.

"Siri, if our choices can lead us to the Dark Side, then surely they can lead us _from_ it and into the Light, right?" Obi-Wan offered, trying to justify his own actions while also defending their master; the man had to know what he was doing. He was far more experienced than them, had endured more than them, had been a Jedi Master for decades… Obi-Wan wasn't _blindly_ following him as Siri had suggested earlier; he just acknowledged the man had more wisdom than he did. He respected that. He _chose_ to listen to Qui-Gon… even if he did question some of the man's decisions and motives. He wasn't foolish enough to not notice the Jedi Master's near obsession over the Sith, but he couldn't let that taint his own view on the matter. "Given his circumstances, I doubt he was ever offered that choice."

"You think _Padmé_ didn't offer him that choice?" Siri snapped.

Obi-Wan sighed, mulling it over. Slowly, he reasoned out, "Padmé… was always running headfirst into a problem. She wasn't completely foolhardy, but when her emotions became involved… she didn't think it through, Siri. She didn't think it through. How can anyone expect a man to overcome however many years of brainwashing he endured over the course of a few weeks?"

"So what you're saying is it'll take us _years_ to get through to him?" Siri surmised, crossing her arms.

_Force, I hope not._ "I'm saying it will take more time than she had. Padmé already laid the foundation; Vader listens to me because of her, after all. We just need to work with that."

"So that's her legacy, then," Siri remarked. "That's why she had to die."

"I'm not going to philosophize as to why she had to die," Obi-Wan shook his head, getting his bearings in this dizzying conversation. "I'm simply saying that Vader's behavior is a result of her actions. We can _respect_ her legacy by continuing her work."

Siri looked him in the eye for a few seconds. "You don't like this idea, do you?"

Obi-Wan looked away, unable to maintain eye contact. Their bond rippled, and his uncertainty no doubt trickled into his wife's mind. "I have my reservations… but it's not my decision to make. Padmé started it, and wiser people than I think we can finish it. And even if they don't… it's pointless to _not_ try – no one else can speak with him. He'll rot in there unless we do something, and then no one will benefit."

Siri sighed slowly, leaning her head on his shoulder. She slipped her hand into his, squeezing it.

"We need to be on the same side, Siri," Obi-Wan said quietly, closing his eyes and feeling his wife's presence beside him. He could faintly sense his youngling too; the baby's signature was growing stronger every day.

"I know," Siri acknowledged, giving his hand another squeeze. "I know."

The couple remained this way for what felt an eternity. Obi-Wan basked in the peace around him, allowing his wife's presence to carry him through the currents of the Force without a care. Buzzing noises of life forms drifted just outside of the perimeter of his consciousness, barely white noise in the background, but as time passed they grew steadily louder, garnering his attention. Obi-Wan opened his eyes and stood. He had to go.

"You heading to the detention block?" Siri asked softly.

"No," he replied. "I need to clear my head. I'm going to train for a little while."

He felt her smile. "I'm surprised you aren't going to meditate."

"As I recall, that's _your_ assignment," Obi-Wan fired back with a twinkle in his eye.

"I haven't forgotten," Siri said in a tone that denoted slight exasperation and amusement. "I'm aware that my actions yesterday weren't exactly the best, even if Vader deserved a good beating."

"Don't forget to sleep. I've heard it's important, you know." Obi-Wan added.

Siri stood and walked over to face him. "I won't. I need the energy to babysit you and our daughter."

"Still convinced it's a girl, I see."

"It _is_ a girl."

"I won't argue the point."

"Smart man."

Obi-Wan huffed in good humor and Siri smiled, hugging him briefly. As soon as she released him she sat on the bed, getting ready to meditate for a while.

Obi-Wan headed to the refresher, cleaning himself up and dressing for the day. He sought out Qui-Gon first, sensing the man's reassuring presence through the Force. Following it, Obi-Wan wandered into one of the hangars retrofitted into a training area for the Jedi. There was a good number of initiates, Padawans, and Knights already there training; Obi-Wan glanced at his chronometer and noticed with surprise that it was almost noon.

"Good morning, Padawan," Qui-Gon greeted, approaching him.

"Master, forgive my tardiness," Obi-Wan immediately said with a small bow.

Qui-Gon gave him a warm smile. "It's all right, Obi-Wan. Yesterday was a very long day; I myself only just arrived."

_Yes, yesterday was indeed a long day… and this morning equally long. _Obi-Wan pushed the thought aside.

Qui-Gon guided Obi-Wan through some katas and then watched him spar with other Padawans. After about an hour, though, his master paused his training session.

"It's time you speak with Darth Vader," he said.

Well, he supposed he could only avoid the inevitable for so long. Resigning himself to his fate, Obi-Wan bowed and departed. He was starving, having skipped breakfast, so he figured that would be a good starting point. Heading to the mess hall, Obi-Wan grabbed some brunch for both himself and Vader; he doubted the guards had brought the Sith Lord any food.

Obi-Wan passed freely into the viewing area outside the cell, and the guards moved aside for him to enter. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside. Vader was sitting on the floor, leaning against the back wall. The jacket Obi-Wan had provided was still around his shoulders. He looked worse for wear, unnaturally pale and somehow hollow, as he had been last night. The air was still chillier than anywhere else in the base, but it somehow warmed a little when the Sith looked up. The room was beginning to smell; Vader was provided a small toilet but no shower, and the strong scents of sweat, blood, bacta, and burnt flesh permeated the air.

Obi-Wan coughed a little and prodded the Force, sensing some anguish but mainly… nothing. The room was filled with Vader's presence, but he couldn't really pinpoint any particular emotion or sensation to it. He was just… existing. A bit of dread filled the pit of his stomach, and some sort of urgency led him to walk over to the boy.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

Vader stared at him bleakly.

Obi-Wan sat across from him, placing the food on the ground between them. The Sith Lord's eyes fell upon the food but he didn't move a muscle, slumped against the wall.

Well, this was starting just like last night. Would he have to get the man riled up again? He didn't want to constantly pick fights with him.

"You have to eat," Obi-Wan insisted, pushing the food towards Vader.

"Why?" Vader slurred, his eyelids half closed. He still wasn't moving.

"You need the energy."

"Why?"

Obi-Wan bit his tongue, closing his eyes and calming himself. This Sith was more aggravating today than yesterday. Or perhaps Obi-Wan just had less patience for him today; it probably had something to do with the fact that he no longer feared him (at least to the degree he had before)… and all the headache he and Siri both had to endure simply due to the Sith Lord's presence.

"You need food to survive, Vader. You _know_ that." He said slowly.

Vader remained silent. The Force tingled slightly, trickling through Obi-Wan's mind like melting ice, and then the air grew immensely colder.

Growing slightly desperate, Obi-Wan latched onto the Force. He focused all his energy on Vader's mind, but not on reading his thoughts. Instead, he waved his hand, saying, "You _will_ eat."

Vader blinked slowly, not looking impressed in the slightest.

"Oh just eat the blasted meal," Obi-Wan grumbled as he picked at his own brunch.

"Mind tricks only work on the weak minded."

Looking at the man, Obi-Wan noted that Vader had barely moved, but he at least looked more alert. Lowering his utensil, he fixed the Sith with a stern gaze. "Perhaps you can demonstrate being a strong willed intelligent person, then, by _eating your breakfast_."

For a brief second the Jedi Padawan marveled at the situation: he was lecturing Darth Vader. Then he decided that didn't matter; the boy needed to get food in his system. He looked starved.

Blast… it was surprisingly nice having something to focus on apart from the generic concepts of the war and training. Perhaps that was why Obi-Wan was willing to defend Qui-Gon's wish to interact with the Sith apart from pure practicality's sake. It was at least a more concrete goal than 'win the war.' And it was something he himself could do - not just sit around and wait or learn katas that, while Obi-Wan knew their practical applications, he wouldn't be able to use for a long time, if at all.

Blast, he was starting to think like Siri... but not having something to do was dangerous, given it would allow him far too much time to contemplate matters as of late.

Darth Vader continued to maintain eye contact with Obi-Wan for a few seconds more before he finally shifted, slowly reaching forward. His hands were trembling as he grabbed some food and took a small bite. Obi-Wan assumed it was mostly due to the cold, but it was likely the boy was weak from hunger as well; he'd spent quite a bit of energy over the past couple of days…

"You know I hadn't realized how late it was when we spoke last," Obi-Wan remarked as he watched the boy eat. "It was almost three in the morning."

"It's been thirty hours since Master died."

Obi-Wan looked at him curiously, mentally noting his address of Palpatine. "You've been keeping track of the time?"

The Force swirled harshly, winding the Jedi as Vader snapped, "It's not like I have anything else to do!"

Obi-Wan managed to catch his breath and then glanced at the unstable Sith. The man's eyes were fierce, and his expression was one of hatred and frustration. So it was back to the mood swings, then. Terrific. How the blazes did Qui-Gon exude such peace through the Force? How could Obi-Wan use it to his advantage?

Wait. He didn't need that. Obi-Wan knew what Vader was enduring; he himself had been dealing with it for weeks, and he was only just finding a way to cope now. The Imperial needed something to do.

It was beyond ironic (and just a little messed up) that Obi-Wan of all people was helping him through that kind of pain.

"You spoke earlier about mind tricks," he started carefully. "What other Force techniques do you know about?"

Vader's glare softened, and his expression grew neutral. He examined Obi-Wan for a minute, trying to gauge what he was doing. Then apparently he just decided he didn't care. "A lot."

Obi-Wan gave him an exasperated look. "Care to elaborate on that?"

"I thought you were being trained as a Jedi," Vader noted suspiciously, his eyes narrowing.

"Surely there are some… tricks that both Jedi and Sith utilize." Obi-Wan suggested as innocently as he could.

The Sith watched Obi-Wan for a few seconds, and then some sort of change occurred within the boy. Vader straightened, closing his eyes. The Force chilled to the point that Obi-Wan began to shiver, but then it eased off as if Vader had pulled it into himself. The temperature of the room started to match the rest of the base, and the man suddenly looked like the picture of calm itself. He held his breath for a few seconds, making Obi-Wan nervous, and then he relaxed, opening his eyes.

Obi-Wan felt a shiver run down his spine. Vader's eyes up to this point had been stormy or had carried the promise of a storm, whether through oceans or volcanoes. Now they mirrored how they used to be, filled with ice and sharp enough to cut through durasteel. It was almost as if the man had pressed an emotional reset button.

His mind tingled, and his hair all over his body stood up. He felt off, violated somehow, and he suddenly recognized the sensation – when Obi-Wan and Siri had first begun to meditate, Qui-Gon had entered their minds gently with their permission in order to help them heal.

Vader was reading his mind.

"Get out," Obi-Wan warned, though there really wasn't any way he could stop him. He felt his insides churn and he stiffened, trying to imagine mental shields closing around his mind, trying to push the Sith Lord out.

"You have very little training," Vader remarked just as Obi-Wan felt blessed release from the Sith's vicelike mental hold.

A slight twinge of annoyance and a trickle of fear slivered through Obi-Wan; he didn't really need a _reminder_ as to how vulnerable he was in this situation.

Vader held up his hand, and in it sat Obi-Wan's lightsaber.

The Jedi Padawan shot to his feet, latching onto the Force in a knee-jerk reaction, but he wasn't sure what his next move should be.

"Summon it back." Vader ordered calmly.

What? Why was he doing this? "What are you playing at, Vader?"

Darth Vader watched him silently, seemingly unable to answer his question. Instead, he moved his hand a little, repeating his order without saying a word.

Watching the Sith carefully, Obi-Wan slowly lowered his gaze to his lightsaber once more. Grasping the Force, he stretched out his hand, prodding his surroundings for any hint of danger. He felt nothing; Vader was a void, making ice fill the Padawan's veins just as it used to when he interacted with the Sith before Padmé's death. Warnings whispered in his mind, not from the Force, but from his own reasoning; something was very wrong with this maneuver. Bracing himself, Obi-Wan imagined the lightsaber returning to his own hand.

The hilt trembled slightly on the Sith's palm. Obi-Wan wasn't focusing too much on summoning his lightsaber so much as figuring out what Vader was up to, and both men knew it. The Sith's brow furrowed ever so slightly, and the Force fluttered with a brief flash of annoyance, though it was unclear which person it came from.

Finally putting his full effort into the task, Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut and stretched his arm further, and he felt the hilt slap into his palm so hard he jumped and nearly dropped it. Obi-Wan opened his eyes, startled, and he saw that Vader was standing now. The Jedi felt his stomach churn a little more, and he gripped the inactive hilt with both hands. He didn't know why he was suddenly nervous; the Force gave no indication of threat… but something about the Sith's sharp change in demeanor just didn't sit well with him.

"What's wrong with you?" Obi-Wan asked hesitantly, wondering if he'd even get a genuine answer.

It felt like a pressure wave had traveled through water and jostled Obi-Wan. The room swam nauseatingly, and Vader's cold demeanor morphed into something else. His eyes hardened even further, and his body tensed. "You wanted me to show you tricks. I'm doing it. You're capable of remembering what you said two minutes ago, aren't you?"

Obi-Wan didn't take the bait. Instead he measured his words carefully and watched the Sith with even more caution. "Forgive me for noticing your behavior is extremely erratic."

"I'm _fine_."

Obi-Wan had to smile at that. "Yes, you've been demonstrating that beautifully."

Vader hesitated, and the pause in the conversation gave Obi-Wan time to pick apart their interactions up to this point. The change had occurred after Obi-Wan had asked for help; was this simply Vader's way of responding? Was the Sith trying to ignore what had happened thirty hours ago in lieu of focusing on the task at hand? Or was this some sort of trick? What was going on in that shattered mess of a mind?

"I need to walk."

Alarms blared in Obi-Wan's mind as he locked eyes with the Sith. "You expect me to let you out of your cell?"

Vader watched him, his body language barely fluctuating from earlier. "You say I'm acting unusual. Walking will fix it."

"A simple walk through the base where you could escape at any moment will automatically solve all your problems?" Obi-Wan surmised, crossing his arms. "Oh yes, I'm sure you'll find it unbelievably helpful."

The corner of his mouth twitched. His muscles tightened. The Force shifted a little. "You _will_ let me walk."

Obi-Wan pondered the matter. If the Sith had an enormous escort perhaps it would work… wait, why in the blazes was he even _considering_ this? It was beyond ridiculous, beyond all logical comprehension—

Obi-Wan gawked at the man. "You—I'm _not_ some weak minded fool you can use a mind trick on!"

Vader slid to the floor sourly, grabbing his food and munching in silence.

Obi-Wan sighed, clipping his lightsaber to his belt, a little rattled and more than bemused. Dealing with this Sith would age him a decade.

"What do you need to know?"

He looked at the Sith suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

"You're keeping me alive for interrogation. That's the only reason you treated me, the only reason you brought food. What do you need to know?"

There was no logical reason Vader would give in this easily unless he was trying to get something in return. It was bizarre that the Sith didn't just use violence to get what he wanted; there was no doubt Vader could easily overpower Obi-Wan, so what was holding him back?

"_Because you're her brother."_

The Sith's pained words from last night (well… this morning, technically) echoed in Obi-Wan's mind. The only reason Vader hadn't throttled him was because of his relation to Padmé. It was surprising how much the apprentice had cared for his sister, and it made it all the more mind blowing that he was the one to _kill_ her. The wound was still fresh, and simply thinking that made Obi-Wan clench his jaw, but he held it back far better than he had during their last interaction. Obi-Wan sighed slowly, sitting on the floor in front of the Imperial.

Now that Vader had some more control over himself, he wouldn't hurt Obi-Wan because he loved Padmé too much. The Sith was instead trying to appease him. This was going to quickly evolve into a mind game where the two would attempt to outwit the other. Obi-Wan felt a smile try to creep across his face; he could play mind games. He certainly found it preferable to arguing with the man… though technically his objective was to earn the Sith's trust. But was that really possible? He already had some semblance of respect from the man due to his sister; he wasn't sure it would get much better than that.

Oh well. He supposed he could at least be amicable. But he wouldn't give in to Vader's manipulation, either – if the man wanted to play a game of wits, Obi-Wan would be the victor. It was a pity it had to boil down to this—he doubted Vader could be anything apart from a prisoner with this course of action, rather than having a chance of redemption—but the Jedi Padawan didn't find it surprising.

Testing Vader's willingness to give information, Obi-Wan asked a question he already knew the answer to. "Who is Lek Ieru?"

Vader stared at him, bemused. There was no flicker of recognition at all.

Obi-Wan furrowed his brow, a little surprised and disbelieving. "You didn't assign a spy to watch us? Or to attack Siri?"

Some sort of realization hit the young Sith Lord, and he said, "The governor wanted an infiltrator amidst Padmé's handmaidens."

"The governor?" Obi-Wan repeated blankly.

Vader watched him calmly, but his tone of voice was condescending. "Yes, the governor. I just said that."

"Perhaps you can _elaborate_," Obi-Wan pressed, mildly annoyed with the man's attitude. "Unless you'd like me to practice reading your mind, of course."

"Elaborate?"

Obi-Wan nearly rolled his eyes. "Who is the governor?"

Vader stared at him and then sighed as if the answer had been obvious. "Grand Moff Tarkin."

Tarkin. That was… not entirely unexpected. Obi-Wan knew that the grand moff and Darth Vader were often mentioned in the same breath; it seemed like whenever Vader had some sort of public appearance (and by appearance it was typically just a statement on HoloNet with images of his soldiers or fleet) that grand moff was there as well. Initially when Vader had begun to make appearances years ago many thought he was some sort or protégé of Tarkin's, or at the very least under his command. Perhaps that really was the case – why else would Vader be so familiar with him?

"So the governor sanctioned the attack on my wife," Obi-Wan surmised. "You weren't aware of it?"

Vader shook his head, his eyes downcast and his brow furrowed. He apparently was trying to figure out the motive behind it just as much as Obi-Wan was. The Jedi doubted the Sith would share his thoughts on the matter, though.

Still, Vader gave sincere answers. This was a promising venture, after all. But what would the Alliance want to know first? "Does the Empire know anything about the location of the Rebel base?"

Vader looked up at Obi-Wan and then leaned against the wall, saying nothing. The two sat in silence for a few moments before Obi-Wan asked again. When he still got no response, he questioned, "Any particular reason you're suddenly mute? You asked what we needed to know, and your answer to this question is very important."

"I already answered some questions," Vader finally said, his features unwavering. "Now let me walk."

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at his boldness. "You expect a trade? You're our prisoner."

"I can kill all of you."

"Then why don't you?" Obi-Wan already knew the answer, but he was curious if the Sith would admit it in his current state.

"You want me to?"

Blast, the man was better at twisting words than he thought. "I never said I did – I'm simply asking why you won't."

Vader didn't reply.

Obi-Wan wasn't sure how he could sustain any kind of dialogue at this point, so he stood. He'd won this round. "I'll leave you alone for a while, then."

With that said, Obi-Wan exited the cell, leaving Vader with his own thoughts.

* * *

The noonday sunlight spilled into the apartment as Tarkin stood in front of his HoloNet receiver. The afternoon senate session had yet to begin, but everyone had been advised that an important message would be announced. The pods were packed and cameras were no doubt everywhere given the amount of coverage it was receiving.

Now was the moment. Now was the time when the senate would learn of Palpatine's demise. Now was the time Tarkin would be placed in charge.

He'd considered being there for the announcement, but it was far better to watch from a distance. He would have to make a public statement of some sort in a few days, anyway, and right now he had to be close to his allies so he could prepare for retaliation. Being alone also gave him the opportunity to mull over just how… unexpectedly good and bizarre this turn of events had been. Becoming emperor had always been Tarkin's goal since the inception of the new government, but… this most certainly had not been the way he'd expected to reach it.

Was it worth it?

Tarkin almost barked a laugh at that. Of course it was, even if there was a slight headache accompanying it. Palpatine's death had to be one of the best events of Tarkin's career – the man had shared many views with the grand moff, but over the years Tarkin's desire for the throne had increased, and Palpatine had shown himself to be far more interested in getting sadistic pleasure from his cronies than actually maintaining some order in the galaxy. The Sith Master had enjoyed watching the in-fighting, had enjoyed prolonging the battle against the Alliance in order to bleed them dry. It had grown increasingly more frustrating over the years, and the final straw had been Amidala. The grand moff still marveled at Palpatine's sadism towards his own son.

Darth Vader. Tarkin wondered where the apprentice was right now. Most importantly he wondered what state the boy was in. It couldn't be a good one, to be sure, considering recent events… blast it, if only Tarkin was there _with him_ to get him through it – that would at least ensure the apprentice didn't lose his mind. It wasn't as if he'd do anyone any good if he had a complete mental breakdown.

The chatter of the senate hushed, catching Tarkin's attention. Emperor Palpatine's trusted helper, Vice Chair Mas Amedda began to speak. The slightly sour look on his face denoted his displeasure in being left out of the decision, but Tarkin hadn't trusted the man enough. He didn't know his motives well enough, and Amedda had been close to the emperor since the Clone War.

With flourishing rhetoric the vice chair slowly revealed the emperor's fate. The senate hissed with thousands of voices, and the senators shifted back and forth in their pods like angry insects.

"With Emperor Palpatine's death, the throne will go to his heir, Darth Vader," Amedda continued, unperturbed. Tarkin tensed, waiting for the next reaction. "However, Lord Vader is currently indisposed. In his stead, Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin will rule as emperor regent until Lord Vader is able."

The shouting began. Some seemed to be cheering, others showing displeasure. Arguments erupted, and the vice chancellor could no longer be heard over the din. He attempted to call for order, but whether he succeeded or not was no longer a concern; the senate was no threat. They hadn't been since they'd sold their souls to Palpatine at the end of the Clone War. Tarkin shut off the receiver.

CorSec would keep the citizens in line, and the vice chair would keep the senate in line. No one would argue with the high justices. It was officially declared; now all Tarkin had to do was meet with his allies and gauge the reactions from their enemies.

In a separate district from the palace, far below the skyline in the Drunken Dewback Cantina, Erwyna was staring at the HoloNet receiver alongside all the other patrons. She'd arrived at the cantina about an hour ago to wait for Okima'yak, who was going to bring the traffic surveillance, and she hadn't known anything about the senate announcement—she'd been a little busy thinking about her conclusions from earlier in the morning—until the bartender shushed the entire cantina to listen. At first people had paid little attention, but as soon as the man speaking had announced Palpatine's death the room had gone silent.

Erwyna had been surprised to learn that Darth Vader was the heir apparent, but it was also terrific news for the Alliance – they had far more in their favor than she'd given them credit for. If they had the emperor, they could easily use him as bait, leverage, anything of the sort. Some grand moff had been named emperor regent, though, and that was no doubt a power play that might make Vader obsolete within the eyes of the Imperial elite – or even make him a threat. Erwyna wasn't sure how the Alliance would react to this, but the citizens erupted into cheers and jeers alike. The bartender started sharing rounds on the house in honor of Palpatine's death, and Erwyna heard roars of approval outside the cantina. Craning her neck, she caught sight of the streets flooding with people. The city was going to be a massive chaotic mess.

As Erwyna raised her glass in yet another toast of celebration with the entire cantina, she noticed Okima'yak making her way through the crowd with a drink in her hand.

"Can you believe it?" she nearly yelled over the din. "That son of a Hutt got vaporized! I wonder how it happened! I thought that sack of bones would never be laid to rest!"

Erwyna laughed. "I can believe it. Did you get the footage?"

Okima'yak rolled her eyes. "You people. You're all karkin' _business_ – the emperor's _dead_, let's celebrate!"

"I'm all for celebrating," Erwyna insisted. "But I'm also all for getting this job out of the way so we _can_ celebrate."

"All right, fair enough," Okima'yak sighed as she sat across from the lieutenant. "But afterward, I'm heading out into the streets to bust up some Imp facilities; it's what everyone else is doing right now."

As Okima'yak slid the data chip across the table and Erwyna pulled out her payment, the lieutenant purposely tossed more into the money pouch in front of the slicer. Okima'yak raised an eyebrow. "Got another job for me?"

"Just one more," Erwyna said. "I need you to look up the coroner's report on Amidala."

"Traffic cams ought to tell you what you need to know, but whatever," the Twi'lek slicer shrugged, grabbing the money. "But I ain't doing it tonight. I'm going to have some fun outside."

"Fine," Erwyna rolled her eyes, inserting the chip into a data pad. "I'll contact you tomorrow for a meeting time."

"Great, see you!" Okima'yak said hastily as she downed the remainder of her drink and headed out.

The cantina was louder than it ever had been and people were steadily flowing in all the more to get a celebratory drink. Erwyna glanced around a little warily, but people were far too engrossed in their own ecstasy to care about her. She just hoped they didn't attract any Imperial attention; with her arm in a sling she couldn't really do too much to fight them, and she didn't want to explain why she had traffic surveillance of the area around Senator Amidala's apartment the morning she died.

Accessing the information, Erwyna glossed through different feeds. She recognized the speeder that had hovered over the senator's veranda, and she finally got a clear shot at the driver.

It was Vader.

Erwyna slapped the pad onto the table lightly, leaning back in irritation. This just _figured_. She could have spoken to that Sith before the Rebels interrogated him. She probably could have gotten all her kriffing answers from him… like how the hell Amidala had a weapon that was obviously designed by _him_.

What had happened at that apartment? It was fairly clear to Erwyna now that some massive cover-up had happened, and it was likely that Amidala was alive… but _why_? Everyone had assumed that Amidala's "murder" had been a warning to Salkende, to Tsograda in general… had it been for Amidala alone? Erwyna didn't really know how involved the senator was in Rebel issues, only that she _was_ involved. She had been some sort of spy for them. She must have stumbled upon something she shouldn't have… but that_ would _merit killing her, and an Intelligence operative could have easily done that. Why Vader specifically? And why go through the effort of making it look like she'd died—killing her handmaiden instead and using her for the body—if they actually needed her alive? Why _was_ she still alive (if Erwyna was really going to go with that theory)?

Erwyna supposed now the only option she had was to access Intelligence's files. That meant contacting Odeki Rubar. She'd have to wait for that; the man was on duty right now, and she wouldn't risk his cover by calling him when he was in the heart of the secret police's headquarters.

Well, she supposed she'd get another drink, then.

* * *

Blast, her abdomen hurt _so kriffing much_.

Moaning, Padmé turned onto her side, tucking her legs in a little to ease the pain, but it didn't do much, and her legs felt like lead. Opening her eyes, she saw the medical droid examining a monitor that had her vitals.

"Where am I?" she asked hoarsely. She hadn't gotten an answer from the droid last time, so she wasn't really sure why she was asking again, but it was better than nothing.

The droid ignored her.

Sighing, Padmé gritted her teeth against the pain and started to sit up. The monitor blared, and the droid turned to her.

"If you are in pain, you should remain in a supine position," it advised.

"I'd rather know what's going on," Padmé remarked, trying not to grimace at the sound of her strained voice.

When the droid didn't offer any explanation she decided she'd find her own way out of this claustrophobic room. She needed answers. _Now._

Where was Obi-Wan? Where was Siri? Had they reached Salkende safely? What the _hell_ had happened to Vader, what had made him _shoot_ her?! Was the Alliance safe? _Where was she?!_

"Please stay in—"

"No!" She interrupted loudly, growing angry and pushing the droid aside. Her legs trembled as she tried to stand, and she leaned heavily on the bed. Her abdomen felt like it was tearing apart.

"I am only programmed to look after your well-being," the droid said, standing in front of her. "I cannot answer any other questions. If you wish to get out of bed, you must have proper physical therapy. You cannot wander the compound in this state."

"Compound?" Padmé repeated, confused and elated that she'd _finally_ gotten _something_ out of the blasted bucket of bolts. So this wasn't a hospital. That wasn't much of a surprise considering the décor wasn't exactly clinical; it looked more like a guest room that had been refurbished into a hospital room, except there didn't seem to be any windows.

"Please get back in bed or take your transition to walking slowly."

Sighing, Padmé sat on the bed once more, but she didn't prop her feet up. "Fine. I'll go slowly. Help me walk around."

The droid obliged, and she took its metallic hands, letting it guide her around the room. The walk was excruciatingly slow and nearly as painful. Every step she took she felt her skin pulling at her wound. She had to stop often, exhausted and panting for air, and she tried to focus mainly on getting some strength back in her legs rather than thinking about how she'd ended up here in the first place.

It didn't last long, though.

"You can't tell me about where I am," she confirmed with the droid.

"I am only programmed to look after your well-being."

"Can you tell me about my well-being, then? What happened? What's my condition?"

"You sustained a blaster injury to the lower left quadrant of your abdomen," the droid explained. Padmé waited patiently; she obviously already knew this, but she was wondering if somehow the droid would at least reveal how long she'd been here or who had brought her here. She'd been certain she was going to die that night… so who rescued her? Was it Vader? Was this all some great ruse to fool the emperor, perhaps? She might have tipped off Palpatine at the opera…

The opera. Éothen. Salkende.

Blast it! Had the Alliance secured a deal with Salkende, or had that fallen apart after the assassination attempt? Was the Alliance even still around? She needed _answers_!

"The wound is healing well with no infection. Permanent outcomes might include some nerve damage and possible changes to your diet to accommodate more sensitive intestinal tissue."

Padmé paused, catching her breath again and taking in the information, trying not to panic over everything that was washing over her all at once. "I thought they clone tissue to ensure you make a full recovery."

"We did not have adequate facilities or an available physician for such an operation. I stabilized you and did all that I was able with the amenities provided."

No physician? So this really was being kept pretty quiet. "How long was I out? How long have I been healing?"

"I was programmed to care for you approximately eleven to twelve standard days ago."

"It's been over two weeks?!" Padmé repeated, horrified. So many things could have gone wrong in that time! "Who programmed you?"

The droid was silent.

Growling, Padmé released her grip and tried to walk towards the bedroom door, but the droid stood in her way. "Your physical therapy is still in progress. You cannot leave the room until you can walk properly and until your wound is fully healed."

"It _should_ be healed by now." She argued, desperate to get out. Could she put up a fight against the droid? It wasn't likely, particularly if the blasted thing had a sedative stowed somewhere.

"In the proper hospital setting it would have been, but this is not that setting. Please get back in bed and rest."

This was _infuriating_. This was _terrifying_. She couldn't stay here, she couldn't sit still and think about what could have happened to her family in this time, to the Alliance and Salkende, to _Vader_.

He'd kriffing _shot_ her. She still couldn't get over that. There had to be a reason. Right? He of all people would know that if he had to kill someone he would make it thorough… right?

_Right?_

Sighing in defeat, Padmé dragged herself to her bed once more. The droid checked her vitals and then walked over to the door, sitting beside it and power down. It was tempting to try to leave at that point, but now that she was back in bed she was too blasted tired to get up once more. Instead she just brooded… which was the _last_ thing she wanted to do.

Vader had been acting erratically that night… but he'd also said he'd _loved_ her. He'd kriffing _said_ it – Padmé hadn't thought he was capable of doing so (she'd certainly hoped, but she hadn't been expecting it). And then he'd _shot_ her.

Looking back, it was fairly obvious that was his intent from the beginning considering how anxious he'd been. But if he'd been anxious and he hadn't wanted to do it, then why the hell—

Palpatine.

Seething hatred and disbelief flooded her. How anyone could have screwed someone up _so much_ was beyond her. That man truly was a demon from hell. But the fact that Vader, despite the progress they'd supposedly been making, had actually _followed through_ with the order was even more astonishing. How could he have done that? _Why?_

She _knew_ why.

This was insane. This was _beyond_ insane. How could she possibly hope to ever help that man if he was so indoctrinated he would actually try to _kill_ her?! There was no changing him, no redeeming him…

But… why had he shot her in the abdomen? And, more importantly, what had he meant when he'd said _I loved him first_? Could he… could he mean _Palpatine_? Did he love _the emperor_?!

"_Love is a prison. It leaves you with everything… and nothing. And it always takes pieces of you away from yourself… until there's nothing left of you. Nothing."_

Gods above… he'd said that at Thecine. He'd _told her_ at _Thecine_ without her even _realizing_ it. But… _why_?! What in the name of all things sane would compel Darth Vader to love his master after everything that monster had done to him?!

Padmé shuddered at the thought. Despite all their time together, despite his obvious feelings for her and hers for him… he still chose his precious master first. He still thought of himself as a means to an end with no agency. Was it because she'd chosen Éothen? Was this really beyond people in general and just a matter of principles? Or had Padmé been somehow just as despicable as Palpatine? She'd viewed herself as the pawn when she'd basically sold herself to Éothen for the Alliance's sake, but was she actually the manipulator instead?

Did it really matter at this point? Was _anything_ salvageable?

And where the blazes was her family in all this?

Sighing, Padmé let the exhaustion overcome her. She needed her rest anyway; the sooner she recovered, the sooner she could figure out what the blazes was going on.

* * *

The meeting room was no longer filled with people but with holograms. Tarkin stood at the head of the table listening to reports pour in from his allies. As expected, Grand Moff Rhaegon had declared (no doubt with his mother's prompting) that Tarkin had no right to be emperor regent and that to say he did was treason. As such, Rhaegon argued that in fighting Tarkin he was simply killing a traitor. The man at least seemed intelligent enough to not publicly vie for the throne; calling Tarkin a traitor was more appealing to the crowd than calling himself the better emperor regent.

Apart from Rhaegon, a grand admiral had also turned against them, but the man actually did have the gall (or the sheer stupidity) to say that the throne should go to the military since Vader was the head of the military. The officer's backing wasn't nearly as large as Rhaegon's, however, and so he was the lesser threat, and should be dealt with first. Tarkin ordered his men to do just that and to secure primary positions, especially the Core and Mid Rim as well as numerous trade routes, assuming Rhaegon didn't claim a large piece of the Empire for himself.

"I have one last duty I must attend to as grand moff of Seswenna," Tarkin said as they were closing the meeting.

"You have to choose your successor," one of the moffs said, not really hiding the eagerness in his tone.

Tarkin hid his distaste better than the idiot concealed his own emotions. "Yes, I do, which I will handle after I've toured the oversector one last time. After that I'll return to Imperial Center and expect a full report on the situation with Rhaegon and the grand admiral. Dismissed."

The holograms fizzled into nothing, and Tarkin blew out a slightly irritated breath. He wouldn't deny that he himself had been power hungry for the throne, but it was a matter of logic and necessity. It was only right for him to become emperor – he _deserved _it, he'd _earned_ it. Fools like many of the moffs and nearly all the senators tripped around hoping the throne would somehow land in their corrupt little laps. It was revolting.

Exiting the conference room, Tarkin ordered a shuttle to be prepped. He would no doubt choose Ukoz as his successor; the young man deserved it for nominating him, and he was harmless enough and easy to control. With that matter handled, then, Tarkin only had one very important issue to solve, and he was going to Eriadu for that very purpose.

It was time to go to his estate and assess the situation for himself.

* * *

**Sneak peek for next chapter: News of Tarkin's new title reaches the Alliance (and Vader), and a confrontation occurs on Eriadu.  
**


	41. Puppet

**Thanks for all the reviews - and your patience, haha. :)**

* * *

"_Achoo!"_

Al nearly fell from his perch as his sneeze shook his entire body. Blast it he hated this cold so much… almost as much as he hated trying to repair his ship in this weather.

The _Invariant Beauty_ was a bit of a mess after the battle that had taken place a couple of days ago, but at least her engine was running at nearly full capacity. The Rebel mechanics had been kind enough to lend a hand when they could, but Al was currently on his own since the mechanics were rushing around trying to repair some broken heating units. He'd been spending most of his free time on his ship, and when he wasn't doing that he was stressing over getting supplies for the base. He'd used every contact he knew, and even then it still didn't seem to be enough; Al had been trying to space out shipments and make them as sparse and nondescript as possible so as to avoid Imperial attention because heaven knew Intelligence would be adamantly tearing the galaxy to pieces to find them after what had happened. On top of all that, the Alliance's funding was running a little thin since Mothma and Iblis were both gone and Organa had been cut off from his official accounts due to his arrest (not to mention the man was also worrying about his homeworld which was currently under occupation by Death Squadron). Salkende was smuggling supplies over but they weren't providing much monetary help, and Al was having a hard time scrounging up enough credits to maintain his own flow of aid.

And then of course there was the fact that they had the _emperor_ in a cell.

The smuggler shook his head, pondering their new prisoner. He still couldn't believe what Obi-Wan had said; how could a man murder the woman he loved? It just didn't make sense; there was _brainwashing_ and then there was _hopelessly lost cause_, and Al clearly could tell which category defined Vader. He worried whether Obi-Wan would be all right dealing with the Sith – it had been two days since the kid's capture—_kid_. Vader was a _kid_.

Well, sort of a kid. He certainly fit the bill in terms of age, but in terms of experience and ability… nineteen years old didn't quite make sense. Al had seen plenty of street urchin and criminals who were all sorts of ages – he'd even met a gang of younglings all under the age of ten who robbed local stores to get food… but most of these cases were due to _survival_, due to _necessity_.

Al sighed. He really shouldn't be surprised; he doubted Palpatine gave Vader many options. But when the blazes did he first get the guy? If Vader was nineteen _now_, and Al had been hearing horror stories about him for almost a decade, then Palpatine must have had the kid since he was at least nine, and that didn't include any amount of time required for training him. Maybe Vader came from some secret Sith organization that trained kids to be killers and Palpatine just took him? Was he the best of the batch, the most ruthless and sadistic?

Al imagined a dark training room filled with younglings clawing each other to death with the Force and he shuddered. He really hoped this particular crazy theory of his wasn't true.

Nevertheless, his biggest concern wasn't Vader so much as what the man would do to _Obi-Wan_. Qui-Gon and the Grand Master of the Order had sent Obi-Wan to talk to Vader because the Sith seemed… _neutral_ to him, which was probably the best way to put it, but Vader had _hit_ him when they'd spoken. Al hadn't had a chance to check in on the Naberrie couple (or Kenobi couple… whatever they were being called nowadays) all of yesterday because he'd been handling matters with some dealers on Nar Shaddaa, but he hadn't heard any _bad_ news around the base, so he supposed _that_ was something.

Sneezing again, Al groaned and tossed his wrench into the toolbox. "Kark it."

Giving up for the day, the Zabrak climbed down to the ground and wiped his hands on his trousers. He glanced at the damaged engine and then sighed, heading elsewhere. On top of his five thousand other concerns, he also had to ensure his only spy was still alright; he hadn't heard from Odeki Rubar since before the battle, and he wasn't sure if that was because the guy was trying to keep a low profile or if the Empire had found him. Al prayed it wasn't the latter.

Wandering into the only lab in the entire base, Al caught sight of Aya Rubar, his spy's pregnant wife and the only reason the Intelligence mechanic had agreed to help. The Human female stood at about average height with smooth brown skin, impossibly dark eyes, and thick black hair that was always half pulled up and out of her face. Her gaze was analytical, her demeanor quiet, and something about her always made Al's skin crawl. When he'd had to first smuggle her, she'd watched him the entire trip, her eyes piercing into him like knives. She obviously was the emotional stability for both herself and her husband considering how much she'd had to reassure the man before she'd boarded Al's ship, but despite her small smiles and consoling words to Odeki, Aya had been acting as if she were expecting the Rebels to try and kill her at any moment.

Maybe _she_ should have been the one working at Intelligence.

At the moment Aya didn't seem aware of Al's presence, and the smuggler was grateful for that. He actually caught a rare glimpse of her possibly acting _normal_ – she was alone in the lab at the moment, and so she had some song playing, softly singing the lyrics as she blotted something with a pipette. She'd initially been wandering the residential part of the base her first day on Hoth, but had quickly put herself to work when she saw the lab. Since then she'd been attempting to synthesize Kelathik serum for other women who faced a similar plight to her. Al would praise her for her charity and try to get compounds for her if he wasn't so nervous around her.

"_Tell me your secrets, and ask me your questions, oh let's go back to the start…"_

Al squirmed, feeling like he was intruding, but he had to interrupt. He cleared his throat, and Aya paused in the midst of her work bent over the lab bench. Stiffening, she slowly straightened and glanced at him, the pipette held in her hand like a knife.

"Do you need something?" she asked in a quiet tone.

"I…" Al took a small step towards her. "I wanted to know if your husband was okay. I hadn't heard from him… he gave us some pretty big info a couple of days ago, and I wanted to make sure Intelligence hadn't… well, you know…"

Blast it he was terrible at this.

"He's fine." She answered curtly, perhaps not quite angry, but certainly not very welcoming. "You'll probably get his next report tonight or tomorrow. He's trying to maintain a low profile considering what he gave you."

"Right." Al nodded awkwardly. Then he sighed, taking another step towards her. "I'm not… look, I'm not _trying_ to be a jerk and just use your husband, okay? I… we all have our own worries, our own problems, and I figure we can lighten the load for each other."

Aya watched him silently, her eyes searching for something. Al had dealt with enough criminals over the years to recognize mistrust when he saw it. She undoubtedly didn't trust anyone at the base, but Al supposed she'd already calculated that the Empire was the greater threat between the two factions.

"Do you need anything else?" she eventually asked.

Al watched her helplessly. "You _do_ know that we're not going to kill you or your husband or anything like that, right? I mean… we brought you here to _help_ you."

"I am helping," she replied, her voice still quiet but firm. She'd barely moved throughout the conversation while Al was swaying on his heels and constantly stepping towards and away from her. "I'm making Kelathik. Do you need anything else?"

Al sighed heavily, giving up on the endeavor. "Nah, that's… that's all."

Turning, Al walked out of the lab, confused and slightly dejected. He supposed he should be relieved that Odeki was still alive, but his inability to reach Aya was frustrating. Maybe that's how Obi-Wan felt about Vader… except at least Al didn't have to worry about Aya killing him with her mind.

"Al!"

Jumping, Al turned and saw Siri rushing towards him. His heart immediately filled with dread – had something happened to Obi-Wan? Siri didn't look terrified, but she did seem stunned or frantic somehow.

"Al, come here! You won't believe what's going on in Imperial Center!" she waved frantically for him to follow her.

Confused, Al ran after his friend, and he heard shuffling in the lab as Aya heard Siri as well. He glanced behind him and saw her trying to be as inconspicuous as possible while following them, worry flitting across her face.

Siri led them into a small lounge where several Rebels were staring at the HoloNet receiver, including Obi-Wan. Al looked at the couple, bemused, before turning his attention to what they were watching.

Almusian recognized the Chagrian in the hologram, but he wasn't sure who the guy was, only that he was someone of importance in the senate; he'd been there ever since the days of the old Republic. As Al finally listened in, he heard the man speaking about Palpatine's death. He glanced at Siri confusedly. What was the big shocker? It wasn't like they weren't aware of Palpatine's death… they'd _caused_ it.

"As emperor regent, Wilhuff Tarkin will ensure the safety and security of our empire until Lord Vader is able."

Al felt the mouth go slack. They'd already gotten a replacement? That had been way too kriffing fast… Al had expected some infighting before they turned their claws on the Alliance again. He felt like his job had just gotten a million times harder within the span it took the Chagrian to speak.

"So we've got a new face to our enemy," one of the soldiers muttered.

"That was awfully quick," Siri remarked, looking at Al and Obi-Wan worriedly.

Obi-Wan, however, was contemplating something, his brow furrowed. Before either Al or Siri could prompt him, he stepped away from the receiver slowly, his eyes clouded, and he exited the room, leaving them behind. He didn't even notice Siri's questioning remark, didn't sense her confusion and concern, hadn't even realized Al was standing behind him.

_Tarkin_ had become the new leader. The man was some sort of close colleague to Vader, or some sort of superior, so how would the Sith Lord react to this? Was this part of the plan, or was Tarkin making a power play? It was likely the latter – Obi-Wan doubted there was anyone in the highest ranks of the Empire with a shred of decency in them.

He wasn't even sure why this information seemed so _important_ to his own mission. The Force swirled around him, whispering Tarkin's name repeatedly in his mind, tantalizing him with some sort of fact that he didn't know. The instant they had announced Vader to be emperor, Obi-Wan had wondered how they would explain his capture, whether they would even let the public know that much; instead the Empire had simply said he was 'indisposed.' It wasn't surprising that they'd keep it a secret; it would be bad for morale to admit that their leader was a hostage. But Obi-Wan and the rest of the Alliance had expected some sort of power vacuum to consume the Empire, distracting them and giving the Alliance time to recover – it wasn't as if their victory hadn't come at a considerable cost, after all. The fact that Tarkin had taken over wasn't promising. And it just _nagged_ him – the first thing he'd thought to do was to go to Vader.

Approaching the cell, Obi-Wan tried to rationalize why he was doing this. It was a courtesy, he supposed, to tell Vader what was happening in the Empire—at least what HoloNet would tell the public. But hadn't they established yesterday that a friendly rapport wasn't possible between them? They'd been playing a game of wits. Perhaps this could be ammunition in his favor, then? Obi-Wan wasn't sure. He just knew that the Force was guiding his steps here, and somehow he would learn from this encounter. He had to trust his instincts.

The smell at least wasn't any worse than yesterday, and honestly it was the last thing on Obi-Wan's mind as he entered the cell. Vader was pacing, somehow more energized than before, but he paused in his movement when Obi-Wan arrived. The Sith Lord still looked as pale as the snowy walls around him, but his eyes, though bloodshot, were sharp. He wore Obi-Wan's coat properly now rather than having it lazily draped over his shoulders as he'd had it yesterday. He looked more alert, more prepared for an interrogation, more prepared for _anything_.

"I see the food from yesterday did you some good," Obi-Wan remarked, though he wasn't entirely certain that was Vader's reason for being so active. It probably had to do with their little interrogation from before; perhaps Vader was prepared to turn the tables on Obi-Wan. The Jedi remembered the man's blunt shameless questioning at that family dinner an eternity ago.

Vader made no remark, remaining still and watching Obi-Wan carefully. The Jedi was quickly realizing that there was no such thing as speaking pleasantries, though honestly that shouldn't surprise him considering his interactions with the man. It wasn't as if Vader had ever shown any interest in small talk.

"Have you eaten today?" he asked, forcing the Sith to respond.

Vader shook his head.

Obi-Wan sighed. "I'll get something for you. But first, I figured you should know something. I just watched a HoloNet report from Imperial Center. They announced Palpatine's death to the senate."

Vader swallowed, his eyes wandering to the wall. His breathing remained regular, but his body grew slightly stiffer. Obi-Wan watched him carefully, ensuring he didn't set the man off considering the delicate subject. He continued, "They also said you are now officially emperor."

Vader didn't react at all to this, seemingly too caught up in the previous statement. Obi-Wan wondered if being emperor really meant anything at all to the Sith. It was a confusing prospect to say the least; Vader really didn't seem to care about anything except Palpatine and Padmé. How was he even a Sith, honestly? He was brutal, yes, and a murderer, but… a Sith was motivated by selfishness. It was basically established fact that Vader was only motivated by adamant, relentless training. He didn't seem to have any desire for anything, which was probably one of his biggest problems now – if Padmé and Palpatine had been his driving forces, then he had _nothing_ now, which would certainly explain his empty demeanor from earlier… but why was he motivated now? Because Obi-Wan had challenged him with training, with interrogation?

"I wondered if they would announce your capture, but they simply said you were indisposed," Obi-Wan went on, gauging the Sith's reaction. Vader again didn't seem to care about this remark. The Force remained motionless like an undisturbed lake, but Obi-Wan was steadily learning to peer into its depths. The undercurrent denoted pain buried under layers of… _something_. Training? Brainwashing? "In your stead, Grand Moff Tarkin will rule as emperor regent."

Any subtlety in the Force vanished. A red hot knife stabbed into Obi-Wan's chest and mind, and he flinched. Vader's eyes locked with his, wide and surprised. The Force bled from him, though Obi-Wan couldn't decipher in what manner, but the man's expression was enough to show that he was shocked. However, it wasn't the sort of surprise that the Rebels had – Vader wasn't unnerved at how quickly the Empire had come up with a solution to its power vacuum, he wasn't concerned with someone ruthless like Tarkin hunting them down… in fact, his eyes seemed to show something far deeper than that. As the seconds ticked by, the surprise melted away, and the ice in his soul grew jagged, cutting against Obi-Wan's mind. The Force felt like it was imploding, moving inward towards Vader and then pulsating out. Obi-Wan got a slight headache, and Vader slowly slid to his knees, staring at the ground. Some overwhelming realization was hitting him, strangling him, and Obi-Wan was _blind_ to it.

"Vader?" he asked softly, pushing past the strange sensations in the Force.

Vader lowered himself further, breathing slightly raggedly and placing his palms on the cold floor.

"Vader, what's wrong?" Obi-Wan questioned, kneeling in front of the young man.

The Sith Lord continued to stare at his hands, torn apart by whatever conclusion he'd come to. Obi-Wan probed the Force, trying to find an answer, trying to figure out what had happened in his mind to make him act this way. The Force dripped with confusion, with utter pain and loss, with desperation.

Obviously Vader's connection to Tarkin was far more than just professional. Was the grand moff part of Vader's small circle of people he actually cared for? If he was, why would this news upset him so much?

"Vader, answer me," Obi-Wan said, hardening his tone. Perhaps an order would snap the boy out of his stupor.

He still wasn't getting a response. Concern started to bubble inside of Obi-Wan, surprising the Jedi, and he slowly, hesitantly, reached a hand towards the Sith's shoulder. He expected some sort of retaliation when his fingers brushed against the jacket he wore, just as the Sith had recoiled the first time the two had interacted with each other. However, instead of any sort of violent reaction, Vader retreated from him, collapsing completely into himself. The Force trembled, and Vader shook his head.

"Stop."

Obi-Wan furrowed his brow leaning in at the soft, muffled plea—and it most certainly had been a _plea_ – it wasn't spoken with anger so much as exhausted desperation.

Obi-Wan bit back a sigh of frustration. He felt like he'd backtracked, like they were suddenly back to day one when Vader was in some sort of mixture of shock and utter despair, except now Obi-Wan had no explanation as to _why_. Why would Tarkin's ascension to power _upset_ him if he had no interest to the throne and cared for the man?

"Are you worried he'll get hurt?" Obi-Wan asked.

Vader exhaled heavily, slowly raising his torso so he sat on his knees. He looked at Obi-Wan, suddenly exhausted. The Force hollowed, leaving Obi-Wan with barely any air to breathe.

After staring at each other for what felt like an eternity, Obi-Wan concluded that the Sith wouldn't speak. Growing exasperated, he said, "I can't help you if you don't talk to me."

"Why?"

Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose. "I thought we'd gone over this."

"I won't talk." Vader suddenly said, his brow furrowing with what little energy he seemed to have left. "Pump any drug you want into my system. Beat me into the dirt. Make me relive Padmé's murder over and over. But I won't talk. I won't tell you anything about the Empire. I won't. I'm no use to you. _None_."

Obi-Wan watched him confusedly. "I wasn't talking about interrogating you. I said I wanted to _help_."

"Stop talking like her. You're not her." Vader's voice grew slightly sharper.

Obi-Wan didn't have to ask what he meant. "I know I'm not her. I never said I wanted to be, I'm not _trying_ to be. That doesn't mean I don't want to help."

"No one helps without a motive."

"There is such a thing called _charity_, you know," Obi-Wan remarked a little sarcastically. "Perhaps you've heard of it."

"That's not a reason. Charity is an excuse."

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows. "An excuse? How is it an excuse?"

"People are charitable to make others like them, or to grant them favors. Charity isn't a reason."

"It can be abused, but then it isn't charity at all," Obi-Wan explained, somehow not surprised that Darth Vader didn't seem to understand that, though it was a little sad… and telling. "Charity is love; it's doing something for the sake of others, not oneself."

"Love—is—a—weakness." Vader ground out, growing angry. "Why does _no one _understand that?"

"The only one who doesn't understand what love is, is you," Obi-Wan countered, maintaining his calm despite the escalating situation. "And I'm very sorry that's the case."

"Pathetic," Vader spat, jumping to his feet and pacing the room. "All of you."

"Why?" Obi-Wan questioned, also rising. He was beginning to see why Padmé had been so adamant in helping him; he was such a lost soul. But he could also see how this would lead to nowhere, how Vader would simply rebuff any attempt to help him… how he _already had_ done so.

"I already _said_ why."

"You said love is a weakness. You never explained why."

The Sith paused, and he looked away.

"If you cannot give me a reasonable explanation, then I'll have to believe your idea on the subject is false," Obi-Wan reasoned, breathing slowly in relief that he'd gotten the high ground once more. He was grateful he'd been improving his ability to remain calm in insane situations such as this. Besides, despite his mood swings, it seemed that Vader lived solely on logic like a programmed droid, (and considering his upbringing, it somehow made a depressingly large amount of sense) so only reason would get through to him.

Eventually, Vader sighed heavily, sitting on the ground once more and facing away from Obi-Wan. His shoulders slumped, and the Force cried in pain again.

Obi-Wan watched him, unsure what to do. At this point Vader himself had said he wouldn't give him any valuable information, and anything else rolled off him like water over stone. He had nothing else he could say, nothing else he could do. Vader was upset and wouldn't say why.

Well… he supposed he could try to reassure him.

Obi-Wan immediately grew uncomfortable. It was bad enough trying to console people he knew and understood, people he _liked_… how the blazes could he console Darth Vader? Yesterday he'd _distracted_ the Sith, but that wasn't the same thing.

How could he reassure him if he didn't even know what was _wrong_ with him?

_Why_ would he even attempt to do so?

_Padmé would._

Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose again, getting a sudden headache. _Blast it, Padmé_… fine. He would try to help. But he still didn't know _how_.

Typically he'd resort to giving some sort of advice that seemed reasonable but never seemed to take the edge off of someone's fear or sadness or whatever was bothering them. Typically words never seemed to work; they seemed too formal, and Force knew he couldn't really speak on an extremely emotional level. Obi-Wan just wasn't the type to gush and say how much he loved someone or how amazing they were or anything of the sort… he never had been.

Not that he would ever say anything like that to Vader anyway.

Sighing, Obi-Wan walked over to Vader and sat in front of him, leaning against the back wall. He struggled to find the right words, but he still made an attempt. "I… don't know why you have such a belief about love or help or any sort of positive attribute. I presume it has to do with your training, your upbringing; being a Sith doesn't exactly coincide with being charitable or being exposed to it. Padmé said your upbringing was… unpleasant. But… that doesn't mean that anything you haven't experienced—anything you don't understand—is wrong. Love _isn't_ a weakness; it's the greatest strength in the galaxy. Love, hope, trust… they're what create family, society as a whole. The galaxy wouldn't be around if it weren't for that. Hatred destroys galaxies, Vader; love builds them."

That hadn't been a reassurance so much as a lecture… oh well.

"Jedi deny their emotions," Vader remarked softly, still staring at the ground.

Obi-Wan smiled gently. "Jedi learn how and when to acknowledge them. Nothing more."

The two sat in silence for a time, and then Vader shook his head. "I won't tell you anything. I won't tell you anything."

Obi-Wan watched the Sith Lord carefully, his mind strangely quiet. The Force entwined around them, constricting and releasing between the stormy Sith and the calm Jedi. Vader was admitting defeat, but somehow it held more finality to it than simply acknowledging the end of an argument.

Reaching out, Obi-Wan placed his fingers under Vader's chin and raised it, making the boy look him in the eye. "You don't have to tell me anything. It's okay."

With that, Obi-Wan stood and left, and Vader trembled at the Jedi's words.

* * *

Eriadu was a strange dichotomy of bleakness and power. The planet was colonized many centuries ago and had never been known for much initially, but as time had progressed its inhabitants had wanted more recognition, more status. Eriadu's cities grew, its infrastructure increasing at rapid rates so it would one day be a city-world like Coruscant. While it never reached that point, it did manage to pollute a good amount of the atmosphere, leaving the planet with a grayish color except in a few rare areas.

Despite its best efforts, Eriadu never really amounted to much until the Tarkin family came into prominence. Now the planet was a powerhouse for the Empire, and anyone bearing the name Tarkin held impressive power. The family name resonated across the galaxy, particularly after Wilhuff Tarkin had served the Republic's military during the Clone Wars.

The new emperor regent gazed out into the forest surrounding his home estate. The leaves were long gone, the bitter cold of the mountainous winter evident by the stillness. The shuttle landed, and Tarkin rose, placing his hands behind his back. He hadn't been home in almost six years, having been constantly busy either with Vader or his own affairs over the years. Still, he felt no nostalgia or sentiment for the place except to remember that he had risen so far above it ever since he'd enlisted in the Republic's navy.

Walking down the exit ramp, Tarkin caught sight of his wife. She was almost twenty years his minor, having married him at an extremely young age for political reasons. She was a relatively stout woman with thick black hair always intricately styled into some bun or another. Her steely blue eyes watched her husband with some excitement.

"Wilhuff," she acknowledged in a sophisticated Eriaduan accent, so similar to Coruscant's. Despite having not seen each other in two years since their last transmission and not having physically been together in six years, neither spouse was eager to really approach the other. "Emperor Palpatine…?"

Tarkin saw the gleam in her eye. She was asking if he'd been the one to kill the man. He shook his head lightly. "I'm afraid his death was entirely unexpected; the Rebels ambushed us."

"And Lord Vader?" There was greed in her gaze now. With Palpatine gone, they both knew there was only one obstacle left. Although Tarkin had never spoken of his aspirations to his wife, her own hunger for power was nearly more ravenous than his. She had agreed to marry the most powerful man on Eriadu at the age of twenty in order to climb the ladder while he had agreed to the match due to her family's wealth. It had been mutually beneficial and nothing more. They both knew that. But for some irritating reason the woman seemed to fawn over Tarkin at some points, clinging to him whenever he visited his estate.

Something about her remark, about the hidden question beneath it, irked Tarkin. "He's in a precarious situation. That's part of the reason why I'm here."

"Amedda had said he was 'indisposed,'" his wife prodded, taking a small step towards him. "You wouldn't believe the HoloNet gossip about what that might mean."

"I've no concern for their idle chatter," Tarkin waved a dismissive hand, finally approaching her. "I've heard you've been managing things well."

A smile steadily grew across his wife's face, her cheeks flushing, but her expression morphed into concern and confusion. "Yes, I have, but why is she here? What's really going on, Wilhuff?"

Tarkin sighed, glancing around. His estate was always secure, but he still felt exposed discussing it outside. Motioning with his head, he walked off the outdoor landing pad, his wife trailing a step behind him. When the two entered their large home, he faced her.

"The Rebels who ambushed us took Lord Vader prisoner," he explained.

His wife's eyes widened slightly in surprise. "How will that affect your plans? Do we even need her anymore?"

"That's why I'm here," he sighed, resuming his walk. "I'll let you know when I'm finished. Where is she?"

"Guest quarters."

Tarkin nodded. Leaving his wife behind, he made his way through the mansion and arrived at the proper destination. Pausing, he organized his thoughts. How would he go about doing this? His entire reason for arranging things in this way was now… well, not quite obsolete, but… it was certainly more complicated than it had been.

Tarkin placed his thumb over a thumbprint scanner and the door beeped in approval, sliding open. The room smelled like saline and disinfectant, and Tarkin curled his upper lip slightly, reminded strikingly of the medical bay in the palace. Entering, he saw her standing, leaning slightly against the bed and gazing at the door in confusion and apprehension, unsure of what she would face.

"Senator Amidala," Tarkin acknowledged with a tip of his head.

Padmé Amidala's eyes widened in realization. "_You_ saved me?"

Tarkin smiled, taking a few steps towards her. "Of course I did, my dear. You're far more useful alive. Palpatine made a foolish mistake in ordering your murder."

Shock turned to dread and defiance. "What do you want?"

Well he'd come to his dilemma now. He'd initially wanted her to help him turn Vader against Palpatine; he would have brought the boy to Eriadu and let them reunite, let Vader have time to readjust and realize that Tarkin was the better choice for loyalty. Tarkin would have ensured Amidala cooperated, and they would have eliminated the emperor. But now Palpatine was dead, and Vader was imprisoned. Everything was different now.

Tarkin was still debating whether he needed Amidala anymore.

"I want an audition," Tarkin said, his smile widening. He crossed his arms, observing her. "Times changed rather quickly, milady. Are you of any use to me?"

"You saved me," Amidala countered. "You tell me."

"Well I saved you because I _thought_ you would be helpful," Tarkin rebutted carefully. "Prove it. What can you offer me?"

Amidala shifted slightly, uneasy. Her brow furrowed, her mind working to come up with a solution. Tarkin watched her with interest and mild amusement; she had managed to toy with Vader's emotions, had managed to manipulate him into falling in love with her. Tarkin wondered if she could use her wit to get herself out of this situation too. He didn't entirely dislike her – she'd certainly been a _nuisance_, but now he really had no quarrel with her. She could even help Vader… but Tarkin would only allow that if he was in control of the situation. He would _not_ let her ruin anything.

Padmé, on the other hand, had quite a few concerns in her mind. What was Tarkin playing at? Why would he save her and then tell her to prove her worth? How had he known she was going to die? Had Vader spoken to him? The two were close, she remembered that; Tarkin had practically raised him.

_Vader._ This had to do with _Vader._

"What happened to him?" she asked, her voice a little shaky. "Where's Vader?"

Tarkin's smile faltered a little, but he schooled his expression so he looked calm and in control once more. "Senator, the only thing you need to know about Vader is what you already know: how to manipulate him."

Padmé bristled. "I _didn't_ manipulate him!"

"You planted foreign ideas in his mind, made yourself approachable, _lovable_," Tarkin remarked shrewdly. "I've no doubt you tried to push your Rebel agenda upon him as well. And then, after all that, you entered an engagement with the Salkenden warlord's son. Don't be hypocritical, milady."

Padmé opened her mouth to retort but fell short. She… she _hadn't_ manipulated Vader! It was never her intent to hurt him; she hadn't proposed to Éothen to spite anyone, she'd done it for the Alliance!

The biggest burning thought in her mind, however, was, "Does Vader know I'm here?"

Tarkin sighed, stepping away from her. "I believe I am the one asking questions, senator, and you still have not answered mine."

Frustration filled her, but she bit her lip. What was Tarkin looking for? What could she say that would save her? How could she find out what in the blazes was going on while doing so?

"What do you want me to offer?" Padmé asked hesitantly. "You want me to act as a double agent?"

Tarkin barked out a laugh. "The moment I let you return to your precious Alliance I'll never see you again. I'm not a fool, milady."

Padmé felt dread fill her, and her heart dropped into her stomach as the realization settled in. "You want me to manipulate Vader for you."

"Smart woman," the grand moff nodded.

Padmé grew disgusted. "You _raised_ him, and you want me to _use_ him?"

"Lord Vader was created to be used," Tarkin replied curtly, stiffening. "Do not be an idealistic little girl making assumptions, senator – you know nothing about the man."

"I know _enough_," Padmé snapped, storming over to the grand moff. "I know what he thinks of himself, how he views you and the emperor—you people _destroyed_ him. You've got some nerve thinking that _I_ am the one trying to tear him apart when you've already done a pretty good job of that yourself."

The grand moff's eyes narrowed slightly, and his voice grew quiet. "Then by all means, senator, piece him back together… but only as I see fit."

Padmé glared at him, unable to articulate how much she hated him in that moment.

Tarkin cleared his throat and backed away, speaking matter-of-factly. "You will remain here under the guise of a servant. You will obey my wife, and you will not cause trouble. Imperial Intelligence is monitoring your family, and if my wife reports any misbehavior on your part, I will personally show you the footage of their execution.

"I will, after a certain amount of time, bring Lord Vader here. You will take care of him, give him what he needs, but most importantly, you will convince him that he is to take orders solely from me. It shouldn't be too difficult – perhaps the most difficult task for you will simply be to know when to keep your mouth _shut_ on the matter. If I smell a hint of treachery from you, if you hurt Lord Vader in any way, I will kill your niece first."

Padmé felt her mouth go slack. "You're a _monster_."

Tarkin simply smiled. "Call me whatever you like, senator; it will not change your family's fate if you fail me."

With that, the grand moff left the room. Padmé stood still for a few seconds, trembling with rage and worry. As the seconds ticked by and she steadily calmed herself, she started to mull over the conversation. She'd obtained a decent amount of information from that: the identity of her rescuer, the danger presented to her family... how was it possible that she was putting them at risk even after her supposed _death_?

She couldn't even imagine what her family was going through, thinking that she'd died. It hurt _so much_ just to think about it. She didn't know if Obi-Wan and Siri were home on Naboo or with the Alliance. Was the Alliance still around? Well, it had to be; Tarkin had admitted as much when he'd said he wouldn't let her return to them. That was at least something. But where was Vader now? Was Tarkin taking his time to test her, or because he was trying to keep all of this a secret from Palpatine? The latter was likely; if Palpatine was the one who had ordered her execution, he was obviously the last person who needed to know she was still alive. But how the blazes was she going to get out of here? She couldn't just sit and wait, and honestly, after having been shot by Vader she wasn't sure she could really convince him of much of anything, either. She still wasn't sure if he was in on this secret, but considering how upset he'd seemed, she doubted it… unless he'd only been upset because he was disobeying Palpatine. But no… that couldn't be the case; Tarkin would have no reason for her to convince Vader to listen to him if he already was in on the plot.

Sithspit, there was still so much missing information in all this craziness.

She couldn't stay here. That much she knew. Padmé had to find a way out, had to warn her family, had to return to the Alliance. There was no way she could wait for Vader, not here, not in Tarkin's domain. But how could she speak to the Sith Lord otherwise? Well… if he thought she was dead, then she could always find him on her own terms, find him and tell him about how Tarkin wanted to use her to get to him. At the moment, though, her main priority needed to be escaping.

Blast it, her head was spinning.

Groaning, Padmé sat on her bed once more. She was starting to get enough strength to walk around freely, and if she was going to be disguised as a servant, then that meant she could wander the compound relatively unhindered. She knew the place would be heavily guarded, and she probably had some sort of monitor on her at all times, so it wouldn't be easy, but she _had_ to find a way out.

She _would_ get out of here. She _would_ return to her family.

She _would_ make this right.

* * *

**Some musical fun facts: the song Aya was listening to is "The Scientist" by Coldplay. Also, the opera that Padmé and Éothen had gone to see back in chapter 28 was called "Cemran," which is simply an anagram for Bizet's "Carmen." Anyone who knows the plot of that opera will recognize the irony, lol.  
**

**So, who understands Vader's sad mind enough to know what he was thinking in this chapter? ;)**


	42. Pushing Boundaries

**Sorry for the extra long wait, exams + MCAT studying + national drama + family drama = not conducive environment for writing lol. Here's a lengthy update to appease you. ;)  
**

* * *

_She glanced at herself in the mirror, sighing heavily. The last time she'd worn a Naboo pilot outfit had been the first day of her tenure as senator; they'd planned on an assassination attempt, which had surprisingly never happened upon her arrival from Naboo._

_It was sadly amusing that things hadn't changed._

_Padmé grabbed her blaster and slipped it into the holster on her thigh. She glanced at her luggage, her mind wandering. Siri had warned her that Fjesky, the capital of Salkende, was frigid and in the middle of winter, so Padmé had packed accordingly. She figured she'd have to wrap herself up in a massive cloak as soon as she landed the fighter. _

_Sighing, the simple thoughts faded quickly, eliminating the little peace of mind she'd found herself in for the past few minutes. Instead, she gazed worriedly at her comlink. It had been over an hour since Qui-Gon had left to search for Al. Had something gone wrong? Why was it taking so long?_

"_Calm down, Padmé," she whispered to herself, closing her eyes. Imperial Center was massive; it would honestly be a miracle if Qui-Gon could even find Al._

_Her stomach churned. She hoped he was okay._

_A loud sound caught her attention, and she quickly recognized it as a speeder engine. Confused, she wondered if perhaps Qui-Gon had acquired a speeder to bring Al back, but that seemed highly unlikely. That realization made her hair stand up all over her body, and her heartrate rose. Padmé trotted silently towards the veranda where the noise was the loudest. Once she drew nearer, she slowed her pace, carefully walking in the shadows. Was it an assassin?_

_Padmé paused in the entranceway, trying to register who was there and why. Her hand slowly slipped to her blaster. The speeder was generic, so that didn't tell her anything. The driver stood and stepped onto the veranda._

_It was Vader._

_Gods. Oh gods. It was him. He was standing there on her veranda—how did he even get through the shield? What was he doing here at this hour of the morning? What would he think when he saw her awake and dressed in a pilot's outfit? Padmé felt her heart skip a beat. She hadn't been expecting to see him before she went to Salkende – honestly she'd been wondering if she'd ever see him again at all. _

_Oh gods, what should she do? _

"_Lord Vader?" she whispered._

_Something was obviously wrong. Vader looked pale and stiff, and he swallowed heavily as soon as she spoke. His lips twitched as if he wanted to say something, and then he shook his head lightly._

_How did he get here? What was he doing here? Why did he come now of all times? Did he just get back from that mission, that horrific mission where he'd killed those Jedi, where he'd destroyed the Rebel Alliance's best hope? Padmé felt anger course through her at the thought, but also worry and heart stopping fear. Everything about Vader's demeanor screamed something was wrong._

"_What… what are you doing here?" she asked softly, trying to keep herself from sounding as terrified as she felt. She hated this feeling. She _hated_ it. She shouldn't have to be scared of Vader. None of this should have happened._

_Was he here just to talk? Was this simply him returning from his mission as if nothing had changed, as if he still didn't understand common etiquette rules like not calling on someone at three in the morning? Somehow she doubted it, and that doubt was petrifying._

_Why was he here?_

_Vader hadn't moved, hadn't answered her question, seemingly frozen in place. He hadn't spoken at all, and while that wasn't entirely unsurprising, it was starting to grow disconcerting considering his behavior. He looked like he'd seen a ghost, like some world shattering realization had hit him. He looked sick._

"_Milord?" she prompted, dread filling her._

_Another eternity passed as they stared at each other. Vader looked on the precipice of speaking, and then he would close his mouth again, his eyes wide, his brow twitching, sweat glistening on his forehead. She'd never seen him this worked up. It made her insides crawl._

_Finally, though, he spoke. "Padmé."_

_Just hearing him say her name made her heart beat faster. She leaned against the wall a little and couldn't help but smile sadly. Gods above she wished things were different. She wished _so hard_ that she could just run to him and hug him without him flinching away, she wished she didn't have to worry about an engagement to another man, she wished Vader wasn't backing the Empire… Padmé felt tears sting in her eyes, and she trembled from the desperation of her thoughts, the despair of realizing that things were far too screwed up now._

"_It's… it's so good to see you," she choked out truthfully. Despite the ominous concern over why he was here, she was just… she couldn't even describe how wonderful and terrible it was for him to be standing there in that moment. She'd wanted nothing more than to talk to him, to be with him, to help him… but now it just complicated matters. She didn't care. "Gods, it's good to see you."_

_Vader looked stricken at her reaction, his eyebrows coming together in worry, his mouth opening slightly as if he wanted to speak or was just panting for air. His stance shifted, one foot moving forward and then back in an uncertain gesture._

"_Did you just get back?" she asked, wondering if he even knew what had transpired on Imperial Center since he'd left, wondering if his only motive in coming was simply to get those honest conversations she'd promised before he'd taken his fleet to destroy the Jedi._

_His worried expression morphed into what looked like mild confusion. Padmé felt a small smile play at her lips as she realized she still knew how to read him despite the days he'd been gone. Vader shook his head._

_So he'd been on Imperial Center for a while, then. The dread started to return, the confusion and worry seeped back into her. There was no reason for him to be here at this hour of the morning unless he was confronting her about Éothen. There couldn't be any other explanation. _

_Padmé looked him over again as he stood there silently. He was wearing all black as usual, but his lightsaber was curiously absent. She supposed it was because he'd just come to talk. But… he was awfully pale. What was wrong with him? Was he okay? Did this really have to do with Éothen at all, or had he come for help?_

"_Milord?" she prompted yet again, growing worried._

_Vader still didn't say anything. Instead he looked her over and his eyes glazed once more. He shifted in place again, and he took a shaky breath through his nose. He shook his head once more._

_Padmé took a hesitant step towards him, growing even more concerned. This action seemed to startle Vader somehow, and he took a step away from her only to run into a pillar behind him. He was visibly trembling._

_What should she say? What should she do? It was obvious she was the one who had to lead the conversation even though he was the one who had barged in. With mild amusement, she realized this was just like Naboo._

"_I'm…" Padmé closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to find the right words to ascertain what was bothering him, to ascertain why he was here. "I'm happy to see you, but this is really unexpected. It's almost three in the morning. What are you doing here?"_

_Vader bit his lip, his eyes tearing into hers. There was terror and uncertainty in them. There was instability and hurt. Padmé grew even more perplexed._

"_I…" he stammered, his voice barely audible. _

_Padmé approached him, nearly eliminating the space between them. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"_

_Vader's breathing grew erratic, and his palms pressed against the pillar behind him as if that would make her get away. She knew he wasn't entirely comfortable with proximity, but she'd thought they'd eliminated that for the most part back at Varykino. What was so wrong that he was acting in this way?_

"_Why?" he suddenly asked._

_Padmé blinked, somewhat confused, but a small part of her knew what he was asking. "Why what?"_

_Vader's expression twitched for a second, and then he swallowed and attempted to look calm, though he was still practically plastered to the pillar. "You promised honesty."_

_Padmé paused in her approach. She'd been right in her suspicion; this had to do with Éothen. Her stomach churned, and she took a hesitant step away, but now Vader took a large step towards her, towering over her._

"_So why did you choose the Alliance?" he asked, his voice deepening._

_He was glaring at her now, and she felt fear chill her blood. She didn't know how to explain this, how to articulate her own plight and frustration and how he'd played into it and made things _worse_. Why had he killed those Jedi?! Why had he made things the way they were, why had he forced her hand?! The tears returned in full force, and Padmé shook her head. Yes, she'd promised him honesty. She'd give him that much. She couldn't hold it in any longer anyway, it hurt too damn much. "Vader, I… I can't live with the Empire the way it is. Why can't you see that what's happening in the galaxy is wrong? Why can't you see that I… I want to be with you, but I can't… I can't obey Palpatine. I _can't_. He's wrong. He's sick, cruel, evil… he's a dictator and I… Vader, I _can't_ be an Imperial!"_

_She paused, overwhelmed with a million different feelings. Vader remained silent, his eyes having softened, but he was rigid as stone. Padmé continued before he could interrupt her because she _had_ to say this. "But… that doesn't mean I don't want to be with you. I _love_ you."_

_Her words cut into him like a knife. He immediately flinched, his eyes widening, and he backed away from her towards the pillar. Vader apparently had forgotten the pillar was there since he nearly slammed into it, and then he started to slide towards the floor. Padmé couldn't even decipher the expression on his face, the strange mix of horror, shock, hurt, surprise, sadness, terror… but she could tell he was hurting more than she could imagine, and she immediately rushed to him. Vader pressed himself further into the pillar to avoid her touch, but it didn't deter her. She placed her hands on his arms to help steady him, but instead her touch seemed to melt him, and he nearly collapsed on her. His weight caught her by surprise, but she held on hard enough that the two didn't fall to the ground so much as sit abruptly. She pulled him closer to her, hugging him as she had back on Naboo. He didn't pull away. Instead, he was trembling._

"_I'm sorry," she whispered, rocking him slowly as her own emotions spilled over again. She knew what she'd said had to hurt. Palpatine was Vader's life; for her to say she couldn't follow the man was basically to say she couldn't be with Vader, and they both knew it. "I'm so, so sorry, Vader. I love you. I love you _so much_. But I can't be an Imperial. I _can't_."_

_Padmé heard his raspy breath grow softer and then he pushed her away. Padmé gazed at him, unsure what sort of reaction she would get._

_She certainly hadn't expected what followed._

_Vader's eyes fell to her lips, and in an instant he pulled her towards him, kissing her. Padmé gasped slightly, completely blindsided by such an out of character action, but she only let the surprise control her for a second. By some miracle Vader was finally admitting his feelings for her, acknowledging that he _had_ feelings, and… gods above, she just wanted to live in this moment forever. Padmé returned the kiss in full, wrapping her arms around his neck tightly and inching close to him, her heartrate skyrocketing. In one blissful moment the two of them forgot their roles in the galaxy and their opposing factions, and in one blissful moment Padmé pretended that nothing had changed since Naboo, that they could just be together without anything getting in their way._

_Stirrings in her heart and mind that she'd never fully felt before started to make themselves known. The strange giddy sensations she'd experienced when they'd been physically close on Naboo started to return, but now there was nothing giddy about it so much as fiery. Vader, however, pushed himself from her, far enough that they could look into each other's eyes. _

"_I love you too," he panted, winded by the kiss._

_Padmé's mind was bereft of any thought but to be with him. She felt his left hand slip down her side and she shuddered, shifting towards him, not caring about Qui-Gon or her departure schedule or anything of the like. She gazed at his lips and neck longingly as his hand settled on her thigh, and she exhaled heavily, creeping ever closer._

_When her mouth was just centimeters from his, when her entire mind and body were focused on just loving him, he spoke, and his voice was suddenly so different. It was cold, but it trembled, like thin ice in the wind, ready to crack. "I love you… but I loved him first."_

_Fire erupted in her gut as a loud noise echoed in the room, and Padmé gasped, pain shooting through her. She automatically recoiled from the force of the impact, looking down at her abdomen to see blood and smoke. Her eyes trailed to his hand, which was releasing her own blaster. It clattered to the floor loudly, and Padmé felt herself slumping to the ground beside it. Vader stood, never looking her in the eye._

_What—he—why—_

_Padmé gasped again, the pain preventing her from even breathing properly, the shock and horror and hurt of what he'd just done tearing her insides more than the blaster wound. The _blaster wound_. She'd been _shot_. He'd _shot her.

_She heard the sound of boots clicking on the polished floor, but they sounded so far away now. Everything sounded far away. The only loud constant noise banging in her mind was her heartbeat. She coughed heavily, shaking from head to foot. _

_A speeder's engines fired up, and the next thing she knew, he was gone._

Padmé burst into tears, collapsing on the bed in her makeshift cell. She couldn't do this. She couldn't keep reliving that moment, but every time she closed her eyes it was all she ever saw, especially after her conversation with Tarkin. The heart stopping pain of knowing that Darth Vader had tried to kill her was overwhelming, and as if _that_ weren't enough she now had to worry about the safety of her family.

Her situation a few weeks ago just before the senate recess seemed downright _harmless_ in comparison.

She couldn't do this. She couldn't see Vader again, couldn't stand to look at him, to interact with him… she couldn't do this. But at the same time she wanted to burst out of this room and hunt him down, to corner him and just get straight to the point, to ask why he _did_ that, to… she didn't even know. She didn't know anymore.

Attempting to control herself, Padmé placed her hand over her eyes, breathing deeply through her nose and then through her mouth. She couldn't do this, but she _had_ to do it. She _had_ to figure out a way to escape, she _had_ to find Vader on her own turf on her own terms. She _had_ to protect her family, to return to the Alliance.

_Breathe, Padmé. Just breathe._

Finally calming, Padmé tried to think logically once more about her situation. If she was under the watch of Tarkin's wife, then it was obvious she was somewhere owned by the Tarkin family, which likely indicated she was on his homeworld. If she recalled correctly, that was… was…

"Dammit!" Padmé swore, leaping to her feet and regretting it as her abdomen screamed in protest. Groaning, she slowly sat on the bed once more, but her frustration still boiled over, preventing her from thinking straight. She had to remember that man's homeworld, it would tell her where the blazes she was!

Wilhuff Tarkin was the grand moff of an oversector… which one? The Bright Jewel was the most notable, but she didn't think that was him, at least not anymore…

Drawing a blank, Padmé shook her head violently, moving to the next subject so she wouldn't continue to brood. Family. Her family. She had to find them. Were they still on Naboo and simply under surveillance? Were Obi-Wan and Siri on Naboo, or had they returned to Imperial Center? Were they still working for the Alliance? It was highly likely. She had to find out more, and the only way she would do that would be to get out of this cell, which she could supposedly do if she could fool the droid into thinking she was healthy. She basically was healed, anyway; she had pain in her abdomen from too much movement, and yes, as the droid had noted her diet had been affected by the injury, and she tired easily, but she still had essentially recovered as best as possible.

The medical droid was currently sitting in the corner, deactivated. As Padmé had discovered when the droid had first turned off, the door leading out of the room was only capable of being opened from the outside, much to her chagrin. She knew the only way out was to convince the droid she was fine, and then she presumed it would transmit that information to her captors.

Rising, Padmé walked over to the medical droid. Looking for the switch, she found it and turned it on. Emdee's photoreceptors shone immediately and it looked at her.

"Are you in need of assistance?" it asked.

"I'm fine. That's what I wanted to talk about, actually," Padmé replied. "I was told that I'm to be here as a… servant. If I'm to do that I need to leave this room."

"You are not to leave the room until you are fully recovered," the droid said automatically.

Padmé refrained from rolling her eyes. "I _am_ fully recovered. Any scan of my vitals and the wound will tell you that."

"You still had signs of lethargy during the last check-up."

"That was this morning," Padmé waved a dismissive hand. "I've rested since then."

Allowing the droid to rise and grab whatever probes and scanners it needed, Padmé sat on the bed patiently. After looking her over, the droid reviewed the data. Her patience started to wear thin after a few minutes, though, especially as she started to think about all the things she had to do and figure out before any actual progress could be made.

"Well?" she eventually prompted somewhat irritably.

"I will speak to the superiors." Emdee finally answered, bringing Padmé some relief.

The medical droid walked to the corner of the room and typed a message into a data pad. After another minute of tense silence, the droid looked back at Padmé.

"You will be authorized to leave the room tomorrow morning."

Padmé gritted her teeth. Tomorrow wasn't soon enough. "I'm ready now."

"The orders state that—"

"Fine! Fine." Padmé interrupted, frustrated. She eyed the droid as it placed the data pad in a compartment she hadn't noticed before. She saw a lock on the opening to the compartment; as soon as that droid closed the door, she wouldn't be able to access it.

She had to _do_ something. She couldn't wait until tomorrow, not with the little knowledge she had. But she couldn't do anything too irrational or she'd get her family _killed_. She needed information, she needed _leverage_, and she needed _allies_. How could she get that in her situation?

Did the other members of the household know she was a prisoner, or were they going to be under the impression she was a servant? It was highly likely it was the former simply because if Padmé let it slip who she was and the word spread, her family wouldn't be the only ones killed. But there couldn't be that many people in this house that actually knew the truth, because the more people who knew, the more likely the secret would get out anyway, right?

The droid started to close the compartment door. Padmé felt her entire body tense, desperate with the need to snatch _any_ source of information she could get. Rising to her feet, she attempted to distract the droid. "I have a question."

The Emdee droid paused, the compartment door halfway closed. Padmé eyed the switch on the back of the droid's head, wishing desperately that she could turn it off. _Having the Force would be a great thing right now_, she thought ruefully, recalling all the times Vader could do things without even having to be near the objects he manipulated.

Blast, thinking about Vader _hurt_. Padmé shook her head subtly and tried to think of something she could say to maintain the droid's attention. "I… I know you're only programmed to tell me about my medical situation. Did you have access to my official medical files so you knew my history?"

"I had all the necessary access," the droid replied, still motionless. However, Padmé took the opportunity to walk towards it as casually as possible.

"So you know I'm allergic to… to certain pain medications?" Padmé said, quickly running out of ideas; she wasn't exactly a medical expert, so she didn't quite know what to say to really catch the droid's attention.

The droid was silent for a millisecond, processing her statement and sifting through data. "Your medical history stated you had no known allergies."

Padmé continued to close the gap between herself and Emdee. "I _know_ I had a reaction to some pain medication… it was recent, so it probably wasn't put on the record yet…"

She finally was close enough to reach the droid, and she thought for a second whether she should actually go through with this, how she could explain what was about to happen. She couldn't be playing anything too risky immediately, but this wasn't a _huge_ danger…

Padmé was about to reach over and flip the deactivation switch on the droid when one more thought occurred to her, stopping her in her tracks. "Is this room monitored?"

"I am unable to answer your question. What was the name of the painkiller that you took?"

_Sithspit_. She'd almost assaulted the medical droid for all the security feeds to see. She had to stop panicking, she had to _think_. Feeling the disappointment and anger weigh her down immensely, Padmé sighed heavily and took a step back, shaking her head and closing her eyes. "I don't remember. It wasn't a bad reaction and I haven't had any problems now, so I guess it isn't a big deal."

"Very well," the droid replied, closing the compartment door. Padmé felt her heart grow heavy just listening to the lock click. "I will continue to recharge unless you need further assistance."

"No, I'm… I'm fine." She muttered dejectedly, wandering back to the bed and sitting.

Time seemed to slow as Padmé stared blankly at her hands on her lap. She wondered what her family was doing right now. She couldn't imagine the pain they must have felt when they thought she'd died. It made her heart clench just to think about it. She tried to remain positive, tried to think about all the good things that could be happening. Ryoo could be running around the house squealing in delight, playing with some toy or another, while Sola and Darred watched on with amusement and love. Perhaps Mom and Dad were there to watch as well, probably feeling grateful that the little rascal had plenty of people with whom she could diffuse her energy. Perhaps Obi-Wan and Siri were there on an extended leave, not worrying about the Empire or the Alliance or anything at all.

The _baby_. Padmé gasped. How was their baby? Siri was safe, right? Or did Tarkin's spies have her in their sight as well? They had tried to hurt her before…

A click sounded. Padmé jumped. The door to the bedroom hissed open, making her stand quickly. Was it Tarkin again?

A sturdily built attractive woman with black hair tied in a bun entered. Her blue eyes were cold and sharp, her posture rigid. Padmé had never seen this woman, but she drank in the image before her, absorbing whatever information she could. The woman was dressed warmly and elaborately, wearing a long sleeved lavender dress that flowed to her ankles with fur lining the rim. Wherever they were, it was likely winter. _Like that helps me pinpoint the location_, Padmé sighed internally. The only other notable aspect to the woman's appearance was some intricate calligraphy on her forehead, but Padmé didn't know anything about its origins or meaning.

"Amidala," the woman acknowledged. Her accent sounded nearly identical to Grand Moff Tarkin's, only confirming Padmé's suspicion that they were on the man's homeworld (if she could _just remember_ what his homeworld was!). "I hear you are on the mend, so I came to ensure you are quite aware of your situation."

Padmé sensed the snobbery and patronizing tone immediately. This woman was reveling in the power she had over her. The senator bristled but said nothing, waiting for this jailor to tell her more, eager to learn more.

"I am Lady Tarkin," she introduced herself with authority, trying to intimidate Padmé. "I am the head of this house, and I am your mistress. Starting tomorrow, you are no longer my prisoner but my slave. If you take one step out of line, I will ensure your family is executed."

_Charming_. This woman was even worse than her husband. "Why are you doing this?"

Lady Tarkin raised an eyebrow somewhat irritably.

Padmé elaborated. "Why are you risking your life for your husband's plotting? If Emperor Palpatine finds out he kept me alive against orders, he'll kill you."

Lady Tarkin smiled, her eyes narrowing in sinister delight at some knowledge Padmé didn't possess. "I fear nothing, slave. Soon I will be head of the Empire itself. Your pathetic attempts to sway me to your side will do you no good. From now on you will not speak unless spoken to, is that understood?"

Some sarcastic part of Padmé was tempted to ask if she was allowed to acknowledge the woman's orders, but she figured it was best to keep her mouth shut on the matter. She nodded.

"In the morning you will be escorted to your new quarters so this will be refurbished to its original state. You've sullied this room enough," the woman continued brusquely. "You will be given your assigned duties there. Pray you impress me, slave, or I may find _other_ uses for you."

Padmé wasn't quite sure she wanted to know what that meant. Still, at least she would be speaking to someone other than Lady Tarkin, which was a relief. She still hadn't ascertained much, though. How could she pry without speaking?

Wait.

Bowing slightly to appease the woman before she already started to break the rules, she asked in a quiet, hesitant voice, "Mistress, please, may I ask one question?"

She heard the fabric of the woman's dress rustle as she moved, but she wasn't quite sure what she was doing. Probably assuming some affronted pose.

"I thought I told you not to speak unless spoken to."

Padmé bit back a sigh. She supposed she'd have to try harder. Slowly sinking to her hands and knees, she petitioned in what she hoped sounded like a pleading tone rather than an exasperated one. "I beg you, my mistress, grant me this one favor and I will do everything you say. I promise it's pertinent."

Lady Tarkin huffed, annoyed. "Very well."

"How shall I address you if I am to introduce you to anyone? I wouldn't want to embarrass or mistreat my mistress in any way."

"My proper address is Lady Aliema of House Tarkin of Eriadu," Lady Tarkin answered, slightly less ruffled than before. Padmé didn't have to hide her smile since she was practically prostrate on the ground, and she felt her heartrate rise with the thrill of finally getting what she needed. "But you will never introduce me to anyone, slave, so you will only call me mistress or Lady Tarkin."

Padmé bowed more deeply. "Yes, Mistress."

Waiting for no other acknowledgement, the woman left. Padmé sighed heavily, relieved, happy, and planning what to do next. She slowly sat on her knees, thinking about what Lady Tarkin had said. _Eriadu_. _That_ was where she was. She didn't know much about the planet, but she knew it was in the Seswenna Oversector, which had to be Tarkin's jurisdiction. It was in the Outer Rim along a main trade route, the Hydian Way. She could work with that knowledge. She could figure something out.

Content, Padmé rose and climbed into bed, planning for the days to come.

* * *

Nights on Imperial Center were a bizarre paradox to Erwyna. Back on Salkende (and she expected this was the case on most worlds, as it was obviously the case on Hoth), nighttime was distinctly _darker_ than daytime, but on Imperial Center, it never changed depending on how deep into the city one was. Neon lights from advertisements, buildings, street lights, headlights from speeders… her eyes hurt just standing outside. Worst of all it made her feel extremely exposed, and she didn't like that at all. Darkness was not how criminals hid here; they instead used _camouflage_. They blended into the literal sea of people. That meant Erwyna had to as well, which left her wearing foreign clothes and feeling a distinct ache in her arm since she'd decided to not wear her sling. Then again, she had aches and pains everywhere that were lingering from her fight with Vader.

Blast, just thinking about that Imperial irritated her. She could have gotten everything she'd needed from him if she'd just stayed for the interrogation.

Shaking her head, Erwyna blew out a sigh and turned down an alley that was at least a little darker than the rest of the street. A few denizens roamed near her, but none paid her any mind. Eventually Erwyna caught sight of a figure standing a fair distance away wearing a cloak with the hood drawn. She approached the figure slowly.

"Oki?" she asked hesitantly, her hand slipping to her blaster pistol.

The figure turned and revealed a pale man with freckles, a large nose, soft blue eyes, ginger hair, and an obviously nervous demeanor. Erwyna recalled that Brek had said the man was new to spying in general and was slightly jumpy; it had been the main reason she'd wanted to _avoid_ dealing with him.

To his credit, he at least _sounded_ calm from what she could distinguish through his heavy accent, whatever it was. "That's me."

Erwyna nodded, stepping closer. "I need your help getting into Intelligence."

Any semblance of calm in Odeki Rubar's voice vanished as he nearly squeaked, "You want _what_?! You—you said Capt. Brek sent you—I—he never said I'd—"

"Shut up and listen," Erwyna interrupted, growing steadily more annoyed, having no patience for that sort of behavior while on a mission. "I'll give you my end goal and you can suggest how we get it, okay? I need information on Amidala's murder. Intelligence was at her apartment that night – I need to know why. You can either get me inside to do that or you can bring the information to me."

"That's—that's a closed case, I can't get information—"

"Then get me inside."

Rubar gawked at her. "How am I supposed to do that? I can't—I can't do this, do you have any idea how much trouble I'm in already—I—_the emperor is dead_—I—"

Erwyna took a calming breath as the man continued to splutter. "Look, you can say I'm a tech or something. This isn't immediate; come up with a reason. I'll have to think over a few things too. Come up with a plan. You can do that much, right?"

The man watched her with dread, but he closed his mouth and nodded.

"Good. I'll contact you later, then." Erwyna nodded and left without giving him a chance to respond.

How was she going to go about doing this? Assuming that guy got her inside—which with the way he acted would take a miracle—she wasn't a hacker. Okima'yak wanted nothing to do with this anymore, and Erwyna had no other contacts on Imperial Center.

A thought occurred to her and she paused, slightly exasperated. She'd have to get Éothen involved; there were members of their squad who were tech savvy, who could get her the data spikes she needed or even go in instead of her. She would have to drag the whole squad over to Imperial Center.

_Like _that_ won't attract attention_, she thought irritably as she looked for a slightly more deserted area to make the call. It was a feat in itself to find a plot of land on this planet that _wasn't_ occupied by at least five other people, but she eventually managed and pulled out her comlink, keying in for Éothen.

"_Äkkuvétem."_ Éothen answered in their native tongue, Iohtu. Erwyna debated talking to him in that dialect, but if Intelligence was listening in it would be pretty identifiable. Instead, she switched to Syngen, the primary language for Salkende; everyone on the planet spoke it, so it would make Erwyna sound more like a tourist and less like someone speaking purposely in code.

"You wouldn't believe the lighting on Imperial Center – I swear my eyes are irradiated," she remarked.

Éothen seemed to catch that her chosen language was purposeful, and he casually replied, "Well I did tell you that place was terrible for your health."

"I like being unhealthy," Erwyna quipped, trying to find the right words to relay what she needed. "So do other people. Hey, you remember that gift from your girlfriend? I found out where she got it from, and I'm sure she'd love to tell you all about it if you drag the crew over here."

Éothen was silent for a long time, so long Erwyna started mentally begging him to react _normally_. Eventually she heard him clear his throat. "Yeah… she's sneaky, I'm glad you found her source. Does she know you caught her?"

"No," Erwyna immediately answered. "I figured you'd want to be around for that."

"And the crew?"

"Yeah, it'll be a family reunion!" _Get the squad and haul asteroid over here, genius, come on!_

Éothen blew out a shaky breath. "You sure do have a way of surprising people."

"I like shaking things up," Erwyna said, smirking and cutting the connection. She knew the point had been made. Now all that was left was remaining innocuous at Tlenden's apartment until Éothen and the squad arrived. That would certainly be interesting.

* * *

The chill of Hoth sat heavily in the base as a snowstorm blew through the area, but Shaak Ti barely noticed it as she meditated in her chamber. The Force these days had been as tumultuous as the planet's weather, but she could always close herself off to the effects others had on it. In this particular instance she was simply trying to calm herself from several shocking discoveries she'd made in the data pad left to her by Master Windu.

Her meditation, however, was interrupted by a soft knock on the door. Sensing the familiar presence of Qui-Gon, Shaak opened her eyes and bade him enter.

She stood and faced him as he approached and bowed, and she asked, "What have you learned?"

"Darth Vader was in love with the late Senator Amidala," Qui-Gon explained, immediately catching Shaak's interest. "His love for her is what compelled him to obey Obi-Wan's command, what allows Obi-Wan to speak with him at all. My Padawan has been attempting to establish a rapport with Vader since that realization. From what I've seen it's… slow in the making, but it is a possibility."

Shaak mulled over the matter. Considering Qui-Gon's original mission before all of this had been to protect Amidala from the threat Vader had presented, it seemed beyond bizarre that the Sith Lord had been in love with her. Unless, of course, that was the reason she had needed protecting; Sith were quite aggressive and possessive, after all.

"Despite this, there is an underlying problem that still persists," Qui-Gon continued. "Vader is Amidala's murderer. He killed her by order of the emperor. I'm fairly certain that in itself proves that he would do anything for the emperor."

"Crime of passion?" Shaak offered.

Qui-Gon shook his head. "He didn't kill her for any reason except that he was ordered to. Obi-Wan said that Vader is greatly upset by what he did."

"Why would he have such loyalty?" Shaak questioned, even more stunned by this new tidbit of information. "Sith are known for betrayal."

"Yes," Qui-Gon agreed, looking pensive. Shaak wasn't sure she liked whatever conclusion he was coming to. "According to the late senator herself, Vader was brainwashed from his youth to obey his master. I believe he simply doesn't know any better."

"He's been exposed enough to the rest of the galaxy to know _something_ apart from his brainwashing," Shaak argued, raising her brow to make her point. "Don't pity him for that, Qui-Gon. This doesn't diminish the threat he presents."

"But it does prove that he is not a firm practitioner of the Dark Side, simply its slave."

"_All_ Sith are slaves to the Dark Side," Shaak corrected him. "It's only in their own delusion that they are in charge."

The two were silent for a moment, and Shaak pondered the issue. The Rebels were still trying to lick their wounds after the battle, and with Tarkin as the new emperor regent the Empire was once more a great threat. The Alliance was scrambling for supplies and troops, and Viceroy Organa was petitioning to Salkende for more aid. The Rebels couldn't survive another confrontation with the Empire, not right now; Vader was their best hope.

"Has Kenobi been able to learn anything about the Empire?" she asked.

Qui-Gon shook his head. "He attempted to interrogate Vader the other day, but he didn't acquire anything of particular value to the Alliance."

"That's his priority, then," Shaak immediately said. "With Tarkin at the helm of the Empire it won't be long before we engage them in combat once more. We need every advantage we can get."

Qui-Gon shifted, slightly frustrated. "This will take _time_, Master."

"We don't have time, Qui-Gon," Shaak reminded him firmly. "We don't have time to save Vader, just the Alliance. Get what you can out of him."

Although he looked far from happy about the matter, Qui-Gon didn't argue. Instead, he tipped his head in his typical irritated form of respect and swiftly left the room. Shaak sighed. They all had enough to worry about without attempting an impossible venture like saving an already destroyed mind. Qui-Gon had to realize that. He had to let go.

* * *

Tarkin's estate had a plethora of rooms, most of which were empty unless Lady Tarkin was entertaining guests, but the newly appointed emperor regent did take pleasure in one room in particular. The sitting room in the east wing was relatively small to other rooms in the estate, but it was also typically the source of calm and quiet in the entire home. Tarkin could come here to sit and think, and even his wife respected the space. Occasionally the two bonded over one of the few things they both enjoyed: live music.

A string player plucked and strummed her instrument from her place across the sitting room while Tarkin and his wife sat in separate chairs simply listening. The piece of music was calm, as it always had to be in this room, and a fire crackled in the fireplace off to the side, keeping the winter chill at bay. Tarkin enjoyed the moment, feeling like he'd found an oasis in the hurricane of events that had occurred and were still to come.

As the musician finished her piece, the couple applauded her and after some remarks about her good technique and a reply that they were gracious hosts, the woman departed. At that point, Tarkin finally decided to discuss the matter of the senator, having already heard that his wife had spoken to her, which he immediately mentioned.

His wife smiled smugly. "No need to worry, dearest; I have everything under control. The traitor is already bowing to me."

Tarkin eyed his wife, debating whether her arrogance or stupidity irritated him more. He suddenly missed the earlier moment when they were just listening to music. "She is slippery, Aliema. Do not be fooled. It would be better to just keep her in a cell."

"There is nothing to be concerned about. Our estate isn't designed to be a prison, and many people come through here; keeping her in a cell would be too noticeable. I will handle everything," his wife insisted in a somewhat soothing tone, as if Tarkin's warning were based on unfounded fears. It made the emperor regent bristle; if there was one thing that irked him more than anything else, it was being spoken down to.

"Senator Amidala is a stubborn woman," he said firmly, making his point clear. "If she is already submitting to you, then she is playing you."

His wife's face flushed and she shifted in her seat. "I _will_ break her, Wilhuff, just as I do any other slave."

"She'd better be obedient by the time I return," he warned.

His wife smiled. "She'll be ready for you."

Sighing slightly, Tarkin turned his attention to the fire. His mind wandered to other affairs, to Grand Moff Rhaegon, to Vader. He hoped there was still something left to salvage; he figured the boy would be cheered by Amidala's presence, but only so long as the woman behaved. Tarkin didn't want to have to tear the senator away from Vader again, not if he could help it, but that was entirely upon Amidala herself; so long as she behaved, she and Vader could be together. Tarkin nearly laughed at the thought of it; he imagined if Amidala finally did prove she was willing to work with him, he would grant her an estate of her own on some obscure but pleasant colony, and he would have her remain there, waiting for Vader whenever the boy didn't have pressing matters. She would be Vader's stability, his release.

"Wilhuff?"

Tarkin gazed at his wife, slightly irritated by the interruption to his musings.

"When will it be ours?" she asked in a hushed tone, excited and greedy all at once.

The throne? Not for a while, not with all the in-fighting with which he would have to contend, with which he _was_ contending. "Soon, Aliema. We'll have it soon."

"And Vader?"

His agitation grew. "Let _me_ worry about Vader. You worry about the senator."

His wife watched him for a moment longer, intense and hungry all at once, and then she exhaled slowly, leaning back in her seat and looking at the fire. The flames illuminated her face and reflected in her eyes, making them glow. Tarkin followed her gaze, and the two contemplated the future. Many decisions would have to be made once he returned to Imperial Center, once he received a report from Intelligence, from his spy, so he enjoyed the quiet while it lasted.

* * *

Obi-Wan grunted as he fell to the ground once more. He and Siri had been training all day, and his body was starting to tremble from the effort of sparring for hours.

Siri, on the other hand, was having entirely too much fun. "Come on, Obi, the only way you'll improve is by trying again."

"Thank you for the advice, Siri," he remarked grumpily as he stood. "I wasn't aware of that."

Siri raised an eyebrow with a smirk. "Careful, Jedi, you're supposed to watch your temper."

Obi-Wan had to laugh at hearing that come from her of all people. "Naturally. Forgive me."

Siri raised her blade, the blue glow reflecting on her eyes. Her face grew determined, and she took a stance that indicated she was ready for another round. Obi-Wan sighed, ignoring his sore muscles, and he too assumed a similar posture. The two had been practicing one of the Jedi's many fighting forms, Shii Cho, and though Siri was eager to learn all seven of the lightsaber techniques, Obi-Wan was far more intent on simply feeling comfortable with _one_; Siri had trained to be a fighter as part of her handmaiden duties, but Obi-Wan had not been so fortunate, so while she blazed a trail through the katas, Obi-Wan felt like he was barely keeping up with other Padawans just entering training. If he were younger it would be slightly embarrassing, but honestly it was just worrying that he could barely defend himself with a lightsaber when the threat of the Empire loomed over all of them.

When the threat of the Empire was in a cell in their base.

"_You have very little training."_ Darth Vader's voice echoed in Obi-Wan's mind, chilling him slightly, but at the same time, it didn't seem like the man was in any condition to cause too much trouble… and for the life of him, Obi-Wan still couldn't figure out why Tarkin's ascension to power bothered Vader so much. He didn't know what could possibly compel the Sith to react the way he had, not if he and the grand moff had been close. Perhaps they were actually rivals?

He hadn't told anyone about Vader's reaction to Tarkin's rise to power simply because he hadn't had the time—the base had been abuzz with activity as soon as the news had spread. Should he mention it now? There was no reason to hide it, but he didn't see it being entirely useful information, either. He would wait until he had more.

Oh, dear. He'd forgotten to get the Sith some food yesterday… or today for that matter.

Obi-Wan yelped as Siri's blade burned his upper arm. Siri deactivated her lightsaber, looking exasperated. "Obi-Wan, you have to be more mindful than this."

"Perhaps a short break," he suggested as he rubbed his arm, wincing at the slight pain.

Siri sighed, not happy with the prospect, but she didn't argue. Obi-Wan sat on a crate and she soon joined him.

"How are your meditation sessions?" he asked conversationally, allowing his mind to relax from the stressful prospect of thinking about anything related to Vader.

"Well enough," Siri replied. "You'll be surprised to know that I no longer dread it."

Obi-Wan looked at her, raising his eyebrows mildly.

Siri shrugged, gazing at the other Padawans training. "It's… hit or miss. I understand the concept behind it, and I see some importance to sensing out the climate through the Force… but I just can't wrap my mind around sitting still for such a long time without having any specific purpose to it. Qui-Gon has told me that meditation can be used to help figure something out, to help pinpoint a disturbance in the Force, and in that capacity I think it's perfectly sound… but just meditating for its own sake? I guess if you've got the right temperament for it, have at it, but… not me, and certainly not in wartime."

"Have you found a purpose for your own meditation, then?"

Siri shifted, uncomfortable. "I don't know. I thought maybe pondering the situation with Vader would be a good idea, let me get some of the emotion out that way… sometimes it helps, sometimes it makes it worse. Every time I think about him I get hit with some new realization, with some different feeling, and just when I think I've got it figured out everything falls apart again."

"You're not the only one," Obi-Wan muttered.

"Is Qui-Gon still fawning over him?" Siri asked, the displeasure evident in her voice.

Before Obi-Wan could reply, the couple sensed their master's approach, and they stood and bowed to him. Though Obi-Wan still couldn't quite decipher everything through the Force, the mixture of the Jedi Master's body language and tension in the Force indicated he wasn't happy about something.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Tarkin's ascension to power has accelerated plans and heightened concerns," Qui-Gon explained. "Obi-Wan, you must obtain some information from Vader concerning Imperial strategy and holdings. We have to know what to expect, who will attack us."

Obi-Wan remained silent for a moment, taking in what his master had just said. He practically felt whiplash at how quickly the situation had just changed; information had always been the goal, but it was supposed to be slow and steady, subtle, _gentle_. Now they wanted him to act like the Rebels who had originally caused the uproar?

"He can't work a miracle for you," Siri replied, surprising Obi-Wan. She of all people wanted the Sith Lord to reveal all his secrets, she was far more interested in what Vader could offer the Alliance. Obi-Wan supposed she'd taken to heart his remark about the Sith Lord's stubbornness. "If Vader won't speak, then he won't speak."

"I will try to get what I can, Master," Obi-Wan grudgingly said before his wife could argue further. He appreciated her defending him, but he could sense the urgency of the matter. Besides, his conversation with Vader yesterday had ended on a good note… with tired optimism, Obi-Wan supposed that maybe he could actually get something out of him today. He bowed, and Siri did so at the same time, following him out of the hangar before Qui-Gon could say anything else.

"Obi-Wan, you said yourself this would take time," she remarked as they walked briskly through the hall.

"There's not much I can do on the matter," he said halfheartedly. "No one else can speak to him. I have to try."

"You _did_ try to interrogate him," Siri reminded him. "He tried to barter with you instead."

Stopping to face her, Obi-Wan finally just sighed and said, "There isn't another option, Siri."

Siri watched him with concern. She wasn't happy about this turn of events. Honestly, neither was Obi-Wan, but his own happiness wasn't exactly important or pertinent to the mission. "Don't push him too hard."

Obi-Wan nodded, giving a small smile, and then the couple went their separate ways, leaving the Jedi to ponder the confrontation to come. After yesterday's incident with Vader he felt slightly more comfortable around the Sith, but that didn't mean he would have the upper hand in a situation like this. Perhaps he could mention something about Tarkin? He didn't think he could actually fool Vader into admitting something, but maybe he could use the man's emotions against him; it was growing steadily more obvious that Vader wasn't entirely adept at controlling them.

As Obi-Wan neared the cell, he reached into the Force, testing the climate. Vader didn't seem volatile today; in fact, the Force was strangely still. Was he calm like he'd been before Obi-Wan had delivered the news yesterday?

Entering the cell, Obi-Wan quickly got his answer. Vader was lying on the floor, his eyes half closed as if he were in that same stupor he'd been in a few days ago. Obi-Wan grew confused for a moment, but the man's mood was explained when he noticed the bluish tint to his lips and fingers. His pale skin glistened with sweat, and his breathing was shallow. He wasn't despairing anything, he was sick.

Something about Vader's prone position alarmed Obi-Wan more than it should have. Adrenaline surged through Obi-Wan in a heartbeat, and instead of calling for the guards he rushed over to the Sith, getting on his knees. Grabbing Vader's hands, Obi-Wan flinched at how cold they were. At the touch, however, Vader's eyes opened fully, and he looked at Obi-Wan silently.

"What's wrong?" Obi-Wan asked helplessly; he was no doctor, he had no clue what had caused this. "Does anything hurt? How are you feeling?"

Vader remained silent, watching Obi-Wan steadily, even stubbornly. Irritation coursed through the Jedi.

"Blast it, Vader, this isn't an inquiry," he shook his head, squeezing the man's hands. "I'm asking for _your_ sake, not mine."

When the Sith still refused to speak, Obi-Wan sighed heavily and shifted his hands to grip Vader's wrists. Obi-Wan stood, pulling the Sith up with him to test how steady he was on his feet. Vader swayed a little, but he remained upright. That would have to be good enough.

"I'll be right back," he informed him and then rushed out of the cell, his mind whirling. He had to get Vader to the medical bay, but there was no way he'd let him out of his cell without _some_ sort of restraints. Getting the guards' attention, he asked for some three-hand binders (seeing as there were some species with three hands, the Alliance did have a few such binders in supply). When the guards handed him the cuffs, he then ordered them to alert the medical bay that he would be taking Vader to them.

"What?" one guard questioned incredulously. "The stipulation was that we would let you in, not allow you let him _out. _You cant take him out of his cell."

"I can and I will." Obi-Wan said firmly, not brooking any argument. He had no _time_ for argument. "That's an order, soldier."

The guard looked even more incredulous and slightly angry, but it dawned upon her that as a Jedi Padawan, Obi-Wan actually was a commander, a thought that rarely crossed his mind until it was necessary, like now. Although being an authority figure was nothing new, being a ranked member of the military was an odd feeling. Seeing the soldier salute him, albeit grudgingly, was a strange sight, though Obi-Wan quickly brushed it aside as he returned to the cell.

Vader thankfully was still standing, and it seemed like he certainly had his wits about him. He was leaning against the wall, watching Obi-Wan with his brow slightly furrowed in confusion and suspicion.

"I already said I won't tell you anything," he spoke softly, his eyes hardening.

"And _I_ already said this has nothing to do with that," Obi-Wan remarked. "Now hold out your hands."

Looking even more baffled, Vader did so, and he watched Obi-Wan cuff both wrists and then put his own wrist in the third cuff. The Sith then looked at him questioningly.

"We're going to the medical bay," Obi-Wan explained.

If it was possible, the apprentice looked even more bemused.

"I'm fairly certain there isn't much to be confused about," Obi-Wan noted, pulling the Sith towards the exit. "We're going to the medical bay. Is there something vague in that statement that you don't understand?"

"Why?"

"You do enjoy asking that, don't you?" Obi-Wan sighed. "I explained my reasoning yesterday."

Vader stopped dead in his tracks, nearly yanking Obi-Wan's arm out of joint. Groaning, Obi-Wan faced the Sith, but Vader didn't speak. He only stared at him, his eyes hard, the Force tightly wound around him.

"What part of my explanation is unclear?" Obi-Wan asked slowly, steadily losing his patience.

"You care."

Obi-Wan blinked. "What?"

"You act like you care. But you don't."

"I don't act like I care?"

"_You don't care."_

Obi-Wan stared at him. He wasn't quite sure what Vader wanted him to say or do next. Refute him? Obi-Wan wasn't heartless, but… but this was Padmé's murderer, this was a Sith Lord, this was his mark. He pitied the man, yes, but he didn't care for him. But a part of him felt guilty for admitting that, and he knew he would feel a thousand times worse if he actually said it aloud. Vader's bluntness cut right to the heart of the matter, demanding to know why Obi-Wan was helping if he was really being honest. He was essentially asking, _if you're not concerned about interrogating me, why are you concerned about my health at all?_

Well, blast it, he'd thought he _had_ explained this; he was being charitable. That didn't necessarily mean he had to _feel_ charitable, too. That, apparently, was Qui-Gon's job. Obi-Wan didn't really have much hope in Vader's redemption, just pity for what he'd endured.

The Jedi Padawan sighed. "I… you're a person, Vader. That's reason enough to help."

Darth Vader flinched as if he'd been smacked. He looked stupefied, baffling Obi-Wan. Was that response really so shocking? Stars, the boy really was deprived of anything good or sane in his life. In either case, Obi-Wan pushed the pang of guilt and sadness in his chest aside and pulled the Sith down the hallway since he was seemingly subdued. As they continued to walk down the (thankfully) empty corridor, Obi-Wan remarked mildly, "I suppose you get your walk, after all."

Vader watched him somewhat glumly. "You ruined it."

Obi-Wan almost laughed at his expression, but he held it in and simply gave an amused smile and dryly said, "I suppose you preferred a lightsaber in your hand and corpses everywhere."

Vader sighed, looking at his feet.

The rest of the trip was uneventful, though Obi-Wan belatedly realized this was probably the closest he'd seen Vader acting somewhat normal. Maybe he should let the man _stay_ sick if it meant he acted like a sentient being.

The med bay was packed with soldiers and Jedi, all standing at the ready. Two doctors flanked a bed, scanners in their hands. As soon as Obi-Wan and Vader entered, one soldier uncuffed Obi-Wan from the binders and two Jedi grabbed Vader by the arms and dragged him to the physicians.

Qui-Gon, who was among the Jedi present, approached Obi-Wan. "What happened?"

"He's sick," he explained and then added, "I wasn't able to question him."

He felt like he should be more apologetic about that, but he was oddly satisfied. The more he watched Vader the more he realized he was just as sick of this game as the Sith Lord was. Vader wouldn't admit anything about the Empire, and Obi-Wan didn't want to keep trying to drag information out of him. He knew that it was important for the Alliance, but he also knew that Vader just _wouldn't_ be their source of Intel, not with the way he was now. They hadn't had enough time.

Blast it, why was he contradicting himself so much? He'd told Siri barely ten minutes ago that he would at least attempt to question Vader, and now… well he supposed he wasn't contradicting himself so much as being honest with himself at this point.

A thought occurred to him, though, and he looked at his master. "I would like to speak with him alone once they're finished with the initial treatment."

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. "You think it will help that he's here instead of in a cell?"

"Perhaps," he replied noncommittally. The change of setting probably wouldn't make a huge difference to Vader, but Obi-Wan would rather talk to him here where the man was physically more comfortable.

Qui-Gon nodded in acknowledgement and walked over to the Jedi and soldiers. The doctors were still scanning Vader, and one of them was prepping his arm for an IV while a nurse brought some thin gloves for his hands. Obi-Wan supposed they would passively warm him rather than actively so his skin wouldn't sustain any more injury; at least he'd heard that was how one treated hypothermia.

Wandering to another part of the medical bay, Obi-Wan sat and meditated, pondering what he should do next. He wanted to speak to Vader simply for the sake of _speaking_ with him. He wasn't quite sure what he'd say, but it would at least be a start. If he couldn't interrogate him, he could at least continue with his other objective in establishing a rapport. Vader's earlier remark indicated that he wasn't fooled by Obi-Wan's actions, but again, just thinking that made him feel guilty. Was he simply doing this to appease himself? He supposed. But it would no doubt do some benefit for Vader, too.

Eventually Qui-Gon found him and said everyone had left (or, more likely, they were waiting outside with their blasters and lightsabers in their hands). Nodding, Obi-Wan made his way over to the Sith Lord, who was sitting on a bed gazing around the empty room with slight suspicion. As soon as Vader laid eyes on Obi-Wan his expression grew icy, and the Force mirrored it.

"No need to raise your defenses," Obi-Wan sighed, recognizing the maneuver now. "I'm just here to talk."

"You talked earlier."

Obi-Wan quipped, "I do believe people are capable of having more than one conversation a day, even if that is your own personal record."

Vader opened his mouth to reply, and then he furrowed his brow and closed it again. Obi-Wan chuckled, garnering amusement from the reaction; it didn't take much to confuse him, did it?

"I had an idea, actually," Obi-Wan said slowly, walking to a chair beside the bed and sitting in it. "Seeing as you're so fixated on interrogations, I propose that you question me."

If it was possible, the boy's bemusement grew.

"Well it would certainly allow you to ask any query you may have," Obi-Wan shrugged nonchalantly.

"Why?"

"Of course you start with your favorite question," Obi-Wan commented dryly.

Vader's gaze grew stubborn. Obi-Wan sighed.

"I'm not sure how many other ways I can answer," he finally said. "You don't seem to hear me."

"I thought _you_ would understand."

"Understand what?"

"You're a _soldier_ now. You're a _Jedi_." Vader gestured irritably. "It's _your job_ to _break_ me. You're terrible at it."

Obi-Wan gave him probably the most discombobulated expression possible. "I'm… not sure how that pertains to anything I just said."

"That's the _point_." Vader emphasized.

"Well, as I recall, you said you weren't going to tell me anything."

"So you just gave up."

"I saw no reason to continue."

Vader furrowed his brow further, seemingly unable to comprehend his explanation.

"You're not Human." The Sith Lord finally said.

Obi-Wan blanched. "What?"

Vader blinked. Then he blinked again. "It's genetic, isn't it?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Padmé sometimes didn't hear me either. Never mind, you're adopted."

_What?_ "Vader, you're speaking nonsense."

"Well so are you!"

"How am _I_ speaking nonsense?"

"_Nobody_ is that _incompetent_ at their job. If they are, they die. You haven't gotten yourself killed yet."

"I'm not _incompetent_," Obi-Wan replied a little irritably. "I decided it was in both our interests to stop the charade. There was no point in interrogating you."

"The Rebels need information."

"Yes, desperately, but you won't give it."

Vader shook his head.

"So there's no point in continuing down that venture."

"You—you can't just _give up._"

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "You want me to push you?"

"You're _supposed_ to push me."

Obi-Wan finally let himself laugh. "You've been waiting to say this for a while, haven't you?"

Vader crossed his arms, annoyed.

"By the stars, I must admit that you are the _strangest_ person I've ever met," Obi-Wan observed.

The Imperial's irritation immediately vanished, giving way to confusion once more. Then defensiveness. Then anger again. And then he looked away.

Obi-Wan blinked, completely baffled. Shaking his head, he steered the conversation back to its original point. "So. What do you want to ask?"

"I don't want anything."

Obi-Wan didn't believe that for a second. "All you've ever done is question what I do, and now you're telling me you don't have a single thing to ask me?"

Vader was silent for a long time. Obi-Wan almost gave up on getting anything out of him when he finally did pose a question. "Do you hate me?"

It was odd hearing such a question couched in sincere curiosity. The Sith Lord wasn't tempting Obi-Wan to hate him, nor was he begrudging him. He just wanted to know.

Obi-Wan looked him in the eye. "No."

Before Vader could say anything Obi-Wan added, "And since you will no doubt ask why, I'll explain it: a Jedi does not give in to his emotions, especially darker ones like hatred. It only leads to more conflict, more pain. It only leads to the Dark Side."

"So… you don't hate because you're not supposed to." Vader surmised slowly.

"I _choose_ not to. I've seen what hatred does to people."

Vader furrowed his brow. "What does it do?"

Obi-Wan felt dumbstruck. He knew by this point he shouldn't be surprised that Vader wasn't a normal Sith Lord—far from it, honestly—but hatred was the hallmark of the Sith, practically the hallmark of the _Empire_. "Don't tell me you've never hated anyone. It consumes you, you should _know_ that."

"It serves as a drive," Vader remarked thoughtfully, as if he were just considering it for the first time. The Sith exhaled shakily, and the Force finally gave its first indication to his emotions, slipping up just slightly and making Obi-Wan's gut clench. He didn't know what the sensation was, but it vanished quickly enough as Vader closed his eyes in concentration, attempting to control himself.

"_Temporary_ drive," Obi-Wan stressed, wondering why he was even teaching this man about it, marveling at the indescribable irony of a Jedi explaining how hatred works to a Sith. "And whatever benefit it gives you in motivation, it quickly overpowers it with irrational thought. Hatred serves no purpose."

"Is there a way to harness hatred without being illogical?"

Obi-Wan would have laughed at such a question if it had come from anyone else. Instead, Vader was watching him intently, sincerely, a completely blank slate when it came to just about anything, for lack of a better word, _natural_. Obi-Wan's chest clenched far more than it should have, and some strange wave of sympathy, protectiveness, and confusion washed over him. Eventually, he answered, "No."

The two sat in silence for a long time after this, but Obi-Wan remained patient, curious to see what Vader would ask next. After pondering the matter, the Sith Lord asked, "Why did you tell me to stop?"

Obi-Wan stared at him, confused. "When did I…?"

"During the interrogation."

Oh. _Oh._ Obi-Wan looked away, not entirely sure how to explain himself. At the time he'd simply listened to the Force and reacted. He supposed that was reasonable enough, but he knew Vader would want more. Sighing, he shook his head. He couldn't provide more, so he'd just tell him what he did know. "I… reacted. The Force was trying to tell me something, and I wasn't sure what it was, so I simply… listened."

"You control the Force, not the other way around." Vader immediately said firmly, attempting to destroy Obi-Wan's explanation entirely, demanding a better one.

Here Obi-Wan hesitated. He was still learning the basics of the Jedi beliefs; he couldn't get into a debate about the nature of the Force with Vader when _Jedi Masters_ weren't exactly experts on the subject. He still tried, though. "The Force does speak to you. It's how you can sense danger, how you can detect disturbances. It isn't completely passive."

"The Force is noisy because of _people_. It doesn't have a voice."

"The Jedi teach that people become one with the Force when they die," Obi-Wan offered shakily, not quite sure he himself believed it. "Wouldn't that count as giving it a voice?"

Vader's eyes darkened. "I don't sense him whenever I access the Force. The Jedi are wrong."

_Sense him?_ Palpatine. He was talking about Palpatine. Obi-Wan shifted in his seat, not quite nervous, but most certainly cautious. They'd never openly addressed the issue of the emperor since Obi-Wan knew it was Vader's biggest trigger. He hadn't wanted to set the man off before… could he bring up the issue now? Had it been long enough? Had they at least established that they could talk comfortably with each other?

Obi-Wan decided to play it safe. "Honestly, I don't know what happens to those who die, Vader. It's a mystery to the living."

"You don't come back." Vader remarked softly, his tone laced with frustration and pain.

Watching the Sith Lord stirred some sort of emotion in Obi-Wan, and he said, "There are many who believe there's an entirely new and different life after death. A better world, a better place. Perhaps everyone goes there."

"What happens when you die in that life?"

"I'm fairly certain the idea is that you _don't_."

"Then what's the purpose of _this_ life?"

Obi-Wan smiled gently. "That is a question philosophers have been trying to answer since the dawn of sentient species. Until we can get a definitive answer we just make the most of it."

Vader shook his head, his eyebrows coming together in contemplation.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath. "Did you never discuss this with the emperor?"

Darth Vader immediately snapped his attention back to the Jedi. His body went rigid, and the air felt tense as if the Force were being pulled in so many directions it would snap. Obi-Wan winced slightly, but he maintained firm eye contact with the Sith.

"What I discussed with the emperor is none of your concern," Vader remarked, his tone stony and cold.

"I won't force you to speak on the matter," Obi-Wan appeased him, though they both knew the Jedi Padawan wouldn't be able to force Vader to do anything. "But… if you ever want to talk, I'm here to listen."

Vader's eyes softened, and he gazed intently at Obi-Wan, desperately searching for something. Knowing what the boy would ask, he explained, "Because I _do_ care."

And he really meant it; for the first time, Obi-Wan did find it within himself to care a little for the lost, shattered, destructive mess that was Darth Vader.

* * *

**Let me know if Obi-Wan's feeling consistent and realistic; I struggle a lot with his character, sadly. I hope you enjoyed the chapter. :)  
**

**And since I'm a musician, more musical fun! In memory of our dear departed Papa Palps, I highly recommend one of his favorite pieces of music, The Lark Ascending. Just youtube the title and you should be able to find it just fine! If you want to listen to what the Tarkin couple was listening to (or, more accurately, what I was listening to while I wrote that POV), then search for Spring River Flower Moon Night on youtube. **


	43. Advancements

**Merry Christmas! :D**

* * *

"Master, the starboard engines are down!"

"I'm _aware_ of that, Padawan!"

"Is that another alarm?!"

"Life support's gone. Blast it!"

"What are we going to do?"

Pause. Breath.

"We stay and fight. We die as Jedi should. We take them with us."

"W-what? We can't stay—we—Master, I—there has to be another way!"

"There is no other way, Padawan. Be at peace. We'll be one with the Force soon… but we won't go down without a fight. Send an order to the rest of the marines, tell them to retreat; we'll hold them off here."

"Master…"

"_Do as I say_, Padawan."

Crescendo. Heartbeat. Silence.

"Yes, Master."

Dramatic string music.

Wait, what?

Tarkin opened his eyes blearily. He was warm and comfortable in bed, but somehow, despite all odds, that infernal HoloNet show had _followed _him. Twisting in bed, he glanced at his wife, who was leaning against the pillows clutching a data pad like her life depended on it. Her eyes were wide, her mouth gaping open with shock.

"_Master, there's something you should know before… before it's over."_ A feminine voice said, that oh-so-familiar voice of that blasted brat who was supposed to be a Jedi Padawan.

Tarkin felt his skin crawl in annoyance. No. He would _not_ have that _here_ in his blasted _bedroom_. "Tell me that isn't that show about the Clone War."

His wife jumped, startled, and paused the video. She blushed slightly and then seemed to misinterpret his words, growing excited. "You watch it too?"

"_No."_ Tarkin practically hissed.

His wife huffed, shuffling out of bed. Tarkin sighed heavily, glancing at his chronometer. His alarm would have gone off in a few minutes, anyway. Climbing out of bed, he dressed for the day and decided to have breakfast on the go; he had to tour the oversector and then return to Imperial Center. His wife was dragging her feet, trying desperately to finish the episode she was watching. Growing steadily more irritated, the emperor regent stood in the doorway to one of the estate's many sitting rooms. Honestly he would just flee the vicinity if it weren't for the simple fact that he had a point to emphasize.

Currently his wife was curled on a couch, bundled in a heavy blanket. Her face glowed as the data pad continued to play the episode centimeters from her. The sound of blaster fire emitted from the contraption alongside lightsaber movement. The noise made Tarkin's skin crawl, and an overwhelming sense of emptiness filled him for a second. He shook his head, firmly _not_ thinking about a young Sith apprentice rotting away half insane in a Rebel cell.

"_It's going to be okay, Padawan. It… it'll be over soon."_

"_I'm not afraid. Not when I'm with you. I… Master, I…"_

Tarkin was _not_ going to listen to this nonsense. He cleared his throat loudly.

His wife paused the episode and, after noting his attire, stood quickly. "You're leaving already?"

"I told you last night."

"I didn't expect you to leave first thing in the morning," she remarked, her face guarded but her tone slightly revealing.

Tarkin sighed, not giving her any leeway. "I have an empire to run."

That familiar greed glittered in her eyes. "_We_ do, yes."

He was slightly amused, but also annoyed. "Not if you don't keep her in line."

"We discussed this last night," she waved a dismissive hand. "I'll take care of her."

"Be sure you do."

He didn't give his wife time to respond. Instead, he turned and headed towards the courtyard where a shuttle awaited him, already prepped for flight. Just as his feet touched the ramp, however, he heard his wife call out to him. He turned and noted she had thrown a robe on to look more presentable. She rushed towards him and then paused a few steps away, and they both stared at each other. She watched him with some concern, with some sort of emotion Tarkin couldn't read. Growing slightly impatient, he asked, "What is it?"

His wife swallowed and then tipped her head gracefully. "Be well."

That was it? Sighing, he said, "Be _alert_."

With that final warning, he boarded the ship and grabbed his comlink. The engines roared to life and Tarkin didn't bother to look out the window as his estate grew steadily smaller. Impatient for a report on affairs in the galaxy, he called his spy.

When she answered, she immediately said, "How's it going, cousin?"

Tarkin blinked. What? A millisecond later, it clicked; the line wasn't secure. His skin crawled a little; why wasn't it secure? "Fairly well. I was about to ask you the same thing."

"Well, from what I heard, things in the south aren't as bad as they were a day ago."

Grand Adm. Konstantine had been defeated, then. Good. Tarkin smiled. One fool out of the way. All that remained was Grand Moff Rhaegon. "Well, that's a relief; we wouldn't want too many headaches."

"No kidding, though your latest loud mouthed acquaintance is still yelling at the top of his lungs. You know, he caught so much attention that I heard he's heading your way."

_His _way? Grand Moff Rhaegon was heading towards Eriadu? "I don't recall inviting him over."

"He invited himself. He's not _quite_ there; some friends tried to help you out. But part of the way is blocked now."

Part of the way…?

The Hydian Way. It was a major trade route, and Eriadu was right on it. Rhaegon had taken part of the Hydian Way.

Terrific.

"I'll cut my tour short, then." He quipped somewhat irritably. This day wasn't starting out all that well.

"Suit yourself. By the way, there's this great ballet playing at our favorite spot, so you'd better be there tonight."

Tarkin furrowed his brow, trying to translate his spy's words. Was she implying that she needed to see him when he arrived? Pulling out a data pad, he looked up the Galaxies Opera House and found the ballet to which was referring. Underneath the description of the ballet was a series of numbers that looked strangely out of place. Tarkin squinted at it, and he abruptly remembered that it was part of a code used back in the Clone War. Racking his brain for what each number signified, he eventually translated it.

_Your pilot knows a safe path. I'll brief you fully upon your return._

He wasn't surprised that his spy had known he was leaving today, but it still left him slightly unnerved how well she kept track of his movements, how well _Intelligence _kept track of his movements. He had to ensure Intelligence didn't learn of his maneuver, after all – only his spy knew the truth. And speaking of that… "Ah, I see. Will your husband be there too?"

"No, he's still indisposed, but he'll get better very soon."

Good. That was promising. "Very well. I'll see you at the ballet."

"Goodbye, cousin."

Sighing, Tarkin cut the connection and closed his eyes as his shuttle entered hyperspace. He'd planned on glossing over his entire oversector one last time to maintain appearances; if he'd simply gone to Eriadu it might look suspicious, as if he were up to something there. It would have been tedious and time consuming, but he would have been forced to do it. Rhaegon's possession of the Hydian Way was somewhat of a blessing since it relieved him of that tiresome duty, but it still left him nervous. The _last_ thing he needed was for that man to discover Amidala in his estate. He had to ensure Seswenna was firmly under his control, both to keep Amidala's presence a secret and to show his strength – it would be fairly pathetic indeed to lose his own home to the man, after all. He would organize the efforts when he returned to Imperial Center – there were too many unknown factors right now, and he would not give orders of an assault against Rhaegon via transmission – the man was no doubt listening in to everything, anyway.

* * *

The air was still. The soft hum of the heaters rattled her mind. Sitting up, Siri sighed and tried to meditate to help herself get to sleep. She tried to clear her mind, she felt out into the Force. It _seemed_ peaceful, which could only be a good thing, she supposed. She wasn't that great at determining emotions or movements or whatever other Jedi called them. Qui-Gon would call them _whispers_ from the Force, nudges and indications that something was occurring, but another Master she'd spoken to had called them _ripples_, reactions to something happening elsewhere. In either case, it did her little good since she could never seem to trace those ripples to their source, and she never really could interpret them, either. Right now, though, all she wanted was to _sleep_, but she couldn't.

Siri squeezed her eyes shut more tightly, giving up on relaxing. Instead, she tried to actively search the Force for any danger. Again, it felt peaceful, but somehow that didn't make her feel any better. Darth Vader was out of his cell, and that left her entirely too uncomfortable.

A soft snore startled her out of her musings, and she looked at Obi-Wan. He was facing away from her, tightly wrapped in the blanket and oblivious to her plight.

Why had he taken Vader to the med bay? Why hadn't he brought a doctor _to_ Vader instead? Had he actually made progress with the Sith? Siri shook her head, glancing elsewhere. She was having a hard enough time reconciling the fact that Darth Vader was more of a shell of a man rather than a monster, but to add to it she also had to struggle with the fact that he'd killed Padmé.

He'd _killed Padmé_. She hated feeling stuck only thinking about that kriffing Sith Lord, but it was no longer her own grief or shock that bothered her. She'd started to move on from Padmé's death ever since Ilum, and though the discovery that Vader was her murderer had rattled Siri badly and dragged back all her negative feelings about the murder, she was _trying_ to move on from that… but she couldn't get past the realization that her _husband_ had to interact with his _sister's murderer_ on a _daily basis_ due to Qui-Gon's obsession and the Alliance's desperation. Did no one think about how this was affecting _Obi-Wan_? He seemed to be taking it pretty well on the surface, but that didn't necessarily mean it wasn't bothering him. He'd been good at hiding his emotions before the Jedi ever came along, and he was only getting better at it now.

She sighed heavily. _You're supposed to let it go_. Well she was _trying _to, blast it. She wasn't perfect, she couldn't just immediately get over that. She knew holding on to the shock and rage would do her no good, she _knew _that. Meditation had helped somewhat, had forced her to face her issues with the Sith Lord, but her concerns had shifted from _he killed Padmé, she deserves justice_ to _Obi-Wan has to talk to the man who tore his sister from him_ and most recently, to _the most dangerous man in the Empire is emotionally unstable and talking to my husband alone with barely any protection._

Siri pinched the bridge of her nose, her brow furrowing. Padmé was no longer the main concern, but _Obi-Wan _was – despite all of this, though, Obi-Wan had managed to create this massive emotional distance between himself and the issue at hand, between himself and _Siri, _and she just couldn't keep up with it. When they trained together it was like being with him before the war had drained them, but whenever Obi-Wan's assignment came up… Siri didn't know. She would grow worried and angry all at once thinking about it, and Obi-Wan would just be… neutral. She didn't care if he noticed her own concern, but she _did_ care about how _he_ felt on the matter. She'd been trying to meditate about it, to figure out a way to help herself calm down, but just thinking about it didn't solve the problem; even if she resolved to not be upset, she would get riled up every time Obi-Wan had to go talk to the guy. She was starting to wonder if anything would work.

Siri returned her attention to Obi-Wan. She'd already ranted to him a few days ago about her issues with Vader concerning Padmé, and she'd been pretty open about how she felt, but _he'd_ been entirely closed. He'd told her they didn't have a choice, that Qui-Gon _might_ be on to something, but even if he wasn't, it was pointless to not try. But none of those things said how _he _felt about it. Siri knew Jedi weren't supposed to give in to their emotions, but that didn't mean they weren't supposed to _acknowledge_ them – that's what the entire difference between the new and old Jedi Codes was about. So why wouldn't Obi-Wan just open up to her like he used to? In the past if they were in bad situations he often tried to be silent and stoic, but it never really held up against Siri's questioning, and he'd always felt comfortable enough to at least _talk_ to her about things. Now he was an island, slowly forming into that picturesque Jedi that everyone imagined a Jedi should be. Was he really doing it right and Siri just didn't understand what it meant to be a Jedi, as he'd implied a few days ago? Or was he taking this to an unhealthy extreme that even the Jedi understood to be wrong? The Jedi were _raised_ in a certain manner; there was no possible way Obi-Wan and Siri could go about training just like someone who grew up with the Order.

Being a Jedi wasn't a job, it was a vocation, a _lifestyle_. She understood that now. But one didn't have to get into the lifestyle in the same way… why couldn't Obi-Wan realize that? He didn't have to just immediately shut off his emotions. That's what Siri had been _trying_ to tell him a few days ago.

Blast. Why were her thoughts all over the place? Focus!

Siri closed her eyes again. If she just kept meditating, if she just kept herself aware of what was happening in the base, then maybe she wouldn't be quite so anxious. She just _didn't like_ the idea of the most powerful man in the Empire resting in the med bay. He was cuffed to the bed, and there was practically a battalion of soldiers and Jedi guarding the area, but it didn't feel as secure as having him in a sealed cell with ray shields and durasteel doors.

As Siri focused once more, she tried to push her fear away. It would do her no good; she knew that before she ever received Jedi training, but now that she had to use the Force it was all the more apparent. Fear clouded her mind, it made sensing anything nearly impossible if it became too overwhelming. She had to calm down.

Breathing deeply, Siri looked specifically for the small life presence inside of her. She'd recently come to realize that sensing out her child's signature in the Force was one of the most calming things she could do. She smiled a little and felt the tension ease out of her muscles. Despite the aches that had started to plague her body, and even despite the nausea that occasionally came, she was happier than ever about the pregnancy. On Imperial Center she'd been constantly stressed and worried for the youngling, but here…

Well, here the child _had_ been safe. Now with Vader out…

Siri groaned softly, exasperated with herself and the situation. She felt like she was going in circles. She needed to calm down and _stay_ calm despite the situation, but she knew that wasn't going to happen, not in here. If she just had something to _do_ apart from training and sitting around waiting for the Empire to find them or waiting for Vader to finally go off the deep end, maybe it wouldn't be so stressful. After all, hadn't their reason for going to Hoth been to finally start getting _involved_ again? Sure, Siri and Obi-Wan weren't ready to face Palpatine and Vader (so _why the blazes _was Qui-Gon sending Obi-Wan _alone_ to handle Vader on a daily basis?), but by this point the Alliance had to be doing _something_; Tarkin was an enormous threat, and he was rallying the Empire once more.

"Siri?"

Startled, Siri jumped and looked at her husband. Obi-Wan was watching her with half open eyes, concern evident on his face.

She shouldn't be worrying him; Force knew he had enough to worry about. Smiling gently, she said, "Go back to sleep, Obi."

Exasperation filled her as his eyes opened fully. She should've known better than trying to stop him. "What's wrong?"

She was tempted for a second to close him off as he had seemingly done to her, but that was petty and she knew it. Sighing, she looked away. "I find it a little hard to sleep when Darth Vader's chilling a few hallways away from us."

Obi-Wan sat up more fully, and Siri could practically see the mild amusement and concern color his expression.

"The doctor sedated him," he said reassuringly.

"I know," Siri replied. "It's irrational to be worried about it, but here I am, worrying."

Obi-Wan was silent for a moment, and then he offered, "We can join the guards."

"We?" Siri repeated, looking at him once more. He watched her carefully, his eyes bright, his brow heavy. He was tired, and the last thing he needed was to get near Vader. "_I_ can join the guards for a while, but you need to sleep."

"_I'm_ not growing a person inside me. _You_ need the sleep." He rebutted mildly, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows.

Siri sighed for the millionth time that night, her anxiety turning to annoyance. "Fine, we'll both go."

She didn't have to see a smile on his face to know he was pleased to win the little spat. Siri mirrored his earlier expression. "I thought Jedi don't gloat, Obi-Wan."

"I'm not gloating," he replied, slightly ruffled. Siri smirked. Rolling his eyes, he climbed out of bed. "Come on."

Throwing on some boots, warmer trousers, and a coat, Siri followed her husband out of their small quarters. They were in the Jedi barracks area, so their room was adjacent to many others filled with fellow Padawans and Knights. The two walked silently for a short while before Siri finally figured she could try to pull some genuine answers out of Obi-Wan since it was just the two of them with nothing in particular to do.

"Why did you take him to the med bay?"

Obi-Wan slowed his pace briefly, glancing at her. He seemed to mull over the matter before answering. "He was sick."

Siri looked at him exasperatedly. "No kidding. I wouldn't imagine taking somebody to the med bay for any other reason. I meant why didn't you just get a medical droid, or have a doctor go to the cell?"

Obi-Wan sighed. "I… did what I thought was necessary. Besides, he was a mess; they could at least clean him up in the med bay."

Well, that made _some_ sense, at least, though Siri didn't really see how Vader deserved such treatment. Most of her pity (what little she'd had in the first place… it was actually more like not hating him rather than feeling anything _for_ him) for the man had drained out of her when she'd learned what he'd done to Padmé.

And speaking of which… "Obi… are you okay?"

Obi-Wan stopped entirely now, looking at her in confusion.

"Look, the other day, I… I lost my temper a little bit, and it worried you," Siri explained, facing him fully. "But I was just trying to sort through how I felt about things. What I'm asking is have _you_ sorted through how you feel? Have you even _considered_ how you feel? It just seems like you're treating this like any other stressful assignment we've had; you're just ignoring the emotions until the situation's over… but this is a long game, Obi, and this isn't just another stressful assignment. So… are you okay?"

Obi-Wan swallowed and took a deep breath. He was trying to gather his thoughts, get a hold of himself. "I'm… getting there."

It was the most sincere answer she'd gotten out of him in what felt like an eternity, and she was relieved to hear it. Smiling, she put a hand on his shoulder. "If you ever need to talk about it, I'm here for you. Or, more likely, if you start imploding and I notice, I'm dragging it out of you."

Obi-Wan barked out a laugh. "I don't believe I'll be _imploding_ any time soon."

"I _know_ how you are," she remarked, resuming their walk. "You pretend everything's fine."

"I don't _pretend_ everything's fine. I just resolve things in my own time."

"Yeah, _on_ your own. That's okay most of the time, but not here."

"Siri…"

"Don't." she interrupted him somewhat sharply. "Just admit it, Obi-Wan: every time you really needed to rant about something or just discuss it, you would stay quiet and _I_ would have to interrogate you."

Obi-Wan paused, an idea dawning on him. "Yes… you're right. You're very good at that."

Siri didn't like where this was going. "What are you thinking…?"

Her husband smiled. "Oh, nothing. Come on."

Siri walked alongside him, eying him warily. She _really_ had a bad feeling about this.

Eventually the couple arrived at the med bay. About fifteen guards and five Jedi were roaming the hall, some talking, others leaning against the walls. Obi-Wan glanced at Siri questioningly, wondering if she wanted to stay here.

Honestly, she really _did_ want to stay out in the hall, but a part of her pushed for her to go inside, to look at that man with all her knowledge about him. A part of her figured it would help somehow, it would force her to confront everything she'd been feeling about him. As Obi-Wan had said, he'd been sedated, so she wouldn't have to interact with Vader, just _see_ him.

Taking the lead, Siri walked to the entrance. The guards stiffened, but then they recognized her and Obi-Wan and let them pass. The door hissed open, and Siri entered.

The last time she'd been with Darth Vader, she'd… been a little less than calm. The Force had been stormy, Siri had been a mess… it generally had not been a great experience. Now she listened carefully to the Force, not knowing how to discern what she felt but knowing whether it was a threat or not. Vader was sleeping quietly, his arms right by the rails of the bed since his wrists were cuffed to them. He looked a little pale, but his coloring was still infinitely better than the last time she'd seen him. The wounds he'd had were less noticeable now, though some looked like they'd yet to heal. His face was placid, his muscles slack from slumber.

Siri felt her chest clench looking at him, but she refused to gaze elsewhere. Taking a deep breath, she ran through her mind all the deeds he'd done, all the things she knew about him, in some sort of attempt to reconcile herself with this situation. As a Jedi she knew she had to be as neutral a party as possible without being gullible or foolish. Finding that balance was difficult.

Glancing at Obi-Wan, Siri was surprised to see that he was watching the Sith Lord calmly. He no longer looked exhausted, upset, worried, or confused about the matter. He didn't really look resigned, either, just… at peace.

"How do you do that?" she asked softly.

Obi-Wan looked at her confusedly.

"How can you be so calm around him?" she clarified. "After everything he's done…"

"I thought you were working on your emotions concerning him." He reminded her.

"I_ am_," she emphasized. "That's why I'm asking."

Obi-Wan sighed and looked back at Vader. "I… I'm starting to see him differently. Not quite like Qui-Gon, but not quite like I used to."

"What do you mean?"

Obi-Wan struggled to find the right words. "We only knew him as a butcher who showed no remorse. We now realize that he was brainwashed to be that way, that he's known little else. What he's done is… is horrendous. There's no denying it. Qui-Gon wishes to absolve him of it. I do not. I just… realize that it's not what we thought. _He's_ not what we thought."

"Then what is he?"

"Lost." Obi-Wan immediately answered.

"And empty?" Siri surmised, recalling how he'd looked the last time she'd seen him.

Her husband shook his head. "I... don't think so. If he's not, he's close… dangerously close, and it isn't our job to push him over the edge. That would only make us as bad as he is."

"So how is your view any different from Qui-Gon's, then?" Siri asked, somewhat suspicious.

"As I said, Qui-Gon wishes to absolve him of everything and say none of it was his fault. He wants to make him a Jedi." Obi-Wan crossed his arms, suddenly looking tired. "I don't see that happening, nor am I sure he really deserves such treatment. But I do realize that he isn't a heartless monster. He's… naïve."

"_Naïve?"_ Siri repeated, surprised and baffled by the description.

"He asked me what hatred did to people, if one could hate without being irrational," Obi-Wan said with almost sad amusement. "He didn't know. He didn't understand it. Siri, I… I don't think he knows anything about emotions, about being a _sentient being_. He's… _lost_."

Siri stared at him, surprised, mulling over what he said. They'd all assumed Vader was remorseless, not _emotionless_… or, more accurately, if he was emotionless it was because he was _heartless_, not _clueless_. Could he just be playing Obi-Wan? Somehow she doubted it; she could see Padmé getting caught up in saving someone, but Obi-Wan was far more hesitant on such matters, and he came into this situation fully aware of what kind of person Vader was.

Or at least so they thought.

"I'm not sure there's much left to save," Obi-Wan remarked, breaking the silence. "But I won't be the one to tell him there's no hope. I'll let him decide that for himself."

* * *

In his years of war, Éothen had experienced many surprises. Hell, even hearing about Padmé's death had been a surprise. But _this_?

Padmé was _alive_? What the hell?!

Éothen was beginning to debate whether his head would ever _stop_ spinning – things had been confusing and crazy enough when he'd gotten engaged, then his fiancée had been murdered, and now she was alive again. Or, more accurately, she'd never died in the first place.

Mother above. This was _beyond_ insane. What the hell had Erwyna been up to?!

"Sir?"

Éothen jumped and looked at his subordinates. As Erwyna had suggested, he'd gathered his squad together and told them they were going to Imperial Center, though he hadn't explained why simply because he barely had an explanation to give. All he'd said was Erwyna needed their help.

Sighing, Éothen motioned towards the shuttle waiting for them at the landing pad. "Let's go."

The squad boarded silently, some members exchanging confused looks. Éothen didn't blame them; the war was over on Salkende, so they no doubt were clueless as to why they were needed, particularly on a place like Imperial Center. Honestly, he wasn't even sure if any of them had ever been there.

To add to it, the Rebels were practically hounding his mother about reinforcements ever since the news of Emperor Regent Tarkin's installment had hit HoloNet. Éothen figured he and his squad would be sent to Hoth soon. It was a _good_ thing – he'd been desperate to enter the fray after the Empire had interfered with Salkenden affairs. But right now… right now he was too disoriented to even know what to do.

Once they boarded everyone sat and fiddled with their equipment uneasily. Some started to convince themselves this was just another wartime assignment, and Éothen saw the mask of a calm, determined soldier slip over their faces. He sighed heavily and looked out the window as the shuttle's engines roared to life. He hoped Erwyna wasn't in any kind of trouble, but he knew she could take care of herself even if she was, at least until they could get there.

Padmé was _alive_. She was _alive_?!

Éothen shook his head. Who else knew about this? Was this a Rebel ploy all along? Had they tricked Salkende? Why would they do that? It didn't seem likely; there was no motive, the Rebels _needed_ them. So was it an Imperial plot? Or had Padmé managed to save herself and was in hiding? If it was the Imperials, why would they go through that entire drama if they weren't going to kill her? If it was Padmé herself, why hadn't she contacted someone, like her brother, or even maybe Éothen himself?

Had she contacted her brother and he hadn't told anyone? The Rebels were getting Salkenden aid now, after all, at least in terms of supplies. Maybe he figured he wouldn't have to hand his sister over to Éothen.

The man scoffed. As if the entire engagement were _his_ idea in the first place, as if he'd been running the show. Padmé had not been some helpless damsel caught in bad circumstances; she had taken control of her situation. It was one of the reasons Éothen had actually grown to admire her. He didn't know what was going on, but he sure as hell was going to find out.

Wait. Had she _actually_ tried to contact Éothen? Had that been the meaning of her gift? Erwyna had specifically mentioned it in her transmission. Éothen felt his gut clench with uncertainty and guilt. He certainly _hoped_ it hadn't been a message, because if it had, he'd completely missed it.

It was such a strange feeling. He'd been starting to adjust to the idea of Padmé's death. He'd practically moved on by this point. Sure, the Empire's maneuver still pissed him off, and he felt immensely terrible for Padmé and her family, but what had happened had happened. He'd been chomping at the bit to get back at the Empire, but he hadn't been bemoaning the death of his fiancée. He'd seen enough people he cared about die to do such a thing, and even he'd admit he wasn't particularly emotionally attached to her – they hadn't exactly had much time for that.

But he'd never had someone who'd died _come back_. How was he supposed to feel about this? Relieved? All he felt was confused beyond belief. He was filled with so much energy, with an insatiable desire to learn what had happened _now_ and fix it _now_ and find Padmé _now_.

It was seventeen hours to Imperial Center. It was time to get some answers.

* * *

Padmé awoke with a jolt as she felt something touch her neck. She jerked away from the sensation and felt something dangling there. Her vision sharpened as her mind finally registered what was happening. She was still in the room on the makeshift hospital bed, and the medical droid was right beside her, having placed something around her neck. Reaching, she felt a thin, rigid piece of metal. She would have assumed it was a necklace, but it felt more like a _collar_, and considering her new predicament…

Sighing, she glared at the droid. "What is it?"

"I was instructed to place a shock collar on you. You are now healthy and to be discharged."

Padmé refrained from grabbing helplessly at the collar once more. She should've known this would happen. It made things more complicated, but not impossible; the plans she'd been making mostly consisted of just gathering as much information about galactic affairs as possible before deciding what the best course of action would be.

Standing, she decided to take advantage of the situation. "I'll head out, then."

She walked purposefully towards the door. If she could wander the compound a little bit, pretend to get lost, she could gather some information from the start. She had no such luck, however; the door was still locked.

"Someone will be along to retrieve you," the Emdee droid explained.

Padmé bit her lower lip. This was getting steadily more frustrating. She had to calm down and be patient; she wasn't getting out of here immediately.

Gods, she hoped everyone was alright.

The door hissed open, startling Padmé, and she took a hasty step back. In the entranceway was Lady Tarkin herself with a muscular Human male standing off to the side. Judging by his subservient posture and the similar looking collar around his pale neck, he was no doubt a slave as well.

"I see the droid prepared you. Good." Lady Tarkin said curtly with a smug smile.

Padmé sighed but said nothing, waiting to see what would happen next.

Motioning to the man, she said, "This will be your mate. I'll be in need of more slaves in the future. One has to plan ahead."

Padmé's mouth fell slack, stunned. "What?!"

"Watch your tongue," Lady Tarkin warned, pointing at her threateningly. "Remember your family's lives are at stake." Looking at the man, she ordered, "Take her. But not here – she's sullied this room long enough. Go to the slave quarters."

The man hesitated for a second, his amber eyes dancing between Padmé and his mistress, and then he nodded obediently, hunching over even more. Padmé took a step away from both of them, horrified. She couldn't even fathom this – this scenario had _not_ been what she'd planned for, what she'd even _thought_ to plan for.

"I—" she tried to protest, shaking her head.

"One more word out of you and I start ordering for their heads," Lady Tarkin snapped. "You should be grateful; at least in this manner you'll be serving some sort of _useful_ purpose."

The man slowly wrapped his hand around Padmé's arm, gently pulling her out of the room. Padmé didn't dare speak, but she still dug her heels into the ground. This couldn't be happening. _This couldn't be happening._ How could she get out of this without getting her family killed?! She couldn't… she wouldn't have to _submit_, would she?

No. _No!_ She wasn't going to let this happen! Think, blast it!

Despite her efforts, the other slave had managed to pull her down the hall, though they hadn't left Lady Tarkin's line of sight yet. The man whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. But… we'll die if we don't. And… and your family too, I guess? I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Padmé felt her breath get knocked out of her. This was _sick_. This was _beyond_ sick.

And then the idea hit her.

Pulling harshly against the man, Padmé whirled around to face the hateful woman. "You're making a mistake."

Lady Tarkin pulled out a small device and pressed a button. Fire shot through Padmé, making her muscles convulse. Her throat tightened, preventing her from even screaming. She collapsed to the ground and the pain immediately vanished. Based on the heavy breathing beside her, her companion had been electrocuted as well.

"I suppose I'll have to call the people monitoring your family, then," she remarked stiffly, though she made no move to do so.

"Just… listen to me…" Padmé gasped. "For your own sake."

This seemed to catch the woman's attention, but it only angered her. She shocked Padmé and the slave again. "You have nothing of use to say to me! Your purpose is to remain silent and do as I ordered!"

"Vader will _kill_ you," Padmé spat with as much vehemence as her exhausted body could manage.

Lady Tarkin scoffed, "Lord Vader doesn't _care_ for your troubles."

"Your husband _promised_ me to him," Padmé said, pushing herself off the ground and standing defiantly. It was the one argument she had, and she was going to use it to her advantage. She prayed it wouldn't backfire on anyone. "Lord Vader won't want a sullied slave."

A bit of her shuddered at the phrasing, but she hid it (or made it look like it was just the aftereffect of being shocked). She knew the only way Lady Tarkin would listen was if she used the same terms the woman did, but it wasn't pleasant addressing herself in that manner.

For a brief moment there was silence as the Imperial glared at Padmé suspiciously. Then she remarked with a snort, "Lord Vader has little care for that. I'm sure you aren't the first woman he's dominated."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Padmé actually barked out a laugh at the incredible ignorance of that statement. "You've never met Darth Vader, have you?"

"That's enough!" Lady Tarkin snapped, pressing the button once more.

Padmé gasped and fell to the ground again, and her head started to pound. After the torture stopped she remained on the floor, twitching and exhausted. Tears streamed from her eyes, and she heard the man beg for his mistress to stop.

"I take back what I said," Lady Tarkin snarled. "He will not be your mate. I'll have _all_ the men of this household have their time with you for your insolence."

"Do you… really want to… risk it?" Padmé tried to keep the strength in her tone, but she was nearly pleading now. "How will… this fare for you if… Vader doesn't like what you did?"

Lady Tarkin stiffened. Padmé tried to seize the opportunity as best she could. "I… will willingly be your slave… no arguments… so long as you just make me a housemaid. Just… make me a housemaid."

"You think I'll take demands from you?!" the woman yelled, her thumb primed over the shock button.

"I'm not demanding!" Padmé snapped before catching herself. She heaved herself onto all fours and then nearly lowered her face to the ground. "I… I'm pleading. I'm _begging_."

There was silence for a long time. Padmé heard Lady Tarkin exhaled and then chuckle deeply. "Tell me what you are."

Padmé was confused for a second before she knew what the witch wanted. She bit her tongue, closed her eyes, and then just said it. "I'm your slave."

"Tell me what happens if you disobey me."

_Breathe, just breathe_… "You kill my family."

"I'm still in need of a breeder. How will you solve the problem?"

Padmé felt a wave of nausea wash over her. She grasped at anything and everything, unsure what to say.

"If it is not to be you, you will choose one for me."

Padmé's stomach churned.

"So what will you do to solve the problem, slave?"

"I…" Padmé swallowed bile. Her entire body trembled from far more than the torture. "I…"

_Just say it. You won't mean it. This isn't the first bad situation you've been in._

"I'll choose one for you."

"Good girl. Now get up."

Slowly, Padmé rose to her feet. She saw the other slave still cringing on the ground, looking miserable. She felt her heart grow heavy, and she closed her eyes for a second to compose herself. She had to take advantage of this. She had to take control of the situation; she'd gotten herself out of the worst of it, at least.

"I… I will do my best to choose a good slave," she said, keeping her voice steady. She was sure to keep her eyes downcast to maintain the façade of being demure and obedient. "When will I leave for the market?"

"You think you can leave this compound?" Lady Tarkin scoffed.

Padmé clenched her jaw. She had to sell this. Her only hope was to get out of here, to physically leave this place and get her bearings. She had to sell this. She used all her stress and terrible situations as of late to bring tears to her eyes, and she generated mock sobs and fell to her hands and knees. "P-please, I—I don't want to g-get in trouble—I'll do as you say, please, just let me do as you say, I won't be bad, I promise I won't!"

"Be silent, slave!" Lady Tarkin snapped. Padmé immediately cupped her hand over her mouth and lowered herself further, waiting to see what would happen next. She held her breath, desperately hoping some good would come out of this disaster, hoping her earlier remark would pay off. The noblewoman took a slow, deep breath. "There is no slave market in town at this moment. You will choose from the slaves I already have."

Padmé let out a deep breath. To Lady Tarkin it was a sob, but in reality it was just a sigh of frustration. She needed to get out of this compound, she needed to figure out what was going on. She shook her head subtly. She would find a way. Lady Tarkin was arrogant; if Padmé played this just right, she would survive this hell, albeit with some singed pride and skin. Ignoring the headache that still was pounding from all the electrical shocks, she shakily nodded. "I'll do as you wish, Mistress. I'm ever grateful to you, Mistress. I won't disobey you."

Lady Tarkin walked away. Padmé sank to the ground, taking deep breaths to calm down. She squeezed her eyes shut against the pain shooting through her body. That had been too close. That had been entirely _too close._ She felt violated just thinking about it. Shuddering, she curled in on herself and then started to reassemble her thoughts.

"Why did you do that?"

Startled, Padmé gasped and twisted around to look at the slave. She'd almost forgotten he was there. "I… I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to get hurt."

"You'll get _yourself_ killed if you try that again," he remarked, cringing as he pulled himself to a standing position.

"Maybe so," Padmé admitted as she stood as well. "But there are worse fates. What's your name?"

"Crix," he said softly. "I'm sorry."

Padmé felt terrible for the man, but at the same time he had been willing to go through with it, even though she hadn't. She knew why, but… sighing, Padmé placed her hand on his shoulder, shaking her head. "It's… I know you were just scared. But… you can't let go of your dignity like that. None of us can. None of us should give up hope."

Crix chortled mirthlessly. "You're still new. Give it a few years. You'll learn." Then he frowned. "Are you really promised to Darth Vader? I… I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

Padmé tasted bitterness in her mouth, and her chest clenched. "I know. Let's… let's just go. I need to talk to the other slaves."

As Crix guided her towards the slave quarters, Padmé hugged herself and shook off the tremors that continued to wrack her body. Lady Tarkin was a selfish and hateful woman, but she was also easily fooled if Padmé used the right words and acted the right way. She just had to ensure she didn't enrage the woman, she had to play the part of loyal slave to a point. If she managed to get the slaves on her side, they would outnumber their precious mistress. Padmé wasn't expecting to wage war against the noblewoman and her guards, but with the slaves as her allies, she could at least have a spy network. Then she could plan her escape, she could plan _all _of their escape. She wouldn't leave these people in that wench's clutches.

There was still hope. There was _always_ hope. There _had_ to be hope. Her family needed her.

Crix led Padmé to a large library that was open to the estate's grounds. Padmé hesitated, staring outside at the bleak winter day. She saw large expanses of gardens and a tree line stretching into the distance. It was likely they weren't very close to civilization; no doubt half the forest surrounding the estate was owned by the Tarkin family. She glanced around the cold, lonely library, gazing at mixes of ancient books and data storage centers. Crix eventually wandered towards one of the shelves in the corner, reaching his hand through the shelf, making it glitch strangely for a second before Padmé realized it was a hologram. Crix deactivated the image, and a door appeared on the wall, which he opened. A dimly lit stairway was behind it, and Padmé blew out a breath as she followed Crix down the spiral staircase.

Eventually they ended up in a frigid basement. The walls and ceiling were made of stone, and the floor no doubt was as well, but it was hidden under brownish carpet that at some point had probably been white.

"How long have you been here?" Padmé asked, partly to quiet her thoughts and partly out of curiosity.

"The Tarkins have owned me for about fifteen years now. I was a gift from an officer."

Padmé shook off the revulsion that overcame her. "I'm sorry."

Crix paused long enough to give her a sad, tired smile. "Doesn't matter. I'm used to it. You will be too eventually."

"I... don't think so," Padmé replied carefully.

Crix guided her through a large kitchen, which was filled with two droids and five slaves. Beyond the kitchen was another hall that led to the slave quarters, which was a small, cramped room stuffed with ten bunk beds and barely lit by a light on the far end of the room.

"Lady Tarkin owns twenty slaves, not including you," Crix explained, standing in the center of the small room. "I'll get the women."

Padmé watched him walk by her. She was tempted to intervene, tempted to tell him to stop altogether. Or perhaps he could grab everyone; the sooner she got to know the other slaves, the better. Still, she had to be careful, and she was far more likely to make allies with the slaves in the worst situation and the most desperate to escape it. If she could establish connections she could find her way out of here.

She shuddered. How the blazes was she going to protect them from Lady Tarkin's orders? How could she choose a slave and _not_ choose one at the same time?

Padmé sat on one of the creaky beds and buried her face in her hands. Barely five minutes later she heard people shuffling in and saw eight nervous looking women standing in the entrance with Crix behind them.

"Thanks, Crix," Padmé sighed, standing, wanting him to leave and not hover over the poor women. "I can take it from here."

He nodded and left.

Padmé looked over the women. There were four Twi'leks, one Human, one Zabrak, and two Togruta. They were all fairly young, though careworn. Two of them looked like they were teenagers.

Padmé took a deep breath. She wasn't sure how to do this, whether to throw caution to the winds with the confidence that they would help her, or lie to them and thereby make it even more difficult to gain their trust. Given their expressions, she decided for the former. "My name is Padmé Amidala. I'm a member of the Rebel Alliance. I'm being held prisoner here by the Tarkins."

She then paused, figuring out where she should go from there. Before she could say anything, one of the slaves stepped forward. "Amidala? As in Senator Amidala? I thought you were killed!"

Padmé eyed the woman, an aqua skinned Twi'lek. She wasn't sure the slaves would really be up to speed on current galactic affairs, so she was surprised. "No, it was just a means to get me here. Who are you?"

"Numa," the Twi'lek answered strongly. "I was a sympathizer to the Rebel cause before I was imprisoned and sold into slavery as punishment."

Padmé felt her hopes rise. She truly did have _allies_ here. "Anyone else in a similar situation?"

The others shook their heads, though one of the teenagers crossed her arms and looked away. Padmé noted it but didn't press the matter at the moment. She decided it was time to finally get to the point.

"I'm not planning on staying here," she said. "And with your help, we can all leave. We just have to play it carefully. Lady Tarkin wants me to choose one of you to help her get more slaves, but I won't do it. I won't do that to any of you. I'll cover for you, make it seem like I've chosen someone to satisfy her. But I need your help if we're going to get out of here."

Numa sighed, leaning against the wall. "Figured she'd do that someday. I can't leave the estate, though. None of us can. Only Crix, and I doubt you'll convince him to our side. He's been here too long, too beaten down and scared to fight back."

"Are we sure this is a good idea?" another slave asked nervously. "We could be killed!"

"I'd rather die than be somebody's _mate_," one of the teenagers snapped, and then she focused her blue gaze on Padmé. "I'll help you. We _all_ will. I've been looking for an opportunity to get out of this place. I've got better things to do with my life."

Padmé smiled at the girl's enthusiasm, a little surprised she was so receptive. The other slaves still seemed hesitant, but if they were guided and shown they would be protected, they would be fine.

"How are you going to stop the mistress from finding out?" one woman asked.

"I doubt she's going to watch," Numa crossed her arms, looking disgusted. "All she needs is somebody's word. Most likely Crix's."

"But Crix would never lie for us!"

Padmé paused, considering the matter. She could try to convince him, but based on what everyone had been saying so far, it didn't seem likely.

"Lady Tarkin's going to be too _busy_ to worry about that," another woman commented.

Padmé eyed her curiously. "What do you mean?"

The defiant teenager gasped in realization. "That's right! She has dignitaries coming over - she's throwing a party for... the emperor's death, I guess? Not very patriotic."

Numa snickered. "It's a get together to celebrate the emperor's life, but basically it's just to celebrate her husband's rise in power."

Padmé felt her heartrate rise. She couldn't believe her luck. "Who's coming?"

"No clue; we just know they're important people."

Padmé choked back a laugh of relief, her head spinning from the multiple ups and downs she'd had in the course of a half hour. "Then we might be out of here sooner than I thought."

"What do you mean?"

"My imprisonment is against Imperial law," Padmé explained without getting into the details too much - it wasn't like she wanted to think about the scenario she'd found herself in. "The Tarkins acted of their own accord. If these dignitaries catch a glimpse of me, they'll know who I am; rumors will spread, and Intelligence will catch wind of it. Both Tarkins will be arrested."

"I'm liking the sound of that," the Togruta teenager remarked, crossing her arms. "Guess we'd better get ready for that party, then."

"Yes," Padmé nodded, mirroring the girl's smile. "We should."

* * *

"Lift the pot."

Obi-Wan fixed his gaze on the small metal pot sitting innocently on the cold floor. Stretching out his hand, he imagined the pot floating into the air. The item shuddered a little, but it resisted him. Obi-Wan furrowed his brow, concentrating harder, forcing himself to only focus on that one task, somewhat surprised it was taking this much effort when he'd made similar objects float on Ghanu'jivo. Eventually the little pot trembled and started to hover just above the ground, and as Obi-Wan willed it to go higher, it eventually bobbed its way up to eye level.

Qui-Gon smiled. "Very good. Let it go."

Obi-Wan lowered the object until it slapped onto the ground a little harshly. At Qui-Gon's beckoning, he approached the item and leaned over to pick it up. When he grabbed the handles and gave a gentle tug, however, he nearly pulled his back at the exertion; the pot wouldn't budge.

"It weighs 50kg," Qui-Gon told him. Obi-Wan blanched, looking at his teacher in surprise. "The Force is a powerful ally, Padawan. Your abilities can be confined by your imagination. If you think the pot is too heavy to lift, it will not move. If I had told you the pot's mass before you attempted to carry it, you would have likely failed. Mental blocks are powerful inhibitors."

"What's the most you can lift?" Siri asked from where she was standing, deflecting training bolts with her lightsaber.

"Well, it depends. Your power in the Force is partly dependent on your own mental energy. It can be quite tiring, and if you've already been engaged in combat it makes it more difficult." Qui-Gon replied. "I don't believe I've kept track of the heaviest object I've lifted by myself, but it has been more massive than this pot. You two will be able to manipulate larger and more massive items as well in time."

Obi-Wan sighed as he watched Siri train. She looked a little tired after their nearly sleepless night guarding the base, but she didn't look as worried as last night, so he supposed it was a victory. They'd both gotten up relatively early to do some extra training and meditation; the situation with Tarkin and the Alliance was putting everyone on edge, and they both felt they needed to be as ready as possible.

Then again, Obi-Wan knew his main means of preparation, at least by the Alliance's standards, was snoozing in the medical bay. At least he would be until about half an hour from now; that was supposedly when the doctor would discharge him and he would be taken back to his cell.

Siri blew out a breath and wiped the sweat from her brow, deactivating her blade. She smiled at Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm starving."

Obi-Wan saw the twinkle in her eye, the way she looked at him specifically. _Come on, let's have some time alone and take a break._

"I think I'll join you," he remarked with a soft smile. He had plans for Siri, anyway, assuming she wouldn't kill him for the suggestion.

Qui-Gon seemed to detect the undercurrent of the conversation and tipped his head. "Go ahead; I'll follow later."

Obi-Wan followed his wife out of the training hangar and into the hallway. "I'm hoping you actually do want to eat."

Siri laughed. "Don't think that way, Obi, I am genuinely hungry."

"Perfect. Get some food for me while you're at the mess, will you?"

Siri gave him a confused look. "Where are you going?"

"I'll be in the medical bay," Obi-Wan replied before adding, "In fact, get some food for Vader, too."

Siri stiffened. "Excuse me?"

"They'll probably have taken the IV out by now; he might be hungry," Obi-Wan reasoned carefully, watching his wife's reaction. He knew this was risky, but he also recalled her words from last night – Siri was _amazing_ at pulling information out of people. He didn't necessarily want to use her to interrogate Vader so much as _encourage_ the Sith Lord to finally open up about anything. Besides, Siri herself needed to start getting past her emotional issues with the Imperial, and the best way to do that would be to let her see what Obi-Wan had been talking about last night; it was his own reason for moving on, after all.

Siri stared at Obi-Wan disbelievingly, but before he could argue his point, she shook her head, blowing out an irritated sigh. "Fine, I'll meet you in the med bay. If he so much as twitches in my direction I'm digging my saber into his shoulder, got it?"

"I'll be sure to advise him against twitching."

"You do that."

After watching Siri disappear around the corner, Obi-Wan made his way to the medical bay. He wasn't sure what he'd talk about today, only that he knew he should probably stop by, at least for when Vader would get escorted back to his cell.

When he arrived at the medical bay there were twice as many guards as there had been last night, but he didn't sense a commotion, so apparently it was just a precautionary measure. Entering, Obi-Wan saw that Darth Vader was awake, lying motionless on the bed. At least he looked emotionless initially, upon closer inspection he saw the man's wrists twisting in their cuffs, causing his skin to break. Blood stained the sheets underneath him.

Obi-Wan sighed exasperatedly. "Is there any particular reason you're making this _worse_ for yourself?"

Vader's eyes darted over to Obi-Wan, his brow lifting slightly in surprise; he hadn't sensed him. Obi-Wan supposed that meant the sedative was still working its way through his system. His gaze stayed on Obi-Wan for a while before sweeping around the room at the multiple Jedi and soldiers surrounding him. Then he stared at the ceiling once more.

Obi-Wan approached the bed. "Stop moving your wrists around; you're hurting yourself."

Vader stopped moving entirely, and his gaze settled on Obi-Wan once more. He still said nothing, but he didn't look distressed or depressed in any way. Just… neutral. As usual. Obi-Wan wasn't sure he wanted that, he wasn't sure he wanted the Imperial to revert to the way he'd been on Naboo and Imperial Center. At least when he'd been unstable Obi-Wan had had some leverage over him, he could get some sort of reaction out of him. Maybe he was just reading too much into it; Vader had spoken fairly openly with him yesterday, after all.

The Force rippled, and Vader abruptly squeezed his eyes shut before calming. Ice clung to the air, making Obi-Wan shiver. The Sith Lord's face grew stony once more.

"Are you hungry?" Obi-Wan asked, trying to figure out what was going on this time. Every encounter with Vader seemed to be a puzzle, one in which that the Sith Lord gave very few hints.

"I don't require anything." The Sith Lord stated calmly.

Obi-Wan gazed at the monitor that showed Vader's vitals. They were steady. He seemed fine, but it didn't _feel_ fine. Over the past week Obi-Wan had been trying to figure out what sensation in the Force indicated what in relation to the Sith Lord, and currently all he was sensing was thick ice, indicative of Vader raising his shields and blocking everything out. At least that's what it appeared to be.

He'd been cautious yesterday, but not quite to this degree. Was it just because he was healthy again? Or…

Turning his attention to the guards, Obi-Wan smiled. "You can wait outside. I'm fine."

The soldiers and Jedi exchanged glances, hesitating. Obi-Wan assured them, "Everything is under control. I'll call you if I need you."

Though they seemed reluctant to leave, they eventually did so after a Jedi Knight exited first, knowing Obi-Wan was there under orders from the Grand Master. When the room was finally empty, he returned his gaze to Vader. As he did so, the Force thawed by a hair, and the Sith watched him expectantly.

"I'm not here to interrogate you if that's what you're wondering." Obi-Wan immediately said.

"I came to that conclusion. You've proven too useless for that."

Slightly irked, Obi-Wan asked, "Do you always define things and people in terms of their usefulness?"

"Yes."

_Hardly surprising._ "So you've spent your entire life only concerning yourself with practicality."

"Yes."

Obi-Wan sighed. "Then perhaps you'd like to hear about my training today."

"I neither like nor dislike anything."

"Of course."

Vader blinked, not quite catching the sarcasm.

"Well, what _do_ you want to talk about?"

"I don't want anything."

"Vader, surely there's something you do in your free time," Obi-Wan nearly pleaded. He didn't have to guide this conversation all the time, did he? Should he even bother trying to talk to the Sith before everyone locked him back up? Would Siri be able to get anything out of him?

"Training."

"What else?"

Vader blinked. "More training."

Obi-Wan sighed heavily. This Sith was impossible sometimes. "You've spent your entire life training? You've done _nothing else_?"

"I go on missions."

"_Apart_ from that," Obi-Wan said in exasperation.

Vader stared at him.

He really shouldn't be surprised by this, but it was truly driving the point home that Vader didn't know a single blasted thing about being a normal person. This was starting to reach beyond brainwashing, to indicate something _worse_ than just obedience to a fault and poor judgment. Obi-Wan was half tempted to request the Alliance provide a psychiatrist for the Sith Lord, but he knew that would do no good whatsoever since Vader would be as obstinate as possible.

The door hissed open and Siri entered, bringing some relief to Obi-Wan; he had to admit a small, selfish part of him had invited her to join them so he could have some (relative) sanity in the room.

"Brought lunch," she remarked quietly, her eyes glued to the bedridden Sith Lord.

The Force immediately froze once more. Obi-Wan glanced at Vader, whose gaze glossed over his wife, slowing at some points. "Relax. She's not here to cause you trouble."

Then Obi-Wan belatedly remembered Vader and Siri's last encounter when they were both awake. He felt his heart pump a little faster; perhaps this wasn't the best idea.

Siri approached and gave Obi-Wan a plateful of food. Then she glanced at Vader. "I guess you can slurp your food, but I sure as hell am not spoon feeding you."

"I don't require assistance." He said, his expression unreadable.

"Good." Siri quipped, pulling up a chair and facing Obi-Wan, ignoring the Sith entirely. "Eat up while it's still hot, you know how quickly it cools in this place."

Obi-Wan nodded and ate silently. Siri's eyes eventually wandered to the Sith once more, and they settled on the bedsheet just below his wrists. Obi-Wan felt her irritation as her brow furrowed and she stood once more. "What's up with the blood? You're not staying in this med bay any longer than you have to – no amount of wrist cutting will stop that."

Obi-Wan touched Siri's forearm in an attempt to calm her, which thankfully worked. She sighed and sat. "Sorry."

For the first time since Obi-Wan's arrival, Vader's icy contribution to the Force nearly cracked.

"What?" the Sith Lord asked, staring at Siri confusedly.

Obi-Wan's wife glared at him. "I said _sorry_. Are you hard of hearing?"

Darth Vader's face almost glowed with relief. Then his brow furrowed. "Why are you apologizing?"

"I don't know; the more you ask the more I regret it," was Siri's snarky reply.

"Play nice, both of you," Obi-Wan intoned dully. His remark caught Siri's attention, and she immediately backed down, not wanting to upset him.

Everyone was silent for about a minute before Siri shifted uneasily. "How much longer before he's transferred back to his cell?"

Obi-Wan looked at his chronometer and hesitated; he knew Vader wasn't aware of when he'd be transferred for security reasons. He wondered if he should telepathically tell Siri, but he knew he hadn't mastered that skill yet – the spouses shared stray thoughts and sentiments, but they couldn't yet actively communicate through the Force.

He felt odd for a second, and then Vader answered Siri. "Fifteen minutes."

Obi-Wan felt his gut twist into a knot. "I told you to _not_ read my mind."

Siri stiffened, her hand slowly sliding towards her lightsaber, but Obi-Wan shook his head.

"Just that one instance," Vader remarked.

Obi-Wan gave him an exasperated look. Blasted cheeky Imperial.

"So," Siri said, her hand releasing her lightsaber and instead playing with her utensil as she tried to stay calm. "Any ideas on passing the time?"

Obi-Wan glanced at Vader questioningly. The Sith Lord stared blankly back.

"We could play a word game," Siri suggested.

Vader furrowed his brow. "What is it with you people and games?"

Obi-Wan and Siri looked at him with bemusement. He didn't seem to take the hint from their confused expressions. Or he chose to ignore them.

"What do you mean?" Obi-Wan eventually asked.

The Force froze over once more.

"Vader," Obi-Wan said in a somewhat chastising tone, completely unaware of the stunned expression Siri threw him in response.

The Sith Lord blinked at him.

"Answer the question," Obi-Wan ground out somewhat irritably.

"You said you weren't interrogating me."

"You really consider it an interrogation when he's just telling you to elaborate on something you already said?" Siri scoffed, and Obi-Wan felt a little grateful that his wife was there to back him up.

Vader glanced at her and then looked back at Obi-Wan. His expression seemed to change subtly, but Obi-Wan couldn't pinpoint how, though he hazarded a guess. "Vader, she's my wife; you can trust her as much as you trust me."

"I don't trust you."

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "Then you can _not mistrust_ her as much as you don't mistrust me."

Vader blinked, unpacking the strange sentence. Then he shifted uncomfortably. "Padmé had a propensity to play games at Varykino."

Obi-Wan blanched and Siri stiffened. "She played games with you?"

Vader nodded.

"What games?"

"Hide and seek. And truth or dare."

Despite his usual emotional calm, Obi-Wan nearly burst out laughing at the thought of Darth Vader playing hide and seek with anyone, let alone with his sister, but then it left him with a bit of a heartache. To think Padmé had gone through all that effort to… wait, that seemed like an extremely odd thing for her to do with anyone apart from family (or, in the case of hide and seek, anyone at all - how many years had it been since they'd played such silly games?), let alone with Darth Vader.

"Why?" he asked.

Vader shook his head, looking like he could suddenly empathize with Obi-Wan. "I don't know."

"Well we're definitely not playing hide and seek," Siri noted dryly, though amusement was evident in her expression. "Truth or dare, it is."

"This doesn't make any sense." Vader said.

"It's called passing the time," Siri waved a dismissive hand. "Unless you have a great topic for conversation?"

Vader looked glum. "Truth or dare."

"Which one of us?"

Vader eyed Siri, who crossed her arms somewhat irritably. "Fine, dare."

Vader stared at her silently for almost a solid minute.

"You have to have a dare _ready_ when you ask," Siri rolled her eyes.

Obi-Wan smiled softly, mentally noting that the real reason for the Sith's hesitancy was simply because he'd wanted her to say _truth_.

"Can a dare be anything?"

Both Jedi hesitated. Maybe this wasn't the best idea.

"Within reason," Obi-Wan answered slowly.

Vader still said nothing.

"What's your dare?" Siri pressed impatiently.

"I don't have one."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I don't want anything."

Obi-Wan sighed heavily.

Siri threw her hands up in the air. "Fine, we're skipping your turn."

Grabbing a code cylinder, she placed it on the bedside table and spun it. The cylinder eventually slowed and pointed to Obi-Wan, who immediately turned his attention to Vader. "Truth or dare?"

"Dare."

Siri rolled her eyes again. "Coward."

"I dare you to say truth next time," Obi-Wan said.

Vader stared at him, and the Force pulsated painfully for a moment before he bit his lip and calmed. Both Jedi exchanged subtle, confused glances before Siri spun the cylinder without comment. Something felt strange for an instant, and the code cylinder slowed and pointed to Vader, who looked at Siri once more. "Truth or dare."

"Dare."

"Say truth next time."

"Blast it, why did I even suggest this?" Siri grumbled. "We might as well call it _truth or be told to tell the truth_."

"In his defense, there aren't exactly many dares he could do," Obi-Wan quipped.

"I can think of _plenty_."

"Just spin the cylinder, Siri."

Sighing, she did as told, and the Force nudged Obi-Wan once more as the cylinder landed on Vader again.

"Truth or dare." He stated rather than questioned, his eyes locked with Siri's.

"Fine, truth," she acquiesced reluctantly, leaning away from the Sith and crossing her arms.

"Why did you apologize?"

"Are you _still _stuck on that?" Siri asked, annoyed. "I apologized for being temperamental."

"But why would you apologize about that?"

Siri nearly gawked at Obi-Wan. _You weren't kidding about naïve._

Obi-Wan smirked back.

"Because I shouldn't have gotten angry." She finally answered.

Vader didn't look very pleased with the answer, and he looked at his hands uncertainly before shrugging and leaning his head against the pillow. Siri and Obi-Wan both took that as an acknowledgment that his turn was over and she spun the cylinder again. Vader's eyes watched the object and it slowed and settled on him for a third time.

Obi-Wan finally caught what that nudge in the Force was. "Using the Force to manipulate the code cylinder is _cheating_, Vader."

When the Sith Lord said nothing in reply, Obi-Wan said, "You forfeit your turn. Truth or dare?"

The Sith's mouth twitched. "Truth."

"Why were you hurting your wrists?"

"Games are a waste of time," Vader immediately said.

Siri snorted. "Only because you're a sore loser. Answer the question."

The Sith Lord stared obstinately at the ceiling for almost a minute before he finally conceded. "I was finding weak spots in the binding."

Obi-Wan felt his adrenaline immediately start to surge, and Siri's hand slipped to her lightsaber hilt, though she didn't unclip it from her belt. "You were trying to find a way to break out of them?"

"How many rounds are in this game?"

"Answer the question!" Siri demanded, shooting to her feet.

Vader remained silent.

"I ought to cut your hands off," Siri snapped, unclipping her lightsaber hilt.

Obi-Wan rose quickly and put his hand on her arm. "Siri, no."

"It would get the cuffs off," Vader remarked simply. Both Jedi stared at him, and he seemed to take this as confusion about his statement. "If you cut them off the cuffs will slip off, assuming you didn't slice above the binding."

"We _know_ that," both Jedi said.

The Sith Lord looked both confused and annoyed and blew out a sigh, staring at the ceiling once more. Siri slowly clipped her hilt once more, completely baffled.

"Did you find the weak spots?" Obi-Wan eventually asked, wondering what kind of answer he'd get.

Vader hesitated. Then he nodded.

Obi-Wan felt his heart rise into his throat. Vader was fully capable of breaking out of here. So why hadn't he? Was it because he figured he wouldn't get very far without a lightsaber? He'd had _two_ to choose from between Obi-Wan and Siri.

The Force grew still and cold in an instant as Vader closed his eyes, and immediately after, guards and Jedi entered the medical bay. "It's time."

Obi-Wan and Siri mutely stepped out of the way as the Jedi approached, but then Obi-Wan decided to take action. "I'll do it."

Everyone glanced at him, and he offered a reassuring smile. "I brought him here. I can take him back."

"He was sick; you could take him alone last time. Now he gets an escort."

"No," Obi-Wan shook his head, slightly bemused at his own refusal. He decided it was probably the Force prodding him, but now everyone was looking at him wondering if he'd lost his mind. Perhaps he had. But… if Vader had the means of escaping and hadn't taken the multitude of opportunities given to him, it had to be for a reason, and Obi-Wan wanted to find out. "I'll walk with him. Alone."

"Commander, with all due respect," one soldier said a little tersely. "This man is a serious threat; it would be foolish to do what you're suggesting."

"I'm aware of the risks," Obi-Wan explained, still finding it odd to be addressed in that manner.

"I outrank you, Padawan," a Jedi Knight interrupted him. "We're taking him to his cell."

Siri watched the exchange silently and then looked at Obi-Wan questioningly, as baffled by his insistence as everyone else.

"I really don't want nor need to get into an argument right now," Obi-Wan sighed. "But if I must remind you, Master Ti said no one is to interact with Darth Vader except for myself, Siri, or Master Jinn."

"If you're so concerned about it, I can call Master Ti," the Knight said firmly.

"Please do," Obi-Wan nodded. "Outside, preferably. He's harmless in here."

The Jedi gazed at him a little irritably, but then he seemed to think Obi-Wan was trying to subtly tell him to leave so he could finish his interrogation. Well, he was… partly correct. The Jedi motioned for everyone to leave, and as soon as the door closed, Obi-Wan walked over to Siri, who had been standing close to the other side of the bed. "Keep them distracted for a while."

Siri furrowed her brow. _Are you out of your mind?_

"Please," he whispered.

"He's _dangerous_!" she hissed.

"I know." he assured her. "This isn't the first time I've dealt with him, you know."

"But his handcuffs-"

"I _know_, Siri." _Just go. I'll be fine._

Sighing heavily, his wife left the room. Obi-Wan turned to the bed and saw Vader watching him curiously, his eyes soft, his brow a little raised, and his lips parted ever so slightly, though it was difficult to see in the stubble that had grown in the week he'd been imprisoned.

"What's keeping you here?" Obi-Wan immediately asked.

Vader stared at him, his mouth closing.

"Where are your loyalties?" Obi-Wan tried. "I'm loyal to my family and to the Jedi and Alliance. What are you loyal to? The Empire?"

It seemed a strange question to ask, but honestly the more Obi-Wan interacted with Vader the more likely it seemed the Sith Lord had little care for things most people would assume he was unquestionably loyal to. Obviously Vader had been Palpatine's lap dog, but beyond that Obi-Wan wasn't sure the Sith cared about anything, including the Empire. With Palpatine gone, Vader had obviously lost his center, but it seemed like he'd completely lost his motivation as well. It was the only logical conclusion Obi-Wan could think of, particularly when he thought about the Sith's lack of concern for his own throne (unless his reaction over Tarkin's ascension had to do with that… Obi-Wan still wasn't sure what that had been all about).

Vader's gaze grew sad and contemplative, and the Force started to hollow out like they were in the vacuum of space. He looked at his hands bleakly.

Obi-Wan sighed. His assumption was apparently correct. "You have nothing."

Vader locked eyes with him.

"That's it, isn't it?" Obi-Wan surmised. "So why is Tarkin's regency bothering you?"

The handcuffs unlocked in a heartbeat. Obi-Wan jumped, startled, and Vader pulled the railing down on the side, standing and towering over the Jedi Padawan, who helplessly reached for his lightsaber.

The two stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. Every muscle in Obi-Wan's body was tense with apprehension, and his heartrate was through the roof. Vader was tense as well, but he didn't move. Neither one of them moved, even though Obi-Wan's ungloved fingers were touching the freezing metal of his hilt.

Eventually enough time passed by that Obi-Wan started to get his wits about him and calm himself as best as he could. He was hesitant to break the staring contest between them, but eventually his gaze faltered and he looked at the Sith's wrists instead. Blood caked them, and he could see some relatively deep lacerations, as well as some bruising.

Swallowing, he looked into the Sith's eyes once more and said, "Let me treat your wrists. They could get infected."

Vader exhaled slowly over a long period of time, as if he were giving up any resistance, and he sat on the bed once more.

Taking a steadying breath, Obi-Wan walked over to a cabinet and pulled out some bacta and alcohol towelettes. He took his time walking back to Vader so he could steady his heartrate and grasp the Force quite firmly in case the Sith tried anything, but at this point he was starting to doubt the boy would do anything. Before he could reach the bed, the Force warned him of something and he reached for his lightsaber, but instead of Vader being the problem, the door to the medical bay opened.

A millisecond later there was nearly chaos. Ten lightsabers activated and blasters were pulled out, ready to fire. Time slowed, and Obi-Wan looked from Vader to the oncoming Jedi and Rebels. The Sith Lord was still sitting on the bed, motionless.

Obi-Wan held his hands out to the others. "Stop! He's not causing any trouble."

"How'd he get out of his restraints?" one of them asked.

"I… I took them off." Obi-Wan lied, knowing this would come back to bite him. Still, if he said Vader let himself out, they'd shoot him immediately. "I wanted to look at his wrists."

Motioning to the bloodied and battered skin to emphasize his point, Obi-Wan waited for their response. The leading Jedi Knight clenched his jaw. "You should know better than that, Padawan. Put the binders back on."

"I will," Obi-Wan said in an appeasing manner. "After I clean his wrists."

"We're not putting our weapons away until you do."

"Very well," he acknowledged, not entirely surprised by their uneasiness. He quickly scraped the towelettes over the wounds, and Vader barely flinched. Then he found the original three-hand binders he'd used yesterday and put them on Vader's wrists and one of his own before looking at the Jedi Knight. "What did Master Ti say?"

The Jedi deactivated his blade reluctantly. "She said it was up to Master Jinn, who in turn said the decision was yours. But I still strongly disagree with your course of action."

"I understand," Obi-Wan tipped his head gracefully. "But my decision still stands."

The Jedi took a calming breath and bowed. "Very well."

Leading the others out, Obi-Wan blew out a sigh of relief as Siri approached him.

"You're insane," she shook her head. "Why'd you lie to them?"

Obi-Wan smiled. Of course she'd know he hadn't taken the binders off. "There was little point in letting them kill him."

"If you say so," Siri said uncertainly. "Want me to walk with you?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "Clear a path for me, will you?"

Siri's gaze grew slightly concerned, but at Obi-Wan's reassuring smile, she hesitantly nodded and left.

"You're worse than Padmé," Vader finally muttered.

"How so?" Obi-Wan asked, facing him.

"She wasn't as illogical as you."

"I beg to differ," Obi-Wan argued sadly. "Things might have been different if she were more like me."

Vader watched him, contemplating something, but he never voiced his thoughts. However, with the topic of Padmé having been brought up, Obi-Wan finally voiced a question that had been bothering him for many days.

"If you could go back, would you still make the same decision?"

He didn't have to explain what he meant. Darth Vader knew what he was asking. The Sith immediately looked at the ground. The Force rippled, pushing and pulling Obi-Wan in a thousand different directions. Obi-Wan waited patiently, his chest tight. If Vader had truly loved Padmé, he would voice his regret. He _had_ to at this point. He owed it to Obi-Wan. But did his loyalty to Palpatine win out?

The Sith Lord shifted and still said nothing. Obi-Wan refused to change the subject. The past week had taught him many things, but if there was truly any hope left for Darth Vader, then this question had to be answered. There was no way the Sith Lord had anything salvageable left in him if he still chose a dead emperor over someone who had obviously affected him so deeply, who had _loved _him so deeply, whom he had loved in return. Vader had to realize that what he had done was _wrong._

Obi-Wan's compassion could only extend so far, after all.

The Sith Lord took a deep breath. "I don't know."

Obi-Wan let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, looking away. He immediately shut down any emotion that might surface from the Imperial's response. "Come on. We need to get you back to your cell."

Vader rose with him and the two made their way out of the medical bay in silence. Their entire walk was spent without a single word exchanged. Obi-Wan wasn't sure whether to feel depressed or unsurprised. It wasn't as if he were expecting a great response from Vader. Honestly he should probably take Vader's uncertainty as a good sign, but it still didn't do much to improve his mood. The Sith Lord probably would have chosen to kill Padmé again. Perhaps that would have angered Obi-Wan in the past, but now it just left him empty. Darth Vader really was too far gone. Despite Obi-Wan's earlier sentiment, Siri had been right – there was nothing left in him.

When they reached his cell, Obi-Wan took the binders off their wrists and headed for the exit.

"Hey."

Obi-Wan turned around, eying him curiously.

"I..." Vader shifted, obviously uncomfortable. "I'm sorry."

Obi-Wan faced him fully, stunned beyond words. Still, the Sith said nothing more, eventually sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall, lost in his own thoughts. Obi-Wan left the room, unable to really fully comprehend what had just happened quite yet.


	44. Homing In

**Okay, so it was a day late, but I still got it updated! Thank you all so much for the reviews! Happy New Year! :)**

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The sky was painted midnight blue, and the brightness of the crunchy snow that blanketed everything made Al feel exposed as he piloted the _Invariant Beauty_. He sighed in exasperation as snow flurries covered most of the viewport, and he directed his attention to a console instead. He felt like he hadn't seen anything but snow for his entire life, like there wasn't anything in the galaxy _apart_ from frozen tundra and even colder vacuous space. He shivered just thinking about it.

His ship bucked slightly and he gripped the controls more tightly. He'd been repairing his ship and most of the damage had been fixed, but the engine was still giving him trouble. At least he'd made it to Salkende and back in one piece.

Al felt his mood grow bleaker as he stared out at Hoth's apparent lack of anything apart from desolate frozen landscape. At least Fjesky, the capital city of Salkende, though in the dead of winter, had _some_ variety to it; there were rivers, it was by a fjord, and Al had flown over forested mountains. Hoth had mountains, sure, but it was just rock, ice, and snow – that was basically the entire blasted planet in a nutshell.

He shouldn't be so depressed; he'd finally gotten some legitimately good news from Salkende. Upon his arrival for supplies, Al had met with Éothen, the warlord's son, who had said that Salkende was finally ready to lend its troops to the Alliance's cause. The details of the conversation had been cut short, however, as the man had gotten a transmission and had immediately excused himself and claimed he would talk to Al about it after the supplies had been loaded. Loading up his ship had only taken a few hours, and Al had waited expectantly in the warlord's residence, but apparently whatever the transmission had been about was more pressing, because another soldier spoke to Al instead, eventually saying that Salkende would amass its forces and the warlord would personally speak to Al upon his next visit.

It was terrific news, getting reinforcements… but somehow it just left Al even more tired, and he wasn't sure why. He should be far more excited, he should be filled with renewed optimism and hope… but Al had never been a really optimistic person, and he was far too involved in the war now to _not_ constantly worry about the Empire hunting them down and obliterating them, even with Salkende at their back.

A small part of Al whispered that he could always leave, could always just return to his usual smuggling business and not be affected by any of this nonsense, but he immediately shook his head, his stomach churning. He would never do that – with all the rotten decisions he'd made in his life, he was _not_ going to ruin any good things he'd done since becoming a criminal by running like a coward who couldn't take the pressure of being involved in the right cause. No one expected this war to be easy.

Sighing, Al sent access codes to the Alliance base as he approached it. Slowing the ship's velocity, he hovered over the ground for a few seconds as the hangar door opened to allow him entry. He landed relatively smoothly, slightly alarmed when one of his consoles shrilled a warning that his still damaged engine was losing power faster than it should have been.

Once Al had powered everything down he leaned back heavily in the pilot's chair and stared at the ceiling. He didn't want to get out; his ship was no doubt warmer than the base. He shivered just thinking about it. He was exhausted; he'd been exhausted since he'd left Ghanu'jivo. It felt like an eternity ago since he'd been recovering from his concussion, an eternity since he'd seen Obi-Wan and Siri in Jedi attire with worried looks on their faces as he told them he was going to Imperial Center to finally get to that agent.

Whatever. It wasn't the first _eternity_ to have passed since something eventful had happened in his life. Resigning himself to freezing, Al unstrapped and stood, heading towards the ramp. Besides, he was expecting a transmission from Odeki Rubar, the spy on Imperial Center, and he would have to report in to the Alliance.

The cold slammed into him as the ramp lowered, knocking the air out of his lungs. His teeth immediately started to chatter, and he resisted the urge to hug himself… at least for a few seconds. Shuddering, Al walked out into the hangar, closing his eyes tightly as the cold enveloped him.

"Blast," he hissed.

After telling some soldiers to unload the supplies and where to take them, Al hurried out of the hangar, and was relieved to find that the halls were at least a little warmer. He headed in the direction of Rebel Intelligence when his comlink chimed. Grabbing it he recognized Odeki's frequency and put in a small data chip to receive the information that would be sent. After the transmission ended, Al reviewed everything and realized that all that was there was a statement saying there was nothing to report; Intelligence had no mention of the Alliance whatsoever.

Al blinked. That was… unexpectedly good news. What would cause that? Hurrying to the spy headquarters in the base, Al reported his findings.

One of the spies leaned against a console, pondering the matter. "That seems strange that the Empire wouldn't have any mention of us."

"It's only today's info," Al shrugged uncertainly. "Maybe they just don't have anything new since yesterday."

"That's unlikely…"

"It might have to do with Rhaegon."

They turned to a Human male entering the vicinity. The spy asked, "What do you mean, Capt. Andor?"

"Grand Moff Rhaegon has apparently been causing quite a bit of trouble for the new emperor regent. He recently captured part of the Hydian Way." Andor explained. "It's likely Intelligence is focusing on him as the greater threat. They still have some internal problems they have to resolve."

Al stared at the spy, surprised. He'd figured that with as quickly as the Empire had come up with a new successor it would have recovered entirely from the power vacuum, but apparently he'd been wrong.

What a _relief_.

With that topic seemingly resolved, Al reported the news from Salkende, which seemed to at least nearly eliminate the frowns on most of the spies' faces. They needed the reinforcements, after all.

Al felt a little better as he headed towards his ship after finishing his report. He'd brought supplies and good news for a change, and the Empire seemed far busier with its own problems than with them. Maybe this day wasn't so bad after all.

Well, except for that blasted engine. But that was another matter for another time. Al was starving, and he wanted to find Obi-Wan and Siri and check up on them… once his body had caught up to the local time zone, at least.

Elsewhere in the base, Obi-Wan meditated alone. He had found the most reclusive corner possible and planted himself there for hours, first meditating to clear his mind, then training, and then trying to deliberate what to do about Darth Vader, trying to _understand_ him. He had spoken briefly to Siri after he'd left Vader in his cell, but only to assure her that everything was fine and he would talk to her later. Qui-Gon and Siri had both tried to contact him since then, but he hadn't answered. He had to sort through this, he had to figure out what he should do, and he was fairly certain he would get biased advice from both of them. Obi-Wan honestly didn't know who to turn to.

He'd thought that when Vader had said he wasn't sure if he would kill Padmé if he could go back, it was all over. No one who loved someone would show such uncertainty when given the opportunity to save that person. Vader wasn't capable of feeling love if that was his sentiment.

So why had he apologized?

Obi-Wan wished there was someone he could talk to about this, someone who could give helpful advice, who could analyze the situation without all the emotional baggage that Obi-Wan and Siri carried. He supposed he could talk to a Jedi, but they had their own bias given that Vader was a Sith (_in name only, _he scoffed mentally). There was no neutral party in this, and it was starting to finally weigh down on Obi-Wan; he'd thought he'd been improving, he'd thought that he could handle this assignment, but this latest development was just too much on top of all the other uncertainty.

The Force wasn't being much help, either. Obi-Wan wasn't sure what to expect, but there had been times where his intuition had led him to the right answer. In this case, however, the Force was silent, simply ebbing and flowing as if everything were normal when it most certainly was _not_. He supposed he should be using the sensation as a chance to calm down, as an opportunity to release his frustration and confusion as a Jedi should; clearing his mind of all this nonsense might give him a new way to look at the matter. He tried to—_do or do not_, a voice whispered annoyingly—but he couldn't quiet his mind long enough; he'd managed it earlier, and then training had distracted him, but as soon as he'd started debating the issue again he found himself floating in too many words and scenarios and just _everything_. He was overwhelmed.

Obi-Wan's chronometer beeped as another hour ticked by. He sighed heavily, burying his face in his hands; he'd been here for ten hours. It was midnight. Continuing to sit here was a pointless venture and he knew it. A part of him wanted to resolve the issue now, but he dismissed it as best he could; he had to be patient. Such matters took _time_; there was no way he could figure it out now. He just wished there was someone who could offer him clear advice.

Obi-Wan sighed and stood. There was no one. Sometimes there were instances where nobody had any help to offer, where one had to rely on one's own judgment based on one's beliefs. Obi-Wan sighed again. It was times like this he wished he had a firmer belief system in some higher power; maybe _that_ would help. He wasn't sure, though; the gods of Naboo's religion were more distant in their concern over the affairs of the living, so even if he did bother sending a prayer up to them it wasn't like they'd answer.

And he'd already established that the Force was being fairly useless at this point.

Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Obi-Wan supposed his biggest problem was himself. The Force could offer solace and an opportunity to think clearly if he just _let go_ of all that was bothering him, if he could just quiet his mind long enough. Normally this wasn't so blasted _difficult_.

So if the biggest problem was himself… how could he solve it? What was making it so difficult to focus? Was it because Padmé had been brought up once more? He'd accepted Padmé's death by this point, and though there was still an ache for her when he heard her name, it no longer ate at him the way it used to. In fact, it barely affected him anymore. He'd even reconciled himself with the fact that he had to speak with his sister's killer on a daily basis; he'd told himself initially that it had to be done, that it would be a waste to not attempt to aid the Alliance in a way that only he apparently could. But as time had progressed, he'd been speaking to Vader for more than just the Alliance, for more than just closure… he'd been doing it because he just wanted to help. He'd been doing it because he'd cared.

_And then he throws it all away…_

He supposed that was it, then. Vader had hurt him. Was that really the only reason Obi-Wan couldn't handle his own emotions at the moment?

But his apology… what did it mean? And why was such a simple thing as _I'm sorry_ bothering him so blasted much?

Obi-Wan could imagine that someone like Darth Vader rarely apologized for anything. He supposed if the Imperial was doing so, then it was genuine and signified a degree of respect. But Vader himself had stated that he didn't trust Obi-Wan… so why would he admit to being wrong about something? Was he apologizing because Obi-Wan was Padmé's brother? Did he really think an apology would fix everything he'd done?

Blast it all, Obi-Wan had to talk to _someone_. There were only three people who he could trust on the matter, but… Al wasn't around, Siri was too involved to think clearly, and Qui-Gon… well… Obi-Wan wasn't sure. He didn't doubt the man's wisdom, just his judgment when it came to Vader. Perhaps if he was vague in his questions the Jedi Master could help. Obi-Wan knew the Jedi Master well enough to realize that despite his tendency to pick up pathetic life forms, he was still a reasonable, logical man. He was nearly obsessed with helping Vader, but he couldn't deny the facts, and perhaps he could shed some light on this situation.

Exiting the small storage area, Obi-Wan nearly jumped out of his skin as he saw Siri standing outside in the hallway.

Siri smiled as Obi-Wan struggled to catch his breath. "How you holding up?"

"You could _warn_ me when you're stalking me, you know," Obi-Wan panted, his hand on over his heart.

"If you didn't sense me then you _were_ distracted," Siri remarked. "I only didn't go in and bother you because I knew you'd go someplace like this to be alone. That didn't mean I wasn't going to check on you when you finally left."

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" Obi-Wan asked, suddenly growing exasperated now that most of the shock had worn off.

"Are you really going to ask that when you're standing there looking half dead?" Siri rolled her eyes. "You didn't answer your comlink, and you looked out of it when you left Vader's cell. I was worried."

Obi-Wan felt some warmth enter him despite his annoyance, and he leaned against the wall with another heavy sigh. Siri walked over to him, eying him with concern. After examining his expression for a few seconds, she said softly, "You're imploding, aren't you?"

Obi-Wan grumbled. Siri chuckled and hugged him.

"I told you I'd be here," she whispered as she held him, and Obi-Wan let his forehead rest on her shoulder. "What's the matter?"

He didn't wanted to tell Siri about Vader's seeming lack of regret. He didn't want her to retread her earlier path of disdain and bitterness. He didn't want to reopen that wound.

"Obi," Siri said softly, sensing his struggle. "It's okay. Just talk to me."

"I… I don't know what to say," Obi-Wan eventually admitted.

Siri pulled away and looked him in the eye. He sensed her worry grow. "Then just start by telling me what happened."

He didn't want to do this. "He apologized."

Siri blanched, surprised. "For what?"

Obi-Wan looked away. "I'm not sure."

But he was. In fact, he was almost certain. Vader's apology had to do with Padmé. Was he apologizing for killing her, or for his answer? How would an apology even help? Why would he do that, why would he have the nerve to think all would be forgiven?

Was that even his intent? Obi-Wan knew that if he asked why he'd done it, Vader wouldn't answer. The man was maddeningly frustrating like that.

"That's what's been bothering you?" Siri asked, sounding suspicious.

Obi-Wan didn't dare say yes; Siri would sense the lie. Instead he just sighed tiredly.

"Obi-Wan. What's really bothering you?"

He swallowed. "Siri… I don't want to discuss it."

The Force prickled with frustration. "I want to _help_ you."

"Right now, the best way you can do that is to let me figure this out on my own," Obi-Wan eventually said, looking her in the eye once more. "Please."

It hurt to say it, but he had to; he wasn't going to send Siri spiraling down another path of anger, not only for her own sake but for Obi-Wan's sanity's sake as well. He needed _somebody_ to be his steadying rock, and if Siri was in an uproar about Vader's comment and he had to worry about her going off, it would just be one more thing that would drive him over the edge.

Siri's brow furrowed, and she looked like she wanted to argue, but she didn't. Instead she exhaled sharply, annoyed, and looked away. "Fine."

Obi-Wan didn't want to annoy her, and he felt guilty at sensing how his seeming lack of trust hurt her. But he couldn't deal with the repercussions of telling her. He could barely deal with what he was going through now. Siri half glared at him before closing her eyes tightly, trying to calm herself. Eventually she blew out a breath.

"I'm going to bed," she said, turning to leave. "Are you coming?"

Obi-Wan knew he should sleep, but their conversation had only agitated him. He wouldn't get any rest, and he would probably bother his wife. Besides, he still had to talk to Qui-Gon… assuming the man was still awake. "Not now, no."

Siri nodded and left, and Obi-Wan felt even worse than before. Why couldn't he do anything right when it came to dealing with people, anyway? He could talk himself out of anything except for relationship issues.

"Blast," he muttered, frustrated.

Obi-Wan wandered the base aimlessly, too wound up to rest but too lost in a thousand thoughts to really actively search for Qui-Gon, who at this point was probably already in bed. Eventually he found himself in a hangar, and, much to his surprise, his master sat directly in front of him, watching him – had the Jedi Master sought him out?

Probably.

"Something has been troubling you, Padawan," Qui-Gon remarked knowingly.

Obi-Wan felt exasperated. "Am I really that readable?"

Qui-Gon smiled gently. "I assume Siri already found you."

"You assume correctly."

Qui-Gon watched him for a few seconds before motioning for Obi-Wan to sit across from him. The Jedi Padawan sighed and accepted the offer. Neither spoke; unlike Siri, who had learned to push Obi-Wan for information, Qui-Gon was always infinitely patient and simply waited for Obi-Wan to be ready to speak. It was a trait the Padawan appreciated greatly; although Siri's insistence was often necessary to get Obi-Wan to admit anything, it was still nice that Qui-Gon would wait until Obi-Wan actually chose to discuss the matter with him.

Obi-Wan hadn't quite mastered the balance between waiting for someone to admit their own difficulties as Qui-Gon did and pressing the matter when they wouldn't budge as Siri did, which was fairly obvious in his handling of Padmé shortly before her death. He'd thought he'd improved, he'd thought his interaction with Vader had proven that… but now he wasn't so sure.

Eventually the silence became unbearable, and Obi-Wan sighed. There was no point in prolonging the matter. "I asked Vader if he regretted his decision to kill Padmé. If he could change what had happened, given the opportunity."

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow, but before he could speak, Obi-Wan intoned, "And yes, I'm well aware that Jedi should not dwell on impossibilities. I simply... had to ask. Besides, Lord Vader isn't a Jedi."

"What did he say?" Qui-Gon asked quietly, remaining unreadable.

"He said… he said he didn't know."

Both Jedi remained quiet as Obi-Wan struggled to express how he felt. As a Jedi he should release his emotions, but he had to at least know what they were first. He had to reconcile himself with them first.

Qui-Gon took a slow, deep breath. "I sense your confusion, your frustration. Obi-Wan, you must realize that everything that occurs in this world happens for a reason. It is as the Force wills it. Sometimes it is not our job to figure out why something happens but to simply accept it."

The will of the Force. How was that supposed to help him in this instance? Was he supposed to just accept Vader's seeming inability to be a Human being, to accept that he would never understand that man despite how much he wanted to?

"I don't know how to handle him." Obi-Wan admitted. "I thought being patient and kind was the way to go, but there's only so much I can do. If he refuses to accept my help…"

"Has he?"

Obi-Wan gritted his teeth, growing frustrated. No, the man hadn't refused his help, but there just were times like _this_ when despite any progress they'd made it just seemed _impossible_. Times like this where Vader said something that just stupefied Obi-Wan beyond belief, times like this when no matter how hard he tried he couldn't pierce through the words and into the meaning that infused them.

Times where he _needed_ to talk to Vader face-to-face without any dancing around the issue, without any lying or reluctance or holding back and the man just _wouldn't do it_.

_I don't trust you._

Obi-Wan took a calming breath. "How am I supposed to know what the will of the Force is?"

"Life will progress as the Force wills it, Obi-Wan. The only way you can know that will is to simply try every possibility, to continue to follow the Light Side and your intuition. Some things will happen out of your control, and you must accept that."

_Like dealing with Vader, apparently. But have I tried every possibility with him?_

Obi-Wan felt his shoulders sag. This conversation was… helpful, in a sense. It at least finally hammered in the thought he'd already pondered and had wanted to avoid, but there was no getting around it.

He had to talk to Vader about this. Or, more accurately, he had to play a guessing game with Vader about this.

Rising, Obi-Wan bowed. "Thank you for your advice, Master."

Qui-Gon also stood, putting a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "Have patience, Padawan… and have _faith_. Despite the hardships, the Light always will prevail. Everyone has the ability to follow the Light Side or the Dark Side; their choices determine their fate, and their choices are influenced by their knowledge, their surroundings, their upbringings, and their companions. You must have faith that, given the right circumstances, everyone is capable of good. But we have to give them those circumstances."

Obi-Wan supposed he _was_ a little cynical; being told to have faith was… strange, but comforting. He tipped his head. "I understand."

Leaving the hangar, Obi-Wan made his way to Vader's cell. As he drew near, he started to sense the familiar presence. Testing the waters with the Force, he could only sense the usual icy chill that Vader infused into everything around him. Obi-Wan entered the cell after a nod to the guards.

Vader was standing against the back wall, staring right at Obi-Wan, his arms crossed, and his expression neutral as usual.

"I see you sensed me coming," Obi-Wan remarked.

Vader watched him. Obi-Wan felt a little drained immediately, but he shook it off as best he could. Walking to his right, he sat on the ground and pat the spot beside him. The Sith didn't take his eyes off the Jedi, but his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly in a question.

"I just want to talk," Obi-Wan explained a little tiredly. He wished Vader would just accept that fact instead of question his every motive.

Slowly, the Sith apprentice wandered over to the spot Obi-Wan had indicated and slid to the floor beside him, still watching him intently. Leaning against the wall, Obi-Wan draped his arms over his knees, loosely holding his hands in front of him and staring at the opposite wall. "Have you ever heard of the will of the Force?"

Vader was silent for a minute. Obi-Wan leaned his head back, gazing somewhere between the upper wall and the ceiling, letting his mind wander. He was too exhausted to carefully plan everything he said; some part of him just wanted to parse out everything he was learning with the Sith, to figure out what Vader was and wasn't willing to admit, to _learn_ about him, to figure out who he really was and why he acted the way he did… to hopefully eventually figure out what Vader had meant earlier.

"The Force doesn't have a will."

"Then what do you think it is?" Obi-Wan asked quietly, looking at the Sith with some resignation.

"It's an energy field. It's created by all living things."

"But it doesn't have a consciousness of its own?"

"The Force obeys us, not the other way around."

"Why?"

Vader blinked, shifting. "Be…because."

"Did Palpatine never explain _why_?"

The cold became biting, but Obi-Wan didn't shudder away from it anymore. He was tired of dancing around the issue. _"Why?"_

"Because Master _said so_."

Master. The man used the word like it were actually the deceased emperor's name. Perhaps to him it was. Obi-Wan shuddered at the thought of it. "Was he never wrong?"

"No." Vader immediately answered.

"How did he learn to become omniscient?" Obi-Wan asked dryly.

Vader eyed him as if debating whether he were joking or not. Eventually he shrugged. Obi-Wan nearly cringed; the way the man thought of Palpatine was downright terrifying. He practically worshipped him. But _why_? With as abusive as Sith training supposedly was, there would be no reason for Vader to assume Palpatine was some sort of saintly being.

Some spiteful and angry part of Obi-Wan reared its ugly head at the thought, eager to prove Vader's ideology wrong. "Did Palpatine think he would win that fight a week ago?"

It felt like lightning had struck. All the hairs on Obi-Wan's body stood on end, and the ice melted quickly into searing heat. Vader leapt to his feet, but Obi-Wan did as well.

And then it hit him.

Vader defended Palpatine the same way Obi-Wan would have defended his parents as a child. This was more than just brainwashing, more than just emotional scarring and trauma.

Apparently Vader wasn't entirely deprived of emotions… just his own ability to recognize them within himself.

"You loved him." Obi-Wan breathed.

The Force screamed in warning, and in a heartbeat Vader had tackled Obi-Wan to the ground. The Sith's hand snaked around Obi-Wan's neck, and he felt his chest burn as his body demanded oxygen that he could no longer provide. Obi-Wan grabbed Vader's wrist with his right hand and reached for his lightsaber with his left.

"I… Vader… I…" Obi-Wan choked, his vision blurring. He had to act now; he had to either activate his blade as the hilt rested firmly against Vader's gut, or he had to pray that these words would reach the Imperial. "I'm sorry."

Vader let go. Obi-Wan gasped for air, his head pounding, his heart beating fast. The Sith Lord shifted, shuffling to the other side of the cell.

"I feel _nothing_," he snarled, his eyes cast in shadow. He hugged his knees to his chest and glared at Obi-Wan balefully, and his entire body trembled. This was the nerve Obi-Wan had struck days before, the nerve that had been torn to shreds ever since Palpatine's death.

This was everything.

"I _feel_ nothing, I _am_ nothing, don't you _dare_ suggest otherwise!"

Obi-Wan stared at him. _What?_

The two remained silent as the Force raged. Obi-Wan was surprised the entire Order hadn't sensed it and come running… though honestly they probably had.

"I'm sorry," he repeated weakly, trying to break through the Sith's defenses.

"Why are you apologizing?" the Sith demanded.

"The same reason you did."

Vader's gasps of air quieted, and his brow relaxed a little as confusion settled in. "You didn't kill him."

So Vader's apology had been about killing Padmé after all. "You killed her because you loved him more than her…"

It made _so much sense_ now.

And blast it all it _hurt_. "Did Padmé know?"

"Love is a _weakness_, _I have no weakness_!" Vader roared, leaping to his feet once more.

The cell door opened and guards immediately entered, blasters ready. Just behind them Obi-Wan sensed Jedi quickly approaching. Something scraped his hand, and he realized a second too late that his lightsaber had been yanked out of his grip by the Force.

Obi-Wan's blade hissed to life in Vader's hands.

In a heartbeat the guards had fired and were dead. A heartbeat later three Jedi had entered the room, and more were on their way. Vader engaged them, killing one—a Padawan—fairly quickly and wounding another. Two older Jedi Knights hurried in as Vader cut down the injured Jedi and nearly sliced the third in half.

Obi-Wan cried out for Vader to stop, but the Sith Lord no longer heard him. No one did.

Despite initially having the upper hand, Vader was still relatively weak from his illness and faltered. One of the Knights took this as her opportunity. Time slowed. Obi-Wan sensed the danger, sensed the outcome. The Jedi Knight's blade was angled slightly, ready to decapitate the Sith Lord, who was deflecting another attack while his knees nearly buckled beneath him.

Darth Vader was fallen, empty, hopeless. He was a Sith Lord, an Imperial, the Emperor. He was Padmé's murderer, he was brainwashed beyond belief, he was too far gone. He was dangerous, a killer. He was lost, naïve. He was hurt. He was a boy. He'd been ordered to kill someone he loved by someone he loved. He was a wreck. He was broken.

He was not going to die like this.

Obi-Wan leapt forward, using the Force to push the whole group over, grabbing Vader fiercely to tackle him. One Jedi stumbled, his blade deactivating. The other reached out to balance herself, and her blade still aimed for Vader's neck.

It slashed through part of Obi-Wan's back and shoulders instead.

Obi-Wan gasped, collapsing. His entire body tingled and screamed. His head spun, he couldn't breathe, his fists and jaw clenched in an attempt to fight the pain. He heard someone cry out, felt the thin layer of snow on the floor get kicked up around him as someone stood over him.

He sensed Qui-Gon and Siri. He sensed panic, anger, protectiveness, shock. He sensed far, far too much. He vaguely noticed a leg and heard the hum of a lightsaber and pieced together that Vader was standing directly over him, one leg in front of him and one behind him, holding the blade parallel to the ground in a guard position, daring anyone to approach. Was he holding Obi-Wan hostage?

No… no, he was _protecting_ him.

Siri yelled at Vader to get away, activating her own blade. Obi-Wan tried to call out to her, but he was in too much pain to make any noise but a moan, too much pain to even try to focus on the Force and reach her mind through their bond. Qui-Gon spoke firmly, some Jedi shifted, an argument seemed to break out, but Vader refused to move.

Obi-Wan moaned again, trying to reach out. He moved his right arm a fraction and pain seared through him in response. His head felt like it was going to explode.

Obi-Wan blacked out.

* * *

Imperial Center was as dreadful as he remembered it: warm, muggy, windy, and it smelled awful. Éothen's soldiers glanced around in awe or anxiety, confirming his suspicion that they'd never been here before. Checking the map he'd examined prior to landing, he motioned for them to follow him; he figured Erwyna would be lingering near Tlenden's apartment, so they would start there.

Grabbing his comlink, Éothen called her. "Where's the family reunion happening?"

"At Grouchy Grandpa's, of course. Where else? What's your ETA?"

Éothen held back a snort. Yep, Tlenden's apartment. "About ten minutes."

Motioning to his seven squad mates, Éothen led the trek to Erwyna. His mind was still buzzing, but he was also feeling nervous. He wasn't sure why, and he wasn't sure what to do about it. He figured just getting _answers_ would help.

It wasn't long before they reached the senator's apartment complex, and Éothen hesitantly led his troops indoors. It was midday local time, so ideally, Tlenden was at the senate. As expected, when Éothen knocked, Erwyna was the one to answer.

As soon as he saw her, Éothen locked eyes with Erwyna. She had that expression that typically denoted something big was about to occur; she normally looked that way before an op. Éothen didn't say anything, and neither did Erwyna; she simply stepped aside and he entered. His squad, on the other hand, was far more eager.

"Lieutenant, what's going on?" one of Erwyna's subordinates, Trynen, asked.

"Salkende's fiancée is alive," Erwyna remarked as soon as the door closed.

Everyone froze. As fiancée to the future warlord, Padmé was known as the bride of Salkende, so they knew exactly who Erwyna was talking about.

"But… the news…?" Trynen stared at Erwyna confusedly.

"I don't know why her death was fabricated, but it was," Erwyna explained. "One of her handmaidens was used for the body."

Éothen quickly questioned, "Then where is she? How do you know all this? How did she survive? Why did they even bother with the farce?"

"I'm still trying to get those answers," Erwyna sighed. "It's why I called you guys. I had a slicer hack into the security feeds at Amidala's apartment. That gave me enough info to realize a few things: firstly, Darth Vader was the one who attacked Amidala, assuming she was even attacked; secondly, her handmaiden was used for the body; thirdly, Imperial Intelligence and some other faction interfered with the operation or were responsible for organizing it. Intelligence is our next target for information – they should have the original undocumented feeds."

"The feeds were tampered with?"

Erwyna nodded. "They edited out the handmaiden so no one would suspect anything; according to the news she's the one who found the body, but there's no footage of her. She and her family mysteriously died a few days later."

Éothen did a double take. "Wait—we're breaking into _Imperial Intelligence_?"

Erwyna smirked. "You sound like the slicer. Don't tell me you're nervous."

Éothen laughed. "I'm smart enough to know we're all insane for doing this… and yeah, maybe a little nervous too. Got a plan?"

"I've been working on it. I just need everyone's help."

Éothen blew out a sigh. This was a lot of information to take in. "Okay… let's get to it. When's the break-in?"

"Tonight. We're meeting up with an informant who will get us inside."

Éothen looked at his team. "Then we'd better get to work."

* * *

Well this was an odd sensation.

Obi-Wan groaned as he felt himself floating in a strange mix of warmth, worry, distant aches, and frigid fingers and toes. His eyes eventually fluttered open and he found himself staring at a ceiling. What had happened?

Vader.

Obi-Wan tried to sit up but was met with sluggish muscles and lots of pain. He gasped, and several alarms blared from a monitor beside him.

"Obi!"

Obi-Wan turned his head to see his wife at his side in an instant, and Al, seemingly out of nowhere, was right behind her. Both looked frantic, but to Obi-Wan's greater concern, Siri had a slightly bloody bandage wrapped around her head.

"Whatappened? Siri…?" he slurred.

"It's okay, Obi," she hushed him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You're in the med bay. You're safe."

"Youread…"

Al stared confusedly, but Siri knew what he was saying. "It's just a bump on the head, nothing to worry about."

"How…?"

"Long story."

"Vader…?"

"He's…" Al said nervously, looking elsewhere.

"He's been dealt with," Siri finished for the smuggler, giving Obi-Wan a reassuring smile. "Everything's going to be okay."

Obi-Wan felt dread fill the pit of his stomach as memories flooded him, and he heard the monitor shriek again. "Where's he?"

"Obi-Wan—"

"Where—is—he?"

Siri sighed heavily. "He's _sedated_. I don't know where they took him exactly."

Obi-Wan glanced around at the dimly lit bay as his senses started to prickle back to life. Vader's presence hovered in the air; wherever he was, he was somewhere in the vicinity. Obi-Wan looked at Siri and was once again confused; why did she have a bandage around her head?

"Your head…?"

Siri's expression morphed into worry. "I told you, just a bump. How are you feeling?"

"Like a shaak sat on me."

Al barked a laugh. "Yeah, he's feeling better."

"What happened?" Obi-Wan asked, finally starting to get his wits about him.

"Vader went ballistic," Siri said, her eyes glistening with worry and fear. "He killed four people. You were hurt… by accident, I guess; it's a lightsaber wound, but it doesn't go very deep. I thought it was Vader… but… we're not sure. It doesn't seem to be."

"He's alive?"

"Obi, I said earlier that he's sedated, remember?"

"I… remember," Obi-Wan explained, irritated that he couldn't string words together properly. "I mean _why_ is he alive?"

"Good question," Al sighed.

"He… he wouldn't leave you," Siri explained, sounding confused and scared at the same time. "I ran into the cell when I sensed you were in danger, and you were on the ground with a lightsaber wound. Vader was standing over you with your saber – I was convinced he had hurt you, that he was using you as a hostage to stop the others from killing him. But… that wasn't the case. Qui-Gon managed to convince everyone that it was best to not kill him, but he still had to knock Vader out. They dragged him somewhere in the medical bay and sedated him. I told them about the incident with the binders last time, so they've got his feet chained down too. I think they're going to toss him back in the cell once they get another dose of sedatives in him."

"Qui-Gon's arguing with your head Jedi Master right now, as well as the Alliance Council," Al chimed in. "They're debating killing Vader – apparently they were supposed to if he caused any more trouble."

"It… it wasn't his fault…" Obi-Wan tried to explain, feeling slightly frantic at the idea. "I… provoked him."

Siri pushed lightly on him, and he felt a little tired in response. "Don't worry about Vader. You need to rest."

Al folded his arms. "Yeah, they said you'd be on painkillers for most of the morning, but you should be discharged tomorrow."

"How long has it been?"

"Five hours."

Obi-Wan sighed heavily. "I… have to speak with Master Ti."

"I just said—"

"They can't kill him," Obi-Wan interrupted Siri, tensing his muscles in an attempt to sit up, which failed miserably. "I provoked him."

"Yes, you said that," Siri rolled her eyes. "Look, I don't care if Darth Vader told you everything we need to know about the Empire, you're _not_ getting out of bed until they discharge you."

"He told me everything I need to know about him."

Siri and Al glanced at each other, surprised. "He what?"

"Or I should say, he didn't deny what I said," Obi-Wan amended as he finally managed to pull himself into a seated position despite Siri's glare of disapproval.

"What did he say?" Al asked.

Obi-Wan hesitated for a moment, but there was no way he could keep this to himself, particularly after what he'd just stated. A part of him still hesitated at telling Siri, but this was _important_. "Vader wasn't just loyal to Palpatine, he didn't just care for him… Vader loved Palpatine."

Siri and Al gaped at him.

"The way he talks about him… the way he defends him… it's like a child," Obi-Wan shook his head, which was spinning as the realizations returned, crashing down on him. "He _adored_ that man, he looked up to him. That's why he obeyed him."

Al made some sort of noise that sounded like a mixture of a squeak and a moan. "He's completely _insane_."

"How could _anyone_ even _like_ that monster, let alone _love_ him?" Siri questioned disbelievingly.

"Is it really surprising?" Obi-Wan countered as the explanation made itself clear to him. "He's been with Palpatine since he was a small boy – the man's probably the closest thing he ever had to a father. Just… just _imagine_ it, Siri – we killed his father… based on how _we _felt towards him over Padmé can you imagine how he feels about all of us?"

Al squeaked again, his hand drifting to his blaster, and then he furrowed his brow. "But… he hasn't been trying to kill everybody all the time. He's _talked_ to you."

"Because you're related to Padmé," Siri remarked. "That was why he'd listened to you before."

"So let me get this straight," Al said. "Darth Vader was ordered by his all-but-slave-master whom he apparently loved to kill the woman he loved, he does it, and then he listens to that woman's dead relatives because… guilt?"

"Perhaps… or respect for her," Obi-Wan wondered aloud. "But that…"

Was that still the reason why he listened? He'd said he hadn't trusted Obi-Wan. But he'd been far more open with him, it had felt like they'd made progress… he'd _defended_ him when he'd apparently thought the Jedi were a threat to both of them.

Was it really just because of Padmé?

"I need to talk to him," Obi-Wan muttered.

"No." Al and Siri both immediately said.

"I know he's asleep right now," Obi-Wan said exasperatedly before cringing as some fresh pain prickled through him. Those painkillers were starting to wear off.

"And he might be dead before you're discharged, depending on what the council decides," Al remarked.

Obi-Wan grew alarmed, but Siri cut him off before he could speak. "Look, I'll talk to them and make sure the decision isn't made until you plead your case, okay? Just be _patient_."

The sheer irony of Siri telling Obi-Wan to be patient finally snapped him out of his worry. He stared at his wife in bemusement, and she smirked back.

"Fine," he huffed, sagging into the pillow.

Al smiled and bade Obi-Wan a good night with a yawn before departing. Siri pulled up a chair and sat beside his bed. He watched her with some concern as his eyes fell upon the bandage around her head once more.

"It's fine, Obi," she assured him. "They checked it over; didn't even get a concussion. Now, if you can get enough sleep, I'll let you hear about the baby."

Obi-Wan jumped, startled. "Hear about the baby?"

"Mm-hm," Siri nodded, stretching as a wave of exhaustion overcame her, and Obi-Wan realized she and Al must have been up all night watching over him. "Nothing's wrong; they did an initial scan when I first got here and everything was fine. This'll be more like a typical prenatal check-up for once. Doctor's looking her over in about three hours."

Obi-Wan felt giddy and confused and startled all at once. Too much. There was just too much right now. He sighed heavily, closing his eyes and attempting to calm himself. He felt Siri lay her hand over his own.

"Rest, Obi," she whispered. "I'll wake you up when it's time."

With his wife at his side, Obi-Wan calmed and felt out in the Force once more, sensing Vader's presence. The Imperial's life signature hummed dully, and though Obi-Wan couldn't quite interpret what that meant, just feeling that the man was alive was good enough for him. Obi-Wan turned towards Siri a little and fell asleep.

As he rested, Siri felt exhaustion overwhelm her, but she had to stay awake for just a little while longer. She'd promised she'd talk to the council, and with her husband fast asleep, it was time to do so.

Rising, Siri rubbed her eyes, mulling over everything. When she'd entered Vader's cell, having sensed that Obi-Wan was in danger, her heart had nearly stopped at the sight of Vader standing over him with his own weapon activated and corpses littering the floor. She'd thought Obi-Wan had been badly hurt, that _Vader_ had been the one to do it, that he was dying right there in front of her. She'd just reacted, she'd activated her own blade and charged ahead, knowing full well that she didn't have enough training but too filled with determination and protectiveness to _not_ try and get to her husband (well, there went the rule of non-attachment…). Vader had grabbed her by the arm and thrown her against the wall behind him. She'd hit her head on the wall and fallen just beside her husband, and she'd expected some other retaliation, but the Sith Lord had returned his attention to everyone else as if Siri weren't important. She hadn't cared – her pride was the least of her concerns. At least she was close to Obi-Wan, she could check on him.

And then Vader had told her to _treat_ him.

Siri shook her head. Somehow she doubted it was just respect for Padmé that would compel Darth Vader to seemingly worry about Obi-Wan's well-being. Somehow her husband had ingratiated himself to the Imperial… and Siri wasn't sure that was such a great idea. Still, it was apparently better than him _not_ liking him at all – he would have been another corpse on the floor if that were the case.

Siri shuddered, feeling her blood freeze at the thought of it.

Exiting the medical wing, Siri made her way towards the briefing rooms, following her senses towards Qui-Gon. She was growing too tired to distinguish his presence from anybody else's but she knew her way well enough to guess where he was.

She couldn't _believe_ what Obi-Wan had said. Vader had _loved_ Palpatine? By this point Siri, Obi-Wan, and Qui-Gon had all come to the conclusion that Darth Vader had cared for his master, which was already mind boggling, but there was a_ massive _difference between being fond of someone or loyal to someone and _loving_ someone.

Just how screwed up was this guy? What in the blazes would make someone love a monster who no doubt tortured him as much as anybody else, if not more?

"That guy needs some serious therapy," Siri muttered to herself. _Assuming he lives that long. Assuming there's anything left to fix._

Speaking of living that long… how in the _blazes_ was she going to _defend_ the guy to the Alliance and the Jedi Council? For heaven's sake, she was going to be talking to her superiors in both the military and the Order, and she was going to have to tell them that they shouldn't kill Darth Vader despite even her own misgivings on the matter because Obi-Wan was the one who had actually started the fight… somehow.

_Blast it all, Obi, you _owe_ me for this._ Siri shook her head. Despite her own reservation on keeping Darth Vader alive, she trusted her husband's judgment. She just hoped his faith was well placed.

Eventually Siri found her way to the correct briefing room. As soon as the door opened the Force washed over her like an angry wave and multiple voices were heard.

"—no reason at this point – he's too dangerous!"

"He might still have valuable information—"

"—said we would put him down—"

Siri cleared her throat loudly. "He stays alive until Obi-Wan is discharged."

Everyone grew quiet and stared at her, some surprised, some angered, and the majority bewildered by the interruption. The new Grand Master of the Order, Shaak Ti, stepped forward.

"Padawan, this decision is not yours to make," she started to say.

Siri cut her off before she could continue. "With all due respect, Master, none of you understands Darth Vader like Obi-Wan does – he's been dealing with the man every day under your own orders, and he's learned a great deal about him as a result. Obi-Wan states that he himself provoked the fight; it wasn't Vader's fault. He wants to plead his case to you when he's well enough to leave the med bay. In the meantime, Vader is to remain unharmed."

"Do you think we take demands from _you_? From a Padawan?" one of the Alliance council members demanded.

Siri felt her blood boil, and she immediately disregarded any Jedi restraint, stepping aggressively towards the man in question. "_Listen to me_ you pathetic fool – I've sacrificed more than you could _ever_ imagine for the Alliance. I was a spy for you people before I ever met up with the Jedi, I lost everyone but my husband to the Empire, to _Darth Vader himself_, so don't you _dare_ assume you know better than me."

The combination of her vehement words and threatening posture seemed to cow the man into submission, and Bail Organa finally spoke up.

"Siri, you more than anyone realize how dangerous it is to keep Darth Vader alive at this point. He attacked the only man who seemed able to stop him." Bail shook his head. "We cannot put any more lives at risk."

The man's calmer argument helped settle Siri's temper, and she hastily tried to regain her composure. Taking a deep breath, she mentally recited the Code and said more evenly, "You are right; I recognize the threat this presents… but I also have faith in Obi-Wan's judgment, and he insists that we should keep Vader alive."

One of the other Jedi Masters intoned, "Don't let your attachment to your husband cloud your judgment."

"Our _judgement_ kept us and many others alive long before your rule of non-attachment entered our lives," Siri replied curtly, temporarily forgetting that she was supposed to be the level headed one in this group. _Blast it, focus._ "I'm not letting my emotions cloud anything; I trust Obi-Wan to make the most logical and reasonable decision. Sometimes important matters require some degree of risk."

"Is this part of your idea of making him a Jedi?" the irritating Master looked at Qui-Gon sharply.

"My Padawans are capable of making their own decisions on the matter without my approval or insistence," Qui-Gon replied calmly. "I will let the Councils decide Darth Vader's fate."

"We said that Vader was in the Jedi's care, but if he caused one more incident we'd kill him," one of the Rebel generals argued.

"The Jedi will relinquish their custody of Lord Vader since we were unable to keep him under control," Master Ti said, looking pointedly at Bail. "We leave the matter in your hands."

Siri's gut churned uneasily. This wasn't promising. She tried to plead her case again when Bail held up a hand. "Darth Vader is a serious threat… but he is also our best asset. I propose that we give Commander Kenobi one week to get valuable information from him; if Vader complies, then we can reconvene to discuss his fate at that point."

The other members of the Alliance Council seemed hesitant to agree, but they didn't offer up much argument against it, either; Bail was one of the founding members, and his word held more clout than any of them. The general looked frustrated, but he didn't speak. Eventually, a majority agreed to the terms, and Siri felt some tension in her stomach release only to tighten in her chest. She didn't see how this would end well, but she certainly hoped Obi-Wan could manage a miracle and finally get Vader to cooperate.

"Then we're in accord," Bail nodded and faced Siri. "Do you agree to the terms?"

Siri bowed. "Yes. I'll inform Obi-Wan."

With another bow to Qui-Gon and Master Ti, Siri left the room, heading back to the medical bay. She wouldn't tell Obi-Wan until he awoke, but… blast, this was such a mess.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Obi-Wan…" she muttered.

* * *

Padmé sighed as she watched the slaves working in the kitchen. The party was tonight; apparently Lady Tarkin had assumed Padmé would be kept out of sight by Crix. She shuddered at the thought of it. Everyone had planned out the event as necessary; Numa and another woman named Rane would keep an eye out for Lady Tarkin and warn Padmé if she was coming; after all, there was no way the woman could be with all her guests at once. Padmé just had to find an area where the head of the house wasn't around, and then she could make herself as visible as she needed to.

Of course the only problem now was Crix himself. They'd still debated how they would distract him; as busy as he would be ensuring the party was planned, he was still expecting… well, she wouldn't think about that. They just had to find a way to distract him.

As Padmé debated the matter, she was approached by the teenage Togruta, who was the only one yet to introduce herself. "I have an idea about Crix."

Padmé faced her. "What is it?"

"Choose me to be his mate."

Padmé blanched. "What?!"

"It's okay," the teenager smiled. "I'll take good care of him. You just worry about making sure those rumors start flying."

"I—no, I'm not putting you in that position," Padmé argued. She'd said she wouldn't do that to any of them, let alone a _youngling_.

The teenager sighed somewhat irritably. "Look, just trust me, okay? I know what I'm doing."

Padmé was going to argue further when Crix himself finally arrived. He looked at Padmé hesitantly, if not expectantly, and said nothing, waiting for her to speak first. The teenager stepped forward, and Padmé hastily did so as well to stop her.

"I'm your mate," the teenager immediately said.

"No, she's—" Padmé intervened, but the girl interrupted her.

"She chose me. Let's just go and get this over with."

Was she completely out of her mind? Padmé didn't see how this could end well. It was obvious earlier that the girl hadn't wanted to be involved in that, so she no doubt had some idea to distract Crix, but Padmé wasn't really convinced the teenager would be able to pull it off.

Even Crix seemed surprised, and he looked all the more reluctant. He took a small step back as the girl walked towards him. Padmé was about to go after her when Numa arrived and tapped her on the shoulder, catching her attention temporarily.

"The guests are arriving," she said softly. "We should get ready."

Padmé glanced back in the direction of Crix and the girl and they were gone. She felt her stomach knot. Rushing to the slave quarters, she saw that it was empty. Where the blazes had they gone? Padmé searched the entire basement, desperate to find them, but she had no luck whatsoever, making her even more worried. Eventually, Numa returned to tell her that all the guests were there and wandering the compound.

It was time to do her part.

Sighing, Padmé dressed herself in a servant's gown. She grabbed some refreshments from the kitchen and made her way upstairs. She hoped the girl was alright. She hoped this plan actually worked. Numa walked just ahead of her, keeping an eye out for Lady Tarkin. Padmé took a deep breath as Numa gave the all clear sign.

Wandering out with the tray of refreshments, Padmé glanced at the clientele. Most of the faces were foreign to her, but as she held the tray out to the guests she noticed that she was receiving quite a bit of attention.

"_Padmé?"_ a voice hissed behind her.

Turning, Padmé saw Rekk, the very representative she had rescued from CC4 with Vader an eternity ago. Her jaw dropped. "_Rekk_? What are you doing here?"

"I—I thought you were _dead_!" Rekk whispered, his eyes wide. "You're—why are you—_how_—"

"I'm being held prisoner," she explained quietly.

Rekk looked around wildly and then dragged Padmé into the shadows. "Prisoner? What? The Empire said the Rebels killed you! What's going on?"

"It's… complicated." Padmé said truthfully. Rekk had never known that Padmé was a member of the Rebel Alliance, so she couldn't exactly go into the full explanation, but he'd always been a friend. She put a hand on his shoulder, her tone filled with urgency. "You have to help me, Rekk. Can you get in contact with Rep. Naberrie? Is… is he _here_?"

The very thought of her brother being on the same _planet_ as her let alone in the same house made her knees go weak. _Please say yes, Rekk…_

Rekk shook his head, and Padmé felt her heart plummet. "Rep. Naberrie retired after your… well, death. I… I haven't seen him in almost a month. He was replaced, _you_ were replaced… the only reason I'm here is to try to ingratiate myself to the new senator, who apparently wants to be best friends with the Tarkins now that the grand moff is the emperor regent."

Padmé gawked at him. "He's _what_?! What happened to Palpatine?!"

Rekk stared at her in disbelief. "You… you don't _know_?" Then he shook his head. "Right, of course you don't. Palpatine's _dead_."

Palpatine was _dead_?! How much had she missed in almost a month?! How had it almost been a month, anyway?! This… this was _amazing_ news, this was _unbelievable_. This was world shattering.

Her family… Vader… what had happened to them in such a long span of time? How were they holding up?

Blast it, why was she even _worrying_ about Vader?

Padmé shook her head. "I… can't believe it. How did Tarkin get in charge, though? Isn't Darth Vader second-in-command? Was he not the legal heir?"

"Darth Vader is indisposed," Rekk answered uncertainly. "At least that's what they told the senate. I haven't heard anything else about him. Tarkin is in charge until Vader can take over."

_Indisposed_? What did that mean? Had Palpatine's death devastated him that much? Considering how loyal he was to the man… oh gods. Oh _gods_.

_Oh gods._

"When did Palpatine die?" Padmé asked breathlessly.

Rekk gazed somewhere beyond Padmé as he furrowed his brow and tried to remember. "About a week ago by now."

Padmé leaned against the wall, floored by this news, by everything that had no doubt occurred as a result of it. She shook her head to focus once more; she couldn't afford to think about it right now. "So you haven't seen Obi-Wan since my imprisonment? He just retired, though, right? No arrests, nothing? My family's fine, right? What about my handmaidens?"

"Cordé is dead," Rekk said sadly. "Siri and the new one were let go when the new senator came… or, well, they both resigned. The staff's entirely new. I haven't heard anything about arrests, though."

Padmé's heart ached at hearing this. _Oh Cordé…_ what had happened to her? Why had she been killed?

Tarkin.

Padmé clenched her jaw, angered. Cordé had no doubt been used for her likeness to Padmé, to convince the galaxy that she truly had died. It sickened her to think about it.

"I can't believe this…" Rekk muttered, staring at her and garnering her attention. "This… was this all a power play somehow? You don't… well, you didn't know… but… why would they imprison you?"

"Like I said, long story," Padmé sighed, rubbing her face tiredly. "Rekk, please, you have to get in contact with Obi-Wan. You have to tell him that I'm alive, tell him where I am. You _know_ how to reach him."

"I have his official contact information," Rekk shrugged worriedly. "But… I haven't heard anything from him or about him. I tried calling him after your… eh… funeral… but he wouldn't answer."

Padmé immediately grew tense and terrified. Did this have to do with Tarkin? Was he holding her entire family hostage? She'd thought maybe he simply was watching them; she knew they would be killed if she stepped noticeably out of line, but that didn't necessarily mean they'd imprisoned them.

This was such a mess. Who else could she get Rekk to contact? Could she ask him to investigate the matter with her family in her stead? Padmé thought of any other Rebel contacts she had on Imperial Center, but they were all gone; Iblis had been branded a traitor, Mothma had been killed, and she herself had freed Organa from an Imperial prison. There was no one.

"I'll try, Padmé," Rekk eventually said, putting his hand on her shoulder. "I'll try to get in contact with him, or I'll try to reach your family or something."

Padmé grew a little nervous. "Be _careful_. Don't contact my family directly if you can; Obi-Wan is more… equipped to handle delicate matters like this. The rest of my family isn't. And they're no doubt in danger given my current position."

Wait. There _was_ someone on Imperial Center who could help. "Do you know Senator Tlenden?"

Rekk furrowed his brow, turning the name in his mind. "Tlenden… he's the senator for the Tsograda Sector, right?"

"Yes," Padmé immediately nodded. "Tell him about my predicament. He'll know what to do. Just make sure nobody else realizes that you talked to him about me, okay?"

Rekk nodded uncertainly. "Okay… Padmé… really, what's going on?"

Padmé saw Numa waving madly in the distance. Lady Tarkin was coming. She hastily looked at Rekk once more. "I can't tell you right now. But don't talk to anybody about this except Tlenden, got it? Be safe."

With that, Padmé brushed past Rekk and rushed downstairs to the slave quarters once more, praying that everything would go well for once.

* * *

It was midnight. Imperial Center was as dark as it ever would be. The neon lights made Erwyna's eyes hurt a little, but she'd been here long enough to start adjusting to it. The other members of Éothen's squadron grumbled about the planet a little, though some complimented it, and they all grew silent as they neared their destination.

Erwyna glanced at Éothen. He'd taken the news fairly well, mainly because they'd immediately had an assignment to handle. Éothen always focused on the mission first; it was how they all survived. One couldn't be distracted by anything when one was constantly in a war. Most of the members of the squad had similar ways of managing stress: push it off until later and then inexplicably grow irritable over _everything_. That was how they all coped.

Returning her attention to the task at hand, Erwyna led the group as she finally reached the rendezvous point. It was here that they would meet with Odeki, who would guide them into Intelligence. From there they would handle the matter on their own.

A silhouette stood in the distance, and Erwyna's hand slid to her holstered blaster. "Oki?"

Using the alias given to her, she waited to see if Odeki would respond or if the silhouette was an enemy. A second after she'd spoken, the person moved into the light, revealing Odeki's nervous face.

"Did you get us an in?" she asked quietly.

Odeki nodded. "Yes. Just… stay quiet and inconspicuous, okay? I… this is crazy enough without… I mean… just be quiet. And do as I say. Okay?"

Erwyna refrained from rolling her eyes. The only person who could blow the operation would be Odeki himself with as anxious as he was acting.

_Thoom._

Odeki hitched his breath slightly, his eyes widening. Erwyna jumped, and her skin crawled at the sound. She _knew_ that sound, she'd _grown up_ hearing it.

Sniper.

Gasping, Erwyna leapt back into the shadows as plasma splattered the concrete at her feet where she'd been standing a second ago. Odeki was down alongside five or her eight teammates. Éothen stumbled away with a teammate who was barely breathing. Erwyna glanced around for cover and found none, and she couldn't trace the source of the shots. Judging by the sound it was one of the particularly long ranged rifles. The sniper could be on any of the rooves in the area.

Erwyna locked eyes with Éothen and the two split up, running down different alleys. They'd find each other later. Right now they had to get away from the threat. Her heart raced, her mind whirling at what had just transpired within a span of five seconds, and she immediately shoved down the thought that her one way into Intelligence was dead alongside at least five of her teammates.

As the team scattered in all directions, Cipher 8 inched away from the edge of the rooftop where she'd been perched for the past hour. Rising, she activated probe droids to search the vicinity and piloted her speeder to a different sector of the city, placing her sniper rifle beside her.

Mission accomplished.

* * *

Tarkin was irritable as soon as his feet touched the duracrete. The _safe path_ that had been planned out by Intelligence had taken twice as long as he'd wanted. He needed to get back to the palace and ensure they retook the Hydian Way and eliminated Rhaegon entirely. He would not suffer the embarrassment of losing his own sector to the man.

Still, he had to meet with his spy first, who had told him to meet with her at the Galaxies Opera House. Technically she'd mentioned a ballet from the previous night, local time, but he assumed she'd know that he wouldn't arrive that quickly considering Intelligence was the one who had planned the route.

The opera house was empty for the most part; a show was in progress, no doubt coming close to ending given the late hour. A woman dressed as an attendant approached him, but he immediately recognized the small features of his spy. Her narrow brown eyes watched him keenly as she tipped her head in acknowledgement.

Tarkin entered the building, closing the distance between them and getting away from the single guard standing by his shuttle. "Report."

"I found the reason for the enemy's attack en route to Naboo," she said immediately. "There was a leak in Intelligence; the Rebels had a mechanic in their service. He's been eliminated."

Tarkin felt his irritation grow. How could they have allowed this to happen? "Do you know how much information he sent to the Rebels?"

"It's unclear, sir," his spy replied. "He was meeting with a group of people tonight, but they're being handled as we speak. We plan to capture one and find out how much they know. I traced the informant's transmissions and found the location of the new Rebel base. They're on Hoth."

Tarkin felt his heartrate jump. _Finally._ "And what of Lord Vader?"

"We've heard nothing to indicate his presence, sir, but there's been no chatter about his death, either. It's unclear."

Tarkin nodded, taking it all in. They had to act on this immediately. Rhaegon could wait. "You've done well. I have one more assignment for you."

His spy watched him expectantly.

"I will send all available resources to destroy that base. I want you to accompany the fleet, and I want you to find him. Bring him to me alive."

His spy bowed. "At once, sir."

Tarkin left immediately after, and told his pilot to get him to the palace as quickly as possible. He called all his allies on the way, and within fifteen minutes they were in the briefing room via hologram.

It was time to finally end this war. It was time to eradicate the Rebels.

It was time to bring Vader home.

* * *

**Apologies for typos, I'm half conscious right now haha. Stories will start to converge, so there will be less jumping around between so many people. Get ready for another round on the roller coaster! ;)  
**


	45. The Battle of Hoth

**Thank you all so much for your reviews, I love hearing what you think about the story. Also, in particular, I'm really happy that people are learning from this story, too - what's more fun than being entertained and educated at the same time? :D**

**Enjoy the next chapter! Happy Epiphany! :)**

* * *

Erwyna swore as she turned a corner down a foreign street. She'd reviewed the general area of the meeting place in case anything had gone wrong, but in the chase she'd long since exited the perimeter of familiarity. The sniper had sent probe droids after them, and she was doing her best to avoid attention, but one of the droids had already caught sight of her and was tracking her movements. If she shot it down in the middle of the crowd it would create a panic, which could come in handy, but it would also attract more attention from the Empire.

Well, it wasn't like they weren't already looking for her.

Glancing back, Erwyna caught sight of the droid floating after her quickly. She pulled out her blaster, keeping it under her cloak so no one would notice it yet. Eventually she entered a plaza and ran around a large statue so she was out of the droid's sight long enough, and as soon as it rounded the edge of her vision, she pulled out her blaster and shot it down.

People immediately screamed and started to scatter in all directions. Erwyna pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and ran with them, trying not to get trampled. She continuously scanned the area for more probe droids, and though she caught sight of a few, none of them seemed to get a good look at her.

Eventually the crowd led Erwyna to a lower level where there was slightly less activity and seemingly no probe droids at all. Ducking into an alley, Erwyna pulled out her comlink and encrypted her transmission to Éothen.

"Bit… busy… right now…"

"Where are you?" she asked.

"Can't tell… track the signal…"

Erwyna cursed again. Thankfully everyone had military grade comlinks that allowed for them to trace transmissions, and so she hastily picked up on Éothen's location. He was on the same level but two blocks away. Rushing in his direction, Erwyna dodged the denizens of the area as more people ran to and fro from the pandemonium she had created in the upper levels.

As Erwyna drew closer to the source of the signal she heard blaster fire and people were running away from the area, pushing against her. Erwyna pulled out her own weapon and took cover behind a dumpster as she glanced around for the source of the fire. She eventually caught sight of Éothen still dragging one of their teammates—Trynen, she recognized—and exchanging fire with two probe droids. Erwyna immediately took the shot and the droids fell in a simmering heap. She ran to her comrades.

"Thanks for the help," Éothen panted. "But there are probably more coming; I doubt those droids didn't call for reinforcements."

"We'll manage," Erwyna replied as she slung Trynen's other arm over her shoulder to help.

"We need to split up," Éothen said.

"And go where?"

"We can meet up at the Drunken Dewback."

"Trynen can't make it that far!"

"Leave me behind," Trynen immediately intoned.

Erwyna and Éothen stared at him. _"No."_

"Sirs, I'm injured, I'm slowing you down, and those droids need something to follow so you can escape," Trynen explained, trying to push himself off of his superiors.

Erwyna's chest tightened so much it started to hurt. She could handle losing people to the enemy, but she wouldn't just _give one up_. "Don't be _stupid_, Trynen; we're not abandoning you."

"It's not _abandoning_," Trynen shook his head fiercely, grabbing his own weapon. "We don't have time to argue—you have to leave _now_!"

"Trynen—"

"_Go!"_

Erwyna caught sight of probe droids coming in the distance. Trynen was right in that they didn't have time to argue. She clenched her jaw and locked eyes with Éothen, who, as captain of the squad, would make the final call.

Éothen furrowed his brow and let out a frustrated sigh, putting his hand on Trynen's shoulder. "Do what you have to."

Trynen nodded grimly. Erwyna looked away once more. She hated goodbyes and rarely ever had the opportunity for one anyway, so she simply ran ahead, guiding Éothen away from the droids as Trynen prepped his blaster rifle.

"Do you even remember where the Drunken Dewback is?" Éothen asked after a few seconds, his voice a little rough.

Erwyna swallowed and pulled out a holo-map. "I'm about to remember."

After taking a second to focus and examine the route, Erwyna pointed to a turbolift that led even deeper into the bowels of the city. "This way."

As the two reached the lift, cramming into it with a handful of nervous looking citizens, they heard screams from a distant alley along with blaster fire and a small explosion, and people ran in all directions once more. Erwyna closed her eyes as the lift doors closed and they sped downward.

"Do you think they got a good visual?" Erwyna whispered.

"Hard to tell," Éothen sighed. "We're wearing hoods and we've destroyed the droids that saw us. Doesn't mean they couldn't transmit the data."

"Yeah, but do those probes transmit visual data?"

"I don't know."

"Great," Erwyna muttered as the lift reached the correct level.

The two meandered through the crowd, keenly aware of how everyone was on edge from the activity above. People whispered about it, some glanced around waiting for firing to start here as well, while others pulled out weapons that were far more common this far down in the city. Eventually Erwyna saw the cantina and pointed it out to Éothen, and the two hastily made their way there.

"They're going to keep hunting us here," Erwyna said as they found the most innocuous corner in the place. "They'll tear the lower levels apart. Imperial Intelligence isn't exactly known for giving up."

Éothen buried his face in his hands. "I'm aware of that."

Erwyna mulled over the matter, still trying to come to terms with everything that had happened in the past twenty minutes. Thinking about Trynen bothered her in more ways than one. As she replayed the sound of the explosion in her mind, she came to a chilling conclusion. Trynen had detonated a grenade to hide the evidence… but the other bodies were in plain sight. Somebody had to clean up the mess, somebody had to ensure this didn't get back to Salkende.

Somebody had to stay behind.

Her hand slowly reached into the bag she'd been carrying and her fingers tightened around the shoto Amidala had given Éothen. "You have to leave Imperial Center."

"And what exactly are we supposed to do with the info we've gathered so far? We still don't know where she is," Éothen argued, glancing at her. He swore harshly, looking away, before he suddenly registered what she'd actually said. "What do you mean _I _have to leave? What about you?"

"Somebody has to destroy the evidence," Erwyna remarked darkly. "If Intelligence gets their hands on the bodies, they'll identify them and put the pieces together. We can't let Salkende be exposed like that, and we can't _both_ do it – it'll take too long and it's too risky. You have to get back to Tlenden and he'll get you out through some official way so they don't suspect anything. They'll be looking for any illegal activity."

"You think Intelligence hasn't already gotten their bodies?" Éothen snapped, growing more emotional and defensive than before. "I already lost my entire squad, I'm not losing you too!"

Erwyna bit her lip, and she swallowed hard. "Remember the _mission_, Éothen. You have to find her and we have to keep Salkende safe. The war just ended, we have to _rebuild_ – we can't let the Empire find out about our work here and you have to continue your clan. _You_ have to live, and you have to _find_ _her_."

Éothen stared at her, wide eyed and horrified. Erwyna bit harder at the sight of it, at the thought of what was likely to happen. She and Éothen had grown up together, fought together, laughed together, joked together, and suffered together. If it weren't for her oath… it didn't matter. They had to do their duties; Erwyna's duty had always been to do what was best for Éothen.

Reaching out, she slid the shoto to him and held his hand as it rested on the table. "Take it. It's yours. Find her. Save her. Rebuild your clan, be happy, _live_. I'll clean up the mess."

Éothen shook his head, his eyes glistening, and he cleared his throat. They both knew this was a suicide mission. She had to torch the entire block where the initial attack had happened… or set off a bomb. She had to keep the probe droids focused on her. This was her last mission.

She didn't want to die here. She didn't want to be a blackened unidentifiable corpse on a foreign planet, so far from her home and her family. But she had her duty, and she'd gotten herself and everyone else into this mess. And if there was any chance she could help Éothen, she would absolutely take it.

Besides, there was the microscopic chance she might survive. Maybe.

"Erwyna…" Éothen shook his head, his voice trembling. "You're not doing this. You're coming with me. It's stupid to overreact like this, you're being paranoid and emotional and—"

"Way more logical than you, as usual," she interrupted, tightening her grip on his hand as she tightened the mental grip on her emotions. "We both know they will stop at nothing. I have to destroy the evidence, and the longer we sit here and argue about it, the less likely I'll succeed."

"I don't care," Éothen snapped. "I'm not leaving you behind."

Erwyna sighed, closing her eyes. This was hard enough on her without him adding to it. "_Please_, Éothen… go."

"We've never given up on a mission, we've never abandoned each other!" he continued to argue, pulling her closer. "I'm not leaving you!"

"Then you're dooming all of Salkende!" Erwyna finally said, opening her eyes to glare at him and furiously blink her own tears away.

Éothen stared at her, speechless. He looked stricken, caught in the reality of the situation, knowing that there was no arguing this, knowing that he couldn't choose his best friend over his entire homeworld.

"Damn it," he swore, looking away, his voice cracking. "Damn it!"

Erwyna took a deep breath, standing. "Mother watch over you."

Éothen jumped, startled, and he leapt to his feet, grabbing her by the arms, but he didn't seem to know what to say. He just shook his head, looking more grief stricken than she'd ever seen him. The sight tore at her heart, and she swallowed hard, balling her fists to get a hold of herself.

"The more you stare at me like some lost puppy, the less time you have," she eventually said, forcing herself to smile. "Go pester Tlenden for me."

Éothen let out what probably should have been a laugh, but it only came out as a sob, startling Erwyna. She hadn't seen him cry since… she didn't even know. Her heartrate rose a little, and she choked back more tears.

"Mother watch over you," Éothen whispered. "May she guide you to rest."

That statement was too final. Erwyna immediately broke away from Éothen, turning towards the exit. She felt Éothen grab her by the arm again, and she was going to argue when he pulled her to him and kissed her on the lips. Erwyna gasped, surprised, and she nearly collapsed as the emotions flooded her. She didn't know how to react; she'd loved Éothen for many years, but she'd….

Erwyna closed her eyes, letting the tears leak out as she lived in this one moment. She never wanted it to end, but they both knew it had to. Éothen started to pull away, and Erwyna let him go. The two stared into each other's eyes, no longer able to exchange words, no longer needing to.

Erwyna walked away.

Outside the air felt chillier than it had before. She shivered, pulling her cloak around her tightly. A couple of probe droids patrolled the area, and she avoided their notice as she headed towards the lift. She refused to think about anything but her mission.

When she reached the level where Trynen had been last seen, she traced her steps back to the alley. Debris littered the area, and chunks of the walls had been blown off. There was nothing left of her fallen comrade. She felt her stomach churn, but she pushed the feeling aside. At least Trynen had left no trace. Muttering a soft prayer for his spirit, she ran back towards the lift, climbing higher into the city. It didn't take her long to reach the meeting place.

The original scene of the incident had already garnered the attention of two agents, who were beginning to pull out scanners. Erwyna grabbed a grenade and tossed it, ducking behind a building as it exploded. Screams echoed all around, and the sound of police speeders could be heard in the distance. Erwyna glanced around and saw that the agents had thankfully been in the main part of the blast, and she bit her tongue so hard she tasted blood as she saw the mangled pieces of what was left of her friends. She'd seen grisly scenes before, but they rarely included people she was very close to.

Erwyna shook her head. She didn't have time for this. Grabbing as much garbage as she could from the nearest dumpster, she littered it around the area and grabbed her small torch, going to each body and then using the trash to spread the blaze.

The police arrived. Erwyna grabbed her blaster, ready to fight as the flames started to surround her.

The world seemed strangely quiet. Her heartbeat was all she heard as she fired continuously, and the sharp pain of a blaster bolt slamming right into her chest seemed awfully duller than it should have. Erwyna gasped, falling, and the flames drew ever closer.

_Be safe, Éothen._

Erwyna closed her eyes.

* * *

Obi-Wan groaned a little as he drifted back into consciousness. He had less pain than the last time he'd been awake, but his upper back and shoulders felt stiff and sore. His mind was vaguely aware of sensations around him, and he lazily reached into the Force, immediately sensing his wife. In the distance he detected two other presences, though he couldn't decipher who they were just yet.

"Obi?"

Obi-Wan's eyes fluttered open and his gaze immediately fell on Siri. She was watching him, her eyes a little wide, her brow raised, wondering if he was alright.

"Hello there," he slurred with a half-smile.

Siri laughed. "You sound drunk."

"The wonder of pain medication."

"No kidding. I'm assuming since they're so wonderful you're feeling okay?"

Obi-Wan twitched his head as a nod. Then he furrowed his brow as he started to become more alert. The two other presences in the Force became more prominent, and vaguer echoes of life forces surrounded them. One was calm, warm, concerned, and radiated peace: Qui-Gon. The other… the other felt cold, distant, like a sealed metal box having just been pulled out of an icy ocean.

Vader.

Obi-Wan pulled himself into a seated position fairly quickly. "Where's Vader?"

"He's in his cell," Siri explained reassuringly. "I managed to broker a deal with Master Ti and the Alliance Council. They're giving you a week to get valuable information out of him or they'll kill him."

Obi-Wan blanched. "Get _information_ out of him?"

"Well, you said you learned everything there is to know about him," Siri shrugged halfheartedly. "I did what I could, Obi; they wanted him dead _now_."

Obi-Wan sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. He'd discovered Vader's main reason for his obedience to Palpatine, but that didn't mean the man would reveal anything about the Empire. By now it was evident he wasn't loyal to principles or institutions, just people, but he also was completely unmotivated – his reason for living was gone. He wasn't actively suicidal so much as passively rotting away unless someone was there to talk to him and pique his interest.

But Obi-Wan still didn't know how Tarkin factored into all this.

"In either case, you're awake just in time for the checkup."

Obi-Wan snapped out of his thoughts and glanced at Siri. "Is it happening soon?"

"Just now, actually."

Just now? Obi-Wan looked around confusedly and noticed a doctor standing by the bed adjacent to his, and Siri was wearing a hospital gown on top. A monitor was already active, and the doctor seemed slightly impatient, having already prepped for the checkup. Siri must have gotten out of bed when she sensed Obi-Wan awakening.

Obi-Wan looked at her somewhat reproachfully. "You were going to let me sleep through it."

Siri chuckled. "I would've told you the results when you woke up."

Obi-Wan watched her irritably. The doctor cleared his throat, and Siri turned to him with a slight start as if she'd forgotten he was there.

"Right, sorry, coming back now," she laughed sheepishly, climbing onto the bed once more.

Obi-Wan craned his neck to watch as the doctor scanned over Siri's abdomen, and a high resolution hologram appeared over her. Growing slightly excited, Obi-Wan pulled down the railing on the right side of his bed and slowly swung his legs over, wincing a little at the pain in his back and shoulders. Siri turned slightly to stop him, but the doctor looked at her in a chastising manner and she sighed heavily, looking at Obi-Wan exasperatedly.

Eventually the image started to coalesce into a recognizable ultrasound picture. Obi-Wan inched closer to the edge of the bed as he gazed at it in wonder, and Siri had long since ceased paying attention to his attempts to get out of bed without permission.

Obi-Wan's eyes traced to the tiny baby in Siri's womb, and he felt a small laugh of amazement escape his lips.

Siri's smile mirrored his own. "Well… at least we finally get to look at her."

The spouses both laughed, mesmerized by the image.

"Here's a bottle of prenatal vitamins you'll need to take. I assume you've already been taking some?" the doctor said, handing Siri the bottle.

Siri nodded. "Yeah, Al got some for me before."

"Well make sure you keep taking them and _rest_," the doctor advised. "I remember my OB rotation, but this isn't my specialty, so I can't do much more than tell you the baby's perfectly healthy right now. I've already spoken to the head of the medical bay requesting an obstetrician be brought in for you and the other woman – Rubar, I think."

"Thank you," Obi-Wan said gratefully, finally standing and walking over to Siri to gaze at the ultrasound some more.

The doctor tipped his head and gave them some privacy. Siri smiled and took Obi-Wan's hand. "Look at her…"

"Ryoo would have been thrilled," Obi-Wan remarked, growing sad as he thought about it. "She would have loved a cousin. And I can't even imagine how Sola or Mom and Dad would've reacted."

His throat tightened a little. He spoke as if they were all dead, like Padmé. He prayed they weren't, but the matter was no longer in his hands. He would just have to leave it up to the will of the Force, he supposed. He would never see them again, not until this war ended, at least. Sighing, he pushed the sadness away. There was no reason to linger on it. This was a happy moment.

Obi-Wan glanced at Siri and saw that she was watching him with some concern and guilt on her face. He immediately regretted mentioning the family; it was Siri's actions that had caused the near destruction of their relationship to the rest of the family… but she had been doing it to protect them. Obi-Wan didn't hold it against her, and he didn't want her to feel bad over his own regret.

Squeezing his wife's hand, he gave her a reassuring smile. _It's alright._

Siri sighed, leaning her head back. _I know, but…_

Something was wrong. The hairs on the back of Obi-Wan's neck stood up, and his lightsaber wounds ached more than they had a second ago. His body tensed. Siri sat up abruptly and the ultrasound hologram vanished with the movement.

"I sense it too," he remarked as Siri was about to ask.

Both Padawans slipped some boots and jackets on and rushed out of the medical bay, heading for the command center to figure out what was happening. As soon as they entered the room they knew something truly was wrong. People were running to and fro, and fear and panic wafted in the Force.

Siri grabbed a trooper to ask what was happening, but Obi-Wan saw it on the console.

There was an Imperial fleet in orbit.

* * *

At the Imperial Palace, Tarkin paced restlessly in his quarters. He was awaiting several calls pertaining to the operation on Hoth. He had to make sure this went perfectly; they couldn't destroy the base until they were certain Vader wasn't there (or until they got him out).

Just thinking about the boy made the emperor regent's heartbeat increase. Was he even alive? Tarkin had been going under the assumption that the Rebels had imprisoned the boy – it was the best option he had, after all. There was no purpose in brooding over what might have happened if the boy was dead. Besides, even if that were the case, it would make the transition to being the true emperor all the easier.

But Tarkin couldn't help feeling a little shaky at the thought of it.

The holoterminal in his room chimed, and he activated it. A full sized hologram of the admiral (they hadn't had time to get a grand admiral and the full might of an armada) came to life in front of him.

"We are positioned and ready, sire," the admiral informed him. "The Rebels have some sort of planetary defense shield that they're powering up. Once it's active it'll make an orbital bombardment impossible. Permission to destroy the base now?"

"No," Tarkin immediately said. "I have an operative who is gathering information. The base must be kept intact until she is finished. You will use a ground assault."

The admiral sighed and nodded. "Very well, sire. I'll send down the walkers first."

"The AT-ATs?" Tarkin questioned. "Hoth's terrain is relatively flat, and the snow and ice could cause problems for walkers. Why aren't you sending hovercraft instead?"

"We _are_ sending hovercraft, sire, but the walkers are the only ones with enough firepower to eliminate the Rebel's shield generator; if we are to destroy the base via orbital bombardment once your operative is finished, then that must be destroyed."

Tarkin grew slightly annoyed, detecting a hint of condescension in the admiral's tone. "By the time those reach the shield generator half the Rebels will have escaped."

"We will shoot down any ship that leaves orbit, sire," the admiral assured him. "Why don't you let me run my campaign and you do what you do best."

Tarkin took a deep breath and nearly growled, "May I remind you that I was an _admiral_ in the Clone War. _Do not_ underestimate the Rebels as previous foolish officers have."

Tarkin ended the transmission before the admiral could reply, and he finally received the call he was truly waiting for on his personal comlink. His spy appeared over the handheld comlink.

"I'm heading into position now, sir," the spy reported. "I won't make contact until the mission is complete."

"Very well," Tarkin acknowledged. "Remember: I want him alive."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

This wasn't how Siri had been expecting her day to go.

Soldiers ran everywhere, heading towards the trenches outside of the base as someone announced that the Empire had landed Imperial walkers, hover tanks, and speeders.

Obi-Wan glanced around. "Where's my lightsaber?"

Siri looked at him incredulously. "You're _hurt_. You can't join the battle."

Obi-Wan sighed reluctantly. "I don't have much of a choice. As remiss as I am to enter battle, I won't refuse to do so when they need my help."

"You're not the only Jedi here," Siri pointed out.

"The Masters and most of the Knights were killed in the battle against the emperor," Obi-Wan shook his head. "They'll need all the help they can get."

Sighing heavily, she dragged him back to the medical bay where both their weapons were sitting innocuously on a table. Siri grabbed both hilts, handing Obi-Wan's to him.

"I guess we finally get to put our training to the test," she remarked.

Obi-Wan paused. "Siri… you should stay inside."

Siri crossed her arms stubbornly. "So you don't have a choice to fight but I can lounge around the base?"

"They're evacuating people with the shuttles. They'll have the ion cannon cover their escape. You have to go on one of the transports." Obi-Wan said seriously.

"And you?" Siri demanded.

"I'll board one as well," Obi-Wan assured her. "Siri, you're pregnant, you shouldn't be out in a _battlefield_ if you can help it."

She'd heard this story before. Sighing heavily, Siri didn't bother to argue; Obi-Wan had a point. What was bothering her was that _he_ would be fighting when he was still recovering from an injury.

Sensing her concern and annoyance, Obi-Wan said, "I won't be charging into the front lines, I assure you."

"Fine," she grumbled, hooking her saber to her belt. "I'll just wander around the base until a shuttle is ready and _relax_ and pretend there isn't a war going on right outside."

"Ever the reasonable one," Obi-Wan quipped with a smile.

Siri rolled her eyes and grabbed his arm, locking her gaze with his. "Kick their asteroid, Obi."

Obi-Wan smiled, and she could sense that he was a little nervous. "Well, I suppose we simply have to trust the Force. I'll see you at the rendezvous point."

Siri nodded, letting him go. Obi-Wan rushed out of the room, and she sensed his pain as he did so. Her stomach churned. _The Force better not let us down, then._

Heading towards the hangars, Siri tried to make her way to one of the evacuation shuttles when she caught sight of Qui-Gon, who approached her as soon as he sensed her.

"Padawan, I have an assignment for you," he said. "Where is Obi-Wan?"

Siri paused. "If it involves going outside—"

"No," her master immediately assured her. "I need you to escort Darth Vader to a shuttle."

Siri felt her eyebrows nearly fly off her forehead. "You want _me_ to do _what_?"

"You and Obi-Wan are the only two who can approach him without issue. He cannot stay here; the Alliance is arranging a cell for him on the transport in hangar 11. You have to get him there."

"Obi-Wan's outside with the others," Siri shook her head. "You have to find somebody else to do it."

Qui-Gon looked pointedly at her.

Siri clenched her jaw. _There is no emotion, there is no emotion…_ "Fine, I'll get him."

Qui-Gon nodded and motioned to five soldiers. "Take them with you in case you run into trouble."

Siri sighed heavily. Did no one think she could handle herself? Between her and Obi-Wan she was the better trained warrior; pregnancy didn't _eliminate_ that. "If you insist."

Qui-Gon hastened out of the hangar, and Siri motioned for the soldiers to follow her, muttering irritably, "He _has_ to tell me to get Vader when I'm on the opposite side of the base…"

Outside, Obi-Wan followed the lead of the other Padawans and stood in front of the trenches, lightsaber at the ready. The more experienced Jedi rushed ahead as Imperial speeders blazed a trail towards them. Off in the distance Obi-Wan could make out the silhouettes of Imperial walkers, and he heard the echo of their footsteps like thunder. He felt a cold chill run down his spine, but he stood firm and tried to release his anxiety to the Force. He'd never been in a full scale battle before, only skirmishes that typically involved getting away from the enemy instead of standing and facing them head on.

"Focus on the moment, Padawan. Do not let your fears blind you."

Obi-Wan jumped, startled, and saw Qui-Gon standing beside him. Seeing the wizened, battle hardened Jedi at his side gave him a bit more confidence, and he took a steadying breath.

Qui-Gon activated his own blade and rushed ahead as the speeders drew closer. Blaster fire pelted the area, making snow spit up in angry jets of steam. The soldiers returned fire from the trenches, and manned turrets fired upon the hover tanks which were quickly coming within range.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes for a second, grabbing the Force firmly and listening to its whispers and warnings as he had been instructed during training. Screams emanated from everywhere, but they were dulled as he focused more until his gut clenched in warning and he opened his eyes and his arms immediately went into position to deflect a bolt that would have taken his head off.

Obi-Wan blinked, gasping for air at the event. Well that was… never mind. Focus. Just focus.

Blast, he hated feeling this _exposed_. Typically if he were in a fight he'd take cover and fire a blaster, but as a Jedi he stood out in the open, creating his own cover and shielding. It was slightly unnerving.

Okay, a _lot_ more than slightly.

_Focus on the moment._

Obi-Wan released his worries as best he could and gave himself up to the Force, beginning to deflect many bolts as the Imperials drew nearer. He watched as the Knights and Masters tore speeders apart with their blades, and he heard the Rebels cheer all around him.

Behind the action and the base itself, a lone woman trekked towards the perimeter, scanning the area for sentries. Most of the Rebel troops had rushed to the front where the Imperial forces were attacking, but a few lingered in the back alongside some sentry droids.

As one guard wandered the perimeter alone, there was a strange sound and the guard collapsed into the snow, which started to stain red around her. Cipher 8 crept towards her and dragged her body inside, shuffling over the snow to hide her trace. Once she dragged the guard into a closet she switched clothes and entered the hallways of the Rebel base, wandering calmly with her sniper rifle on her back.

On the other side of the base, the two soldiers assigned to regularly guard Darth Vader's cell were holding their blasters nervously. They'd been informed that a Jedi would come to take the Sith Lord to one of the shuttles, so they hopefully didn't have to wait too long. Inside the cell Vader had simply been standing in the center, his hands behind his back, his eyes cast downward as he stared blankly at the floor as if he'd zoned out. It made them nervous; he hadn't moved since just before the base had gone on high alert.

The entire compound trembled violently, and the guards looked at each other, even more anxious than before.

"_The first transport is away. The first transport is away." _A voice announced over the intercom, bringing smiles to the guards' faces.

The room shook even harder than the first time, and the door to the cell sparked slightly, having been jostled too much. It would probably be more difficult to open now. The guards walked to the door to examine the damage, unaware that Darth Vader had suddenly ended his strange vigil and had disappeared from the view of the window.

The door creaked ominously, and the guards jumped, startled. The metal shifted and crunched inward slightly, and then the door abruptly shot out, slamming into the guards and pummeling them into the wall. They slumped lifelessly under its weight.

Darth Vader walked out of the cell.

Outside, Obi-Wan smiled as the soldiers cheered, watching the second shuttle and its fighter escort tear out of the atmosphere with the ion cannon firing behind it. He didn't have much time to enjoy the small victory, however, as the Force cried out in warning. Obi-Wan immediately returned his attention to the battle and he barely avoided being grazed on the shoulder. His heart in his throat, he shoved any other distractions out of his mind as the silhouettes of the Imperial walkers grew steadily larger, their thunderous footsteps approaching. Off in the distance he saw Qui-Gon cut down another speeder, but the number of Jedi Knights was growing thin as Imperials tore through them. And once the walkers were in range…

_Focus. Just focus._

Rebel snowspeeders flew overhead, attempting to slow the Imperials' progress. Obi-Wan was grateful for every bit of help they could get. He prayed the transports could evacuate before the walkers got too close.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he sensed danger, and Obi-Wan immediately raised his blade, but his intuition had been slightly misplaced; a hover tank's laser fire shredded a turret just beside him, and the force of the explosion sent him flying into a trench, nearly knocking him unconscious. He felt the air get knocked out of him from the impact, and he gasped, his deactivated weapon sliding out of his fingers. It felt like the skin on his upper back and shoulders was tearing apart.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Obi-Wan reached for his lightsaber, but another explosion from a hover tank sent a soldier flying on top of him. Obi-Wan yelled in pain, trying to squirm out from under the man, pointedly ignoring the blood beginning to stain his chest. As he finally dragged himself out of the trench, he saw one of the walkers stumble and fall, a tow cable wrapped around its legs. A massive cloud of snow rose up around it, partially obscuring the walkers around it from view and completely hiding the hover tanks and speeders, though most of the smaller vessels had rushed beyond the walkers and were nearly on top of the base by now.

Many of the hover tanks that were closest started to open up hatches so stormtroopers could rush out. Rebel turrets fired upon the tanks and the soldiers took down as many stormtroopers as possible. Obi-Wan quickly reignited his blade and deflected several blasts away from himself, though he couldn't quite redirect them back to their sources. Still, it at least kept the stormtroopers preoccupied until someone else could shoot them.

Obi-Wan saw Qui-Gon take down another speeder and then mount it, flying towards the nearest hover tank and entering it, slicing his way in with his lightsaber. There weren't many other Jedi left on the main battlefield apart from roughly twenty Padawans lining the trench and a handful of Knights, but they'd held most of the Imperials at bay.

Deflecting another blaster bolt, Obi-Wan blew out a hiss as he fought the sharp pain around his wound. His back started to feel strangely warm, and he belatedly realized the cauterized skin had been pulled too much; he was bleeding.

Swearing softly, he tried to back towards the base; he wouldn't do anyone any good if he passed out from blood loss, and he was starting to get too stiff to be of much use out here. As he turned to find the entrance to the base the Force screamed in warning, and Obi-Wan dove into the trench along with most of the other Jedi, who tried to drag some troops with them. A large part of the hangar where they were guarding exploded and debris flew everywhere. Obi-Wan gasped as some of the durasteel entrance started to collapse onto the trench, but other, better trained Jedi reacted and held out their hands, using the Force to try and make the debris float. It hovered over them, but as more debris piled on top of it the Jedi started to struggle, and Obi-Wan quickly pitched in. Taking a deep breath, he tried to clear his mind of everything but the debris, lifting it with the Force as he'd done with other objects.

_Remember the mass doesn't matter - it's all in your mind._

Eventually they managed to move most of the carnage out of the way so they could peer out from the trench and survey the damage. Obi-Wan saw a pile of rubble where a hangar once was, and he prayed that any transport ships that had been in there were long gone. But what had caused such massive damage?

Another explosion shook the ground, and Obi-Wan saw smoke trailing from a distance, towards the far end of the base… where the shield generator was.

Turning, he saw the source of their problem: the walkers were within firing range.

Indoors, the AT-ATs had caused extensive damage, and Siri discovered that what was once a straightforward path to Vader's cell was now a maze of half collapsed hallways and rooms filled with stormtroopers. As she stumbled upon a squad of them in a hall, she finally was able to pull out her lightsaber and deflect their fire, putting her own training to the test. The five soldiers accompanying her took cover around her and returned fire. Siri held her own for a while, but as ten stormtroopers turned to twenty, she swore and started to back away towards her men. One of the Rebels accompanying her had been killed, another wounded.

Crouching behind some debris, Siri tried switching tactics. She saw some suitably heavy looking crates that weren't being used for cover and reached out to them with the Force, making them hover in the air. Furrowing her brow in concentration, she imagined them heading towards the stormtroopers, and she swung her arm madly to help.

The crates moved in the general direction of the stormtroopers, making many of them pause as they saw the objects fly towards them. One crate struck its target, bouncing against him lightly, making him stumble back like he'd been tapped rather hard. The rest of the crates fell short.

Everyone stared at the crates for a second. Siri swore even more harshly. Then the firing resumed.

Ducking behind the debris once more, Siri glared at the nearest trooper. "You didn't see that. _Nobody_ hears about that… especially Obi-Wan."

The trooper raised an eyebrow at her for a second before shooting another enemy. His look said everything.

"Oh shut up," Siri grumbled, embarrassed and irritated.

Another Rebel soldier cried out as she was shot down. Siri glared at the Imperials and grabbed her lightsaber again. They'd been whittled down enough. Reactivating her blue blade, she deflected their fire and slowly walked towards them, too busy concentrating to really charge. Eventually she was close enough that the troopers started to back away, and the Rebels rushed ahead of her. One more was killed in the charge, but they managed to kill the rest of the stormtroopers.

Siri exhaled, trying to slow her heartrate. "How far to the cell from here?"

"I can't tell," one of the two survivors said. "The base is a wreck."

"Can't you sense him?" the other asked.

Siri shook her head. "Not in this chaos."

She could barely sense _anything_ in this insanity. The only time anything seemed clear in the Force was when she was getting _shot at_.

"_The thirteenth transport is away. The thirteenth transport is away."_

Siri felt her gut clench. They all knew there were only fifteen shuttles. If they didn't get to Vader soon they'd be left behind; there was no way the retrofitted ship awaiting Vader would stick around if it looked like the base was about to fall to enemy hands or be destroyed. Grabbing her comlink, Siri called for help. "Al?"

"Little busy right now!"

"Are you still at the base?"

"Yeah, I've got to fix up this karking engine!"

"Well keep fixing it – I'm still here too."

"What?!"

"I've got to get Vader out of here," Siri said as she and the two soldiers clamored over what remained of the command room. "I don't think I'll reach him before all the shuttles are gone."

"He's coming onto_ my_ ship? _Again_?!"

"Well he didn't blow anything up the first time," Siri tried to note helpfully. "Where's your ship?"

"I'm parked in hangar 8. You have to_ hurry_, the walkers are nearly on top of us!"

"I noticed," Siri muttered, cutting the connection. She tried not to think about Obi-Wan or where he was at this moment; if the man was as smart as she knew him to be, he'd have already fled the planet. He was fine. She just had to worry about her own mission.

Her senses went on high alert as one of her soldiers was shot down. Activating her blade, she faced the new squad of attackers.

Meanwhile, Cipher 8 reached the makeshift detention block only to find the corpses of the Rebel guards. Gazing at the metal door and the way it had been crunched like a toy, she blew out a breath and nodded. Vader was indeed alive… and apparently running loose somewhere. She'd been listening to Imperial comm traffic and knew now that the fleet was ready to destroy the base, the walkers having obliterated the shield generator. They simply awaited her signal.

In hangar 8, Al was coming to a similar conclusion as he saw the Imperial walkers practically on top of them. All the Jedi and soldiers had fled indoors to get on the last few transports. His comlink chimed.

"This is Brek," Al answered as he haphazardly tried to hold his hydrospanner steady.

"Al, it's Obi-Wan – I trust you're still in the base?"

Al rolled his eyes. "Am I _everybody's_ last ride out? I thought you guys would have been smart enough to get out of here sooner! Get your asteroid over here, I'm in hangar 8!"

"What do you mean? Is Siri still here?"

"Yes," Al said frantically, waving his hands around as if Obi-Wan could see him. "You're all _crazy_! We have to leave _now_!"

"Where is she?"

"I don't know – she said she had to get Vader."

"What?!"

"Yeah, that's what _I_ said!"

"I'll find her – just be ready to get us out of here!"

"Believe me, I'm _more_ than ready to get the hell out of this death trap!"

Obi-Wan cut the connection, looking around in a near panic before he slowed his breathing and tried to focus on the presence of his wife in the Force. He would have figured that Vader was still sedated and had already been evacuated. He should've known better. He didn't know where anybody was at this point, only that they had to get out of here. He followed what he suspected might be her, only to run into a hallway full of stormtroopers.

"Blast!" he cursed softly as they turned on him and he activated his blade, but it seemed the soldiers were focused on someone else. Obi-Wan heard the familiar hum of another lightsaber and saw a blue glow in the distance. The Force sang with familiarity. "Siri!"

Rushing forward, Obi-Wan disarmed a majority of the troops, who hadn't quite noticed him yet, and he nearly ran headfirst into his wife. Before they could say much, however, the wall shattered and shrapnel peppered the area, killing the two Rebel soldiers with Siri and nearly killing the two Jedi themselves, who narrowly avoided being crushed by leaping out of the way of the blast.

Siri coughed against the snow and dust and managed to get to her feet first as Obi-Wan froze from the pain searing through him.

"Obi, what the hell are you doing here?! You should've evacuated by now!" Siri yelled as she leaned over to help him. She paused when she saw his back. "Obi—"

"Worry about that later," Obi-Wan interrupted. "Where's Vader?"

The Force resounded with danger for the millionth time that day as more stormtroopers poured in through the hole that had just been created. Outside Obi-Wan could hear the Imperial walkers looming ever closer, and the loud scream of hover tank engines surrounded the perimeter.

They were outgunned.

Both Jedi stood hastily and activated their blades, standing back to back as they were surrounded by stormtroopers.

And then Obi-Wan saw him.

Darth Vader stood in the distance, covered in dust and snow, shivering slightly in the cold, but otherwise unharmed. He watched Obi-Wan and Siri closely, his face too neutral to read.

"Help us!" Obi-Wan called out, startling Siri and the stormtroopers alike.

A second ticked by as the troopers took aim and Siri prepared for the worst. And then another second ticked by and Obi-Wan felt the familiar scraping sensation against his hands as his lightsaber flew out of his grip.

The blade hissed as it flew through a stormtrooper before reaching Vader's hands. Another stormtrooper flew into the air, slamming into the ceiling and screaming. Vader walked by him, eviscerating him as he threw two others against the wall and swung Obi-Wan's blade against a third. One of the two who was tossed tried to fire, but Vader deflected it right back at the trooper, killing him. Three remained, and Siri cut one down as Vader stabbed the other in the chest and strangled the last one. The hallway grew silent as the snow settled. Everyone gasped for air. Vader watched them, Obi-Wan's blade still humming in his hand. Siri tensed.

Obi-Wan held out his hand. "Come on. We need to leave before they kill us."

The Sith Lord swallowed, his eyes slightly wide. No one moved for what felt like an eternity.

Vader deactivated the lightsaber.

The man walked towards them wordlessly. Siri watched him somewhat warily but said nothing, looking to Obi-Wan, who simply smiled and nodded. "Al's in hangar 8. Let's get out of here."

"Right behind you," Siri muttered, her gaze lingering between the Sith and her husband.

The trio tore through the halls as Obi-Wan counted down between hangars. He occasionally glanced behind him to look at Vader, but the Sith Lord was completely focused on following him. The Force swirled around the three of them, making Obi-Wan feel like he was practically flying to the hangar, buoyed by the fierce power emanating from Vader and mixing with Siri and himself.

Eventually they reached hangar eight without any more interruptions, and Obi-Wan laid eyes on the _Invariant Beauty_. Al was hastily putting a panel back on over one of the ship's engines, and he paused when he saw the three of them rushing his way.

Al bit his lip as his eyes fell on Vader, but he didn't comment. "Let's get out of here!"

The Zabrak smuggler led the way onto the landing ramp and hastily shut it behind them. The ship trembled as the hangar shuddered from another blast.

"I'm going to need help in the cockpit!" Al shouted as he ran through the small lounge towards the cockpit.

"I'm the better pilot between the two of us," Siri noted breathlessly, making her way after Al.

Obi-Wan looked at Vader, about to guide him to the couch and strap in, when he saw the Sith rush after the other two. He called out to him, but Vader ignored him. Pushing through his pain, Obi-Wan managed to reach out and grab the Sith by the arm.

"They're taking care of it, we need to strap in!" he instructed through gritted teeth.

Vader furrowed his brow and narrowed his eyes, his face hardening, but it softened a heartbeat later and he twisted his arm out of Obi-Wan's grip and instead dragged Obi-Wan to the sofa. "Where's the first aid kit?"

"I don't know," Obi-Wan answered, winded by the sudden change in behavior.

Vader exhaled sharply and then strapped Obi-Wan in. The ship's engines roared to life and the Sith paused, listening.

Obi-Wan pulled the man down beside him, strapping him in as well. _"Stay here."_

"Everybody hold on!" Al shouted from the cockpit. Obi-Wan did as instructed, gripping the fabric of the sofa as he felt the ground disappear beneath his feet. It didn't help that he couldn't see what was going on outside, but he knew he just had to trust Al's piloting skills.

"One of the engines is damaged," Vader remarked, his voice tense.

Obi-Wan looked worriedly at the Sith Lord. "What?"

The force of their sudden change in velocity shoved Obi-Wan and Vader sideways as Al accelerated out of the hangar and tore upwards into the sky.

Sitting in the copilot's seat in the cockpit, Siri asked, "Do we have the ion cannon to help us out?"

Al shook his head, his mouth a thin line. "Everybody's gone; the intercom probably broke long before, but I got a transmission from the Alliance that all but two of the transports had escaped. Nobody's manning the cannon. We were the last out."

Siri muttered every curse she knew. How the hell were they going to get through an _entire Imperial fleet_?!

"It'll be fine," Al tried to say reassuringly, though his tone didn't denote confidence. "The fleet's not big enough to cover the entire planet. With this launch angle we'll get out on the other side."

Siri watched the flames lick at the ship's heat shield just outside the viewport as the _Invariant Beauty_ tore through the atmosphere. Figures and readings came up on Al's console in front of him, and he adjusted the ship's speed and angle of ascent based on the information.

Just as the blackness of space started to peer through the thinning atmosphere, Siri's eyes caught sight of something she didn't recognize. "What's that?"

"What?" Al asked, looking around wildly before having to return his attention to his previous task.

Siri typed madly on her console, trying to home in on the device with the scanner. As soon as the readings came through, she gasped, "_Shavit!_ Al, it's a probe for the fleet!"

"It's fine, they won't get to us in time—"

"The _destroyers_ won't, but the _fighters will_!"

As if to prove her right, as soon as the words had left her lips an entire squadron of TIE fighters came onto the radar.

"_Son of a Hutt!"_ Al yelled, jerking the ship away from the incoming enemies. "Man the turret!"

Siri was already working on that, activating the turret and engaging the targeting computer. She felt her stomach knot as she glanced at the radar once more; there were ten TIE fighters out there. Could Al evade them all?

Al flipped the ship and dove down towards the planet to avoid incoming fire, making Siri a little dizzy as she felt her stomach do somersaults. She gripped the console and maneuvered the turret, trying to get a good lock on one of the fighters. "Al, try to hold it steady for a second!"

"I hold it steady and we turn into a fireball!" Al shot back.

_Sithspit!_ Siri gripped the turret controls so hard her fingers started to tingle. She couldn't get a good lock with Al's maneuvering. Closing her eyes for a second, she blew out a breath and tried to calm herself. The Force had protected her form blaster bolts; surely it could help her aim.

Siri tried not to think about targeting or anything else too much. Instead, she let her hands guide the turret where it needed to go. She heard the shrill of the targeting computer saying it was locked, and she fired.

One of the TIE fighters exploded.

Siri and Al both let out a yell of excitement before the ship shuddered as fire narrowly avoided the hull.

"Okay, just do that nine more times and we'll be fine!" Al said.

"Thanks!" Siri rolled her eyes, trying to recreate what she'd just done.

Al yanked the _Beauty_ upward once more, getting the ship out of the dip he'd had it in, making Siri gasp for air as she was slammed into her seat. Her hands slid from the console and the ship lurched harshly to the left. Siri felt her neck ache as she nearly got whiplash, and Al swore as a console sparked.

"One more hit like that and we're finished! Get rid of those fighters!"

"I'm _trying_!" Siri said, frustrated. She immediately tried to target another fighter, but Al pulled the ship in another direction before she could get a good lock. The targeting computer attempted to adjust, but it was still off far enough that when she fired she missed the fighter entirely. "How about you just get us out of range!"

"I'm trying!"

"There's way too much _trying_ going on in this cockpit and not enough _doing_!" Siri grumbled as she desperately tried to hit the enemy.

The _Beauty_ shook again as enemy fire blazed by her. Siri narrowed her eyes, trying to silence everything, and she finally destroyed the second fighter. Al's radar bleeped; more fighters were coming.

"You've got to be _kidding_ me!" Al yelled. "This—"

Al was cut off as the TIE fighters landed another hit on the _Beauty_—a hard one. The ship jerked so much Siri felt her breath get torn out of her as the safety strap nearly crushed her rib cage, and the console that had previously sparked let out a large explosion right in Al's face. Siri called out to him, but she heard no response, and suddenly before she knew what was going on she was flung to the right and steadily slipping out of her harness as the ship spun uncontrollably.

Obi-Wan and Vader were also having their harnesses steadily ingrain into their skin. Obi-Wan grimaced, already fighting against the pain of his previous injury. Vader, on the other hand, looked around, gritting his teeth against the force pushing against them. He reached his left hand out slowly, eventually grabbing the edge of the sofa, and then with a flick of the Force he was unstrapped from the harness. His body was flung out, and he was only prevented from flying to the wall by his iron grip on the edge of the couch. He slowly reached up with his right hand to help strengthen the hold, and then slowly pulled himself up to reach out of the next available object. When he saw that there was none, he gazed intently at the door leading to the cockpit.

That was too far a jump with this force pushing against them; there was no way the Sith would make it. Obi-Wan called out to him. "Vader, there's a hatch beside the entrance, just to the left! It's got a ladder you can hold on to!"

The Sith Lord heeded the Jedi's advice and reached out his hand, using the Force to open the hatch. When the ladder became visible he focused intently on it, and Obi-Wan sensed the Force surge around him as he grunted and used all his arm strength to throw himself towards the ladder. He barely caught it, but it was enough. Curling his abdomen inward he managed to loop his ankles around a lower rung. Obi-Wan gasped as the straps started to crush his ribcage, and he felt lightheaded. If they kept spinning like this everyone would pass out before they crashed.

Something roared around them. Obi-Wan doubted it was the engines; more likely the sound of them reentering the atmosphere.

Vader held onto the ladder tightly before reaching his right arm out and gripping the edge of the entrance to the cockpit. Once he had a firm hold, he shuffled closer to the doorway, still clinging to the ladder with his left hand and ankles. Eventually, after pausing a second and maintaining his iron grip on the Force, he released his hold on the ladder, and his legs flew out behind him once more. He pulled himself inward, and Obi-Wan saw nothing more as his vision started to blur.

In the cockpit, Siri had given up on calling out to Al and was instead trying to focus on the baby; she didn't even know how she could protect the child, but instinct automatically told her she _had_ to. She barely noticed someone entering until Vader grabbed her seat for stability. The Sith Lord managed to get to the pilot's chair and Siri finally got a good look at Al. The Zabrak was unconscious, part of his face a little singed—her heart caught in her throat. But his color was still good and from what she could tell in all the movement it looked like he was still breathing, and suddenly she could breathe again as well.

Vader unstrapped Al's safety harness.

Gasping, Siri reached out, automatically trying to catch the Zabrak. A heartbeat later logic kicked in, telling her quite plainly that she didn't have the arm strength to fight the force of the spin _and_ hold a full grown man with one arm. Desperately focusing, she reached out wit he the Force and focused on holding Al steady. The Zabrak still flew across the room, but he slowed right at the entrance to the cockpit, his arms and legs pulling out in front of his torso as if he were sitting and holding his arms out. Siri gritted her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut in concentration as she felt the blood slowly drain from her brain, pushed to one side by the centripetal force.

Meanwhile, Vader was slowly strapping himself in, trying to also fight the oncoming unconsciousness. He reached his arms out and gripped the steering controls firmly, fighting against the failing engine struggling to realign the ship. With the Force he maintained the hard turn against their current vector and he dedicated the rest of his energy to adjusting power output between engines and thrusters.

The spin started to slow. As the directional force pulled less and less, Vader returned his hands to the steering controls, fighting for control of the ship. They started to slowly pull out of the spin, but the ground was looming ever closer. Siri gasped, releasing Al as her strength finally left her. The man unceremoniously hit the floor just outside of the cockpit, still carried a little way by what was left of the ship's spin. Obi-Wan had long since passed out, so he didn't notice the intrusion into the lounge.

Just as Siri felt like the straps couldn't have cut her ribs any more, Vader pulled the ship upwards after steadying its sideways velocity, and she was planted firmly into the copilot's seat. Gasping, she used the Force to ease the pressure off her abdomen. _So help me, if he hurts the child…_

Vader steadied the climb so they wouldn't stall, angling the ship about thirty degrees above the horizon. Siri caught the slightest glimmer of the Imperial walkers below before they flew right over them.

The force of the acceleration lessened with the milder angle, and Siri tried to catch her breath. She then quickly referenced the console to see if any fighters had followed them. They were alone, however; the Imperials no doubt believed they had crashed on the surface.

"We're low on fuel," Vader remarked calmly, seemingly unperturbed by what had just happened. The sweat trickling down his face revealed otherwise, however.

"What the…?" Al's voice echoed from the lounge.

Siri was too out of breath to say anything to either person.

Al eventually half crawled back into the cockpit and he gawked at Vader. "You're in my seat! What the hell did you do?"

"Saved… everybody's… lives…" Siri panted so as to avoid a confrontation; they had enough problems. "Get us… out of here…"

Al shakily got to his feet, but Vader shook his head. "You need to get down to the engines and fix them or we won't make it out of here. We don't have escape velocity right now."

"Well what _do_ we have?"

"Barely enough to get into orbit. We don't need to orbit Hoth, we need to leave it."

"Where's… the fleet?" Siri asked.

Al leaned heavily against a console, looking at the scanners. "Declination +45 degrees, right ascension around 5 hours; we're heading towards the southern hemisphere, so we should be good—assuming we don't hit any more probes."

"Probes will be strewn across the planet; it's standard protocol for planetary assault," Vader said. "If they don't have enough ships to blockade, then they stretch their scanner capacity to make sure no one leaves or enters without their knowledge. Get down to engineering or we'll run out of fuel before you finish talking."

"I'm plotting hyperspace coordinates_ first_," Al said firmly, stumbling towards the navicomputer. He glanced at the fuel reserves and then winced as he pulled up star charts. Blowing out a breath, he input coordinates. "Well, we won't make it to either rendezvous point, but we can get somewhere safe. All right, I'm heading down to engineering; Siri—"

"I'll make sure he doesn't do anything," she assured the smuggler.

Al grunted and left, turning right just outside of the door and climbing down the ladder. Siri found an intercom button and turned it on so Vader, she, and Al could communicate freely.

As Vader and Al exchanged mechanical jargon, Siri unstrapped herself, wincing as she saw blood stain where the strap had dug into her side. She shakily got to her feet and headed into the lounge to check on Obi-Wan, who was starting to wake up. Obi-Wan laid eyes on her as she reached him.

"I see… we're still alive…" he slurred with a half-smile.

Siri exhaled heavily, nearly collapsing beside him on the couch. Al's and Vader's voices echoed into the room.

"Okay…" she sighed, leaning her head back. "Vader knows how to pilot; I'll give him that."

"Are you alright?"

"'m fine," she muttered.

"And the baby?"

Siri bit her lip. "From what I can tell, she's fine too."

At least she _prayed_ the baby was fine. She didn't sense anything wrong, which was typically a good sign.

Obi-Wan's reply was cut off as the engines seemed to make more noise than before, which Siri hoped indicated that they were functioning normally.

"You know, repairing mid-flight is typically not a good idea!" Al yelled from downstairs.

"The ship can't land with Imperial forces everywhere." Vader replied.

"I _know_ that!"

"Then why'd you say that?"

Siri and Obi-Wan glanced at each other as Al spluttered some angry response.

"Perhaps I should go to the cockpit," Obi-Wan suggested, unstrapping himself. "You stay here."

For once, Siri didn't argue.

Obi-Wan managed to get to the copilot's seat before nearly falling into it. Vader didn't even spare him a glance.

"I've adjusted the power as best I can down here," Al's voice said over the intercom.

Vader pressed some buttons on the console and the engines grew louder still.

"Hey, mind warning me before I go deaf down here?!" Al yelled from engineering.

"Make sure the engines don't overheat," Vader ordered. "The coolant system leaked most of its fluid from the hit."

"Sure, no problem—I'll get my biggest pitcher of water," Al snapped.

"A pitcher of water won't work."

"Are you _serious_ right now?!"

Obi-Wan debated whether he should bother interfering or not. This interaction was some strange mix of enlightening and entertaining.

Vader angled the ship upward slightly, and Obi-Wan hastily strapped himself in, saying to Al over the comm, "Be careful, Al; he's accelerating out of the atmosphere. You might want to grab hold of something."

Loud clanging and swearing was heard, indicating that Al did _not_ in fact grab hold of anything in time.

Vader kept the ship's velocity steady until they started exiting the stratosphere, at which point he gunned the engines. Obi-Wan gasped at the sudden force, grabbing a console so he wouldn't get thrown into his safety harness again. The console beeped, and he referenced it. "There's a probe of some sort out there."

Vader either didn't hear him or ignored him entirely. Instead, the Sith glanced at some sort of declination information and sharply turned the ship to the right. The radar sounded off ominously, and Obi-Wan glanced at it. "Fighters incoming!"

Vader remained silent, his eyes narrowing as his right hand slowly reached for a lever. Obi-Wan watched the blips on the radar steadily grow closer. "Vader…"

The ship rumbled as fighter fire exploded around them, and the Sith Lord exhaled sharply, his hand returning to the steering yoke. He spun the ship several times, making Obi-Wan extremely dizzy.

"They're right on top of us!" the Jedi shouted. "Spinning isn't helping!"

"It's a good trick," Vader remarked under his breath before jerking the ship straight up. "Is the hyperdrive primed?"

Obi-Wan reached for the button but was thrown in the opposite direction. "Just—a—minute…"

Fighting against the stiffness and pain, he flung his hand out and activated the hyperdrive, which hummed to life. Vader reached for the lever once more and he hastily pulled it back. The engines quieted as the hyperdrive roared to life and the _Invariant Beauty_ finally tore into hyperspace, escaping the Imperial forces entirely.

Obi-Wan leaned heavily into the seat, just _breathing_. His mind was whirling at everything that had happened within such a short span of time; it hadn't even been an _hour_ since Siri's prenatal checkup.

Vader stood and exited the cockpit, immediately looking at Siri, who watched him tiredly. "He needs treatment."

Siri's eyes opened fully in a heartbeat. "Who? Al?"

"The other one."

Siri blinked. Then she blinked again. Obi-Wan also stared at the Sith Lord. _The other one…?_

"You…" Siri looked at him incredulously. "What's his name?"

Vader mirrored Siri's previous action.

Obi-Wan nearly gawked at the man. He… he _didn't know his name?_ "What exactly have you been calling me?"

"Nothing," Vader shrugged.

Obi-Wan wasn't sure how he was supposed to react to this, but in the end all he felt was… exasperation. Given what he'd learned about the man it wasn't too surprising. "_Obi-Wan._ My name is _Obi-Wan. _Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Vader looked at Siri. "Obi-Wan needs treatment."

"You're impossible," she groaned, getting up. Obi-Wan watched her reluctantly head his way; she needed to rest as much as he did.

Siri reached past him and spoke into the intercom. "Al, where's your med kit?"

"In my bedroom on the wall by… something."

"That's helpful."

"It's in there somewhere!"

"Right," she sighed, dragging Obi-Wan out of the copilot's seat as she headed to Al's room. Neither Jedi even bothered to watch Vader as he stood aimlessly in the center of the lounge; they were too exhausted to notice at this point. After Siri wordlessly stemmed the bleeding from Obi-Wan's laceration and then smeared some fresh bacta on it, as well as both spouses cleaning up each other's cuts from the harnesses, they trudged back into the lounge to find the Sith Lord pacing.

"What are you doing?" Siri asked tiredly.

"There's nowhere to walk."

Obi-Wan gazed at him, a memory resurfacing. "You do seem obsessed with that, don't you?"

"I need to walk."

"Then keep boring a hole into the floor," Siri waved a dismissive hand. "I don't really care."

Vader clenched his jaw and looked away. For the first time since the battle had started, he looked agitated. Obi-Wan remembered their last conversation together and decided to not push the man at the moment. Instead, he followed his wife, who was heading upstairs to lie down and rest until they exited hyperspace – a move which frankly surprised him; it indicated she was either too tired to care about what Vader did or, more likely, had finally acquired some trust for him after what he'd done today.

The two Jedi reached the hidden upstairs quarters and Siri groaned as she collapsed on the lower bunk. Obi-Wan pressed the button for the intercom on the wall. "Al, how long before we reach our destination?"

"Three hours."

"Long 'nough," Siri mumbled, already beginning to pass out.

Obi-Wan sighed and didn't bother climbing into the upper bunk. Instead, he slid in beside his wife, who didn't care either way. "Yes, long enough."

Within a minute the two Jedi were fast asleep.

* * *

***hands out cyber king cake to everyone*  
**


	46. Ferrasco

**HAPPY EASTER! :D**

**Now, to quote another author on this site...**

***scurries out from under rock* **

***apologetically leaves this chapter here***

***scurries back under rock***

* * *

It was particularly humid today. That had to be the reason Padmé was shivering so much. Either that or the fear and anticipation simultaneously freezing and thawing her blood. It had been twenty-four hours since the party; by now Rekk should be back on Imperial Center speaking with Senator Tlenden, or maybe—gods willing—even with _Obi-Wan_. It was just a waiting game now.

Padmé understood the importance of patience, but she hated having nothing to do. She'd been hiding in the basement of the estate around the kitchen and slave quarters ever since last night, though she knew she'd eventually have to make an appearance and grovel in front of Lady Tarkin for a while to keep the woman happy. But that was all she'd be doing: groveling and waiting. It didn't help that the teenager who had practically thrown herself at Crix to keep him away from Padmé was nowhere to be found… nor Crix himself, for that matter. Padmé shivered again.

Eventually she took a deep breath and rose. Everyone had agreed that it was best for her to avoid Lady Tarkin for a while, but she knew she couldn't hide in the slave quarters forever, nor did she wish to sit around while everyone else had more work to do than they could handle. Wandering up the stairs, Padmé ended up in the library and glanced around nervously. Numa, who was dusting some furniture, caught sight of her and approached.

"What are you doing up here?" she whispered.

"I can't just sit around," Padmé shook her head. "Give me something to do. How can I help?"

Numa sighed, looking away. "Normally Crix is the one ordering us around; he's the head slave. We've just been tidying up as usual without him."

"Has Lady Tarkin asked any questions?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," Numa replied. "I told her Crix was… _busy_ doing what she'd ordered yesterday. She seemed pretty satisfied with that. Apparently I'm in charge until he's done. Have you seen him?"

Padmé shook her head. "Not since before the party."

"Well, I hope your plan works before the mistress starts asking more questions. Where in the blazes could they have gone?"

"I don't know… do you think she'll be okay?"

Numa laughed. "That girl will be fine so long as she keeps her mouth shut. She's a little arrogant. In the meantime, you can finish cleaning up in here while I check on everybody else."

Padmé nodded and took the duster from Numa and wandered over to the furniture she'd been cleaning. It was a small side table made of dark, rich wood beside a sofa. As Padmé tidied up the area, her mind wandered to what she'd discovered last night. She still couldn't believe it – _Palpatine was dead._ It was such a dream come true it was almost impossible to accept – she felt as if she'd imagined that Rekk had said it. She felt as if the galaxy should be different somehow, as if the stars should shine brighter, the Empire should immediately collapse… it was a silly thought, but Palpatine had been such a _monster_ that his death _had_ to positively show somehow throughout the galaxy.

Padmé scoffed. _No wonder the Tarkins don't care about repercussions. Poor Cordé…_ she felt herself shudder as she thought of her friend. How many people would she lose to the Empire? How many people would die because of her? She shook her head, standing up straight with a heavy sigh.

Tarkin was the emperor regent. He was _in charge of the Empire._ Where in the blazes was Vader in all this? She couldn't imagine he was in his right mind anymore, not after losing his precious master.

Padmé squinted at nothing in particular, trying to remember what it was Tarkin had specifically wanted her to do with Vader. She hadn't really thought of it much since the confrontation; she'd mainly been focused on escaping… but what if Tarkin brought Vader before that happened? What state would he be in? Was he rebellious, depressed, murderous? Tarkin wanted _her_ to keep him in line, to make Vader obey the new ruler – there had to have been a falling out between the two, then, right?

She shook her head. There were too many things she still didn't know. Where were Obi-Wan and Siri? Rekk hadn't been in contact with them since Padmé had been shot – they'd retired, he'd said. That likely meant they'd left with the Alliance, unless they'd just given up after they thought she'd died, but that was highly unlikely – Obi-Wan and Siri would never just _give up_; Obi-Wan would always fight for what he thought was right, and Siri at the very least would want to tear the Imperials' heads off for killing her friend. But what about the baby?

Padmé heard someone clear their throat and she quickly turned to see Numa again. "What is it?"

"Lady Tarkin wants to see you," Numa said apologetically. Padmé eyed her worriedly, but the Twi'lek shook her head. "It's got nothing to do with the party. She just wants you to wait on her; she's in the small sitting room in the east wing."

Wait on her? For what purpose if she…

Padmé sighed again. The woman just wanted to toy with her again, to show her who was in charge. This could be tiresome, but it was necessary. She had to ensure Lady Tarkin still thought she was in control.

"I'm on my way," she eventually said, putting the duster on the table. Numa nodded and took over cleaning.

As Padmé made her way to the east wing (after being pointed in the right direction), she took a closer look at the estate. It seemed so cold and isolated, making her feel even more entrapped. Nothing about this place felt like a home. The furniture was grand, but the place looked like a hotel – everything was pristine and sterile and just _not lived in._ It was half a wonder if the Tarkins actually lived here or just had the place as a status symbol. It was obvious the grand moff didn't live here.

_Emperor Regent._ Padmé shook her head, her mind still spinning at all the new realizations.

Padmé eventually found her way, entering a small room with cream colored walls, a large white carpet that covered most of the floor, a sizable window that let in the morning sunlight, a fireplace just opposite of it, and several chairs. One was occupied by the spiteful woman herself. Across from her was an open space where a quartet of musicians sat playing their instruments.

Lady Tarkin waved her over, and Padmé mentally prepared herself for the ordeal before going to the woman and leaning over, whispering, "You called, Mistress?"

"I require refreshment. Get me some water."

Padmé bowed and backed away, looking to see if there was any already prepared. Seeing that the room was bare, she headed back towards the kitchen, slightly annoyed that she had to walk all the way across the estate again. Well, at least it got her away from Tarkin for a few minutes.

The time alone let her mind wander to her predicament once more and what could be happening outside of Eriadu. Assuming Rekk had indeed already spoken to Tlenden, what was the senator doing now? If Obi-Wan was unavailable, how would he know his sister was alive? What about Siri?

Perhaps, somehow, Salkende still decided to help the Alliance. Perhaps, despite having lost his fiancée, Éothen convinced his mother to join the cause. If that were the case, then Tlenden would immediately tell Obi-Wan, right?

What if Salkende hadn't joined with the Alliance?

Padmé felt her chest grow tight as she grabbed a pitcher of water and a glass. She really hated drifting in all this uncertainty, but she hadn't had time to ask Rekk about much, and he wouldn't have known about the state of the Alliance anyway.

Returning to the sitting room, Padmé poured a glass of water for Lady Tarkin and paused just before offering it to her. The woman hadn't noticed her return yet, and she was gazing at the musicians, a distant look on her face. It almost looked lonely, and Padmé almost felt the smallest hint of pity. Almost. But she broke the moment, handing the glass to the woman, whose face hardened as soon as she recognized her presence, and Padmé stood in the corner, waiting on her and wondering what in the blazes was happening and how she wouldn't go insane in this place waiting for an opportunity.

She prayed everyone was alright.

* * *

Obi-Wan shifted slightly to ease pressure off his back. He wondered if perhaps the dull ache was what had awoken him; he felt stiff and sore all over. However, as he took a deep breath and tried to settle back to sleep, muffled sounds from elsewhere in the room caught his attention, and he slowly deduced what had actually woken him up.

Siri coughed harshly, bent over the small toilet provided for the secret guest quarters in the corner of the room. Obi-Wan dragged himself out of bed and shuffled over to her, wincing as he kneeled beside her.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Wiping her mouth, Siri grumbled, "Morning sickness. Nothing new."

Obi-Wan watched her a little worriedly, but she brushed him off. "I'm fine, Obi. Go back to sleep."

Glancing at the chronometer, he wondered if he really should at this point; they'd both been out for roughly two and a half hours. They would be arriving at whatever destination Al had chosen fairly soon, and heaven knows what Vader had been up to in that time, or how he and Al had been handling each other.

"I'll get you some water," he offered, rising and heading over to the hatch.

As Obi-Wan climbed down to the main level, the day's earlier events passed through his mind. Things had escalated fairly quickly and he hadn't had much time to think about it until now, but… Vader had defended them against _Imperials._ Obi-Wan already knew by now that Vader held no loyalty to the Empire, only the emperor, but somehow, seeing the man slice through stormtroopers for their sake was… strange and reassuring at once. And puzzling. What had changed from the time when Vader had nearly killed Obi-Wan during their first encounter at the base to now? Why was Vader bent on protecting him? Was it because he'd shown that he cared, despite Vader saying that was a weakness? Was the man just lying to himself?

Obi-Wan smiled to himself, pausing on the ladder. Perhaps that was a little obvious.

Once he stepped off the ladder Obi-Wan first entered the cockpit, sensing Al's presence there. The smuggler was lying underneath a console, pieces of machinery strewn everywhere. Obi-Wan cleared his throat so he wouldn't startle the man, but Al jumped nonetheless, ramming one of his cranial horns into the console.

"Ouch!" he yelped before sliding out to see who was there. "Oh, hey, Obi-Wan, good to see you're alright. Why'd you guys need the first aid kit?"

Obi-Wan looked over the poor man's partly burnt face worriedly. "I trust _you_ used the kit on yourself once we went upstairs."

"I did," Al sighed. "You must have been exhausted if you didn't hear me yelping; it's never pleasant putting ointment on burns."

"I can imagine. Are you certain you're alright?"

"I'm fine, don't worry about it."

"And the ship?"

Al shook his head, leaning back. "She's a wreck, but she'll get us where we need to go."

Obi-Wan nodded, glancing out into the lounge, but from where he stood he couldn't see Vader. "Have you had any problems with our guest?"

Al huffed. "Thankfully, no. He's been busy living in his own world. He was pacing the lounge like someone waiting for something to happen, but he never acknowledged me when I tried talking to him, so I gave up. I think he's still in there."

"He is," Obi-Wan remarked, sensing the man's presence. It startled him a little as he realized how easily he could find the man through the Force. And speaking of which, the Force rippled with unease as he turned about and reentered the small lounge. Vader sat on the floor, his knees tucked under his chin, his lower back leaning against the couch. His eyes were glazed, staring at nothing in particular though his gaze was fixed on the table in front of him. After a moment, he closed them tightly, and he almost burrowed his face into his knees when some internal realization hit him and he opened his eyes a heartbeat later, his brow furrowing in frustration or confusion or something that Obi-Wan couldn't quite read. The Force twitched a little, but Vader tightened his entire body and it felt like the air was sucked out of the room.

Shielding. He was shielding. It was becoming noticeable now the more Obi-Wan lingered around him. The cold that he had always felt with the young man wasn't quite the cold he'd experienced whenever he'd been near Palpatine. It was a slight difference, unnoticeable earlier when he'd had little training, but the subtlety of it had become more apparent. During his time in the senate, the few instances he'd been near the emperor, Obi-Wan had always felt a cold chill enter him, but it was more like the feverish shivers one would get when one was ill. With Vader it was different, like he was literally in the vacuum of space. Palpatine filled him like a sickness, but Vader emptied him… he emptied _everything_.

"Are you alright?" Obi-Wan asked softly.

Vader relaxed his body, turning his head to look at Obi-Wan. His eyes glistened with so many different emotions that he wouldn't—couldn't, probably—articulate, but the Force remained frozen, as did the rest of his body.

As usual, Obi-Wan would have to lead the conversation. It was tiring, but it was habitual by now, so he didn't feel as exhausted about it as last time. "Thank you for helping us… for saving us. We owe you our lives."

This statement seemed to confuse the man, but he didn't speak. Obi-Wan shifted slightly, not knowing what else to say, so he tipped his head and made his way to the kitchenette to get the water he'd promised Siri.

Returning to the lounge with a glass in his hand, he asked, "Do you want anything to drink?"

"I don't want anything."

_He does say that fairly consistently, doesn't he?_ Obi-Wan mused, getting ready to go to Siri, when something nagged him.

"_I _feel_ nothing, I _am_ nothing, don't you _dare_ suggest otherwise!"_

Vader didn't just deny his emotions… he denied his own personhood. He…

_"__Darth Vader was raised to think he was nothing more than a tool for the emperor. He has no opinion of himself, and I don't mean he thinks little of himself or prioritizes differently, I mean he __literally__ has no opinion of himself."_

Obi-Wan recalled reporting something similar to that to Mace Windu before the Jedi Master had been killed in battle, but it had never quite sunk in… or perhaps he simply hadn't believed it. He'd still been under the impression that Padmé had been biased, clouded by her emotions concerning the young man.

It was perhaps one of the worst feelings to realize that she'd been absolutely right. It was why Vader felt nothing, why he wanted nothing… because, in his own eyes, he literally was nothing.

Blast, how had the boy not committed suicide by this point? Had he just not seen the opportunity? Was he looking for it now, hiding his needs from Obi-Wan? Was he actually not thirsty right now, or was he just denying it? Was he hungry? Hurt?

If he wanted to die, why had he helped Obi-Wan?

"Why did you help us?" Obi-Wan voiced his last question.

Vader's eyes slowly traced their way down to his hands, clasped carelessly in front of him, and he slid his legs under the table. "I… don't know. You told me to."

Obi-Wan walked over to the spot across from him on the other side of the table, sitting on his knees and placing the glass of water in front of him. "Is that all? What about back in the cell, when I was hurt? I didn't ask for your help then."

"Did you want to die?" Vader nearly snapped, stiffening.

Obi-Wan smiled gently. "They wouldn't have killed me."

"I'll bear that in mind," Vader looked away, suddenly angry.

"I'm not criticizing you for it," Obi-Wan remarked. "I'm only pointing out that there was no threat to me."

"They hurt you."

"And that matters to you?"

Vader locked eyes with him, his face flushed with anger and his body tight. He looked like he wanted to say so many things, but he just didn't know how to. The question was simply phrased, was simply asking if the man cared or not… but it was apparently too difficult for him to answer. He himself didn't know the answer. Previously that would have been an answer enough to Obi-Wan – if he hadn't known, then he didn't care. But now… now it just made too much sense. Depressingly too much sense.

After all, how could a boy know about his own emotions if he'd been beaten into thinking he didn't have any?

Obi-Wan didn't even know how to approach this. He supposed he just had to keep Vader alive for now; he had to make sure the man didn't hurt himself. "Are you sure you're not thirsty?"

Vader's features softened, relieved at the change in the subject. He shrugged.

"I'll get you some water." Obi-Wan smiled and stood. When he returned with the drink, Vader accepted the glass mutely and sipped sparingly. Obi-Wan watched him for a moment before heading back up to the hidden level. Siri sat on the lower bunk with her face in her hands.

"Here," Obi-Wan offered as she glanced at him, sensing his approach. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," she sighed, taking the glass. "I trust Vader and Al haven't killed each other downstairs?"

"There's no carnage, I assure you," Obi-Wan smirked before growing serious once more. "I'm worried about Vader."

Siri stared at him, bemused.

"He's emptier than people with clinical depression," Obi-Wan said with a hint of dry humor.

"I thought you said he wasn't empty," Siri noted.

Obi-Wan shook his head. "I was wrong. Most people in his state would have taken the Imperial invasion as an opportunity to either escape or get themselves killed."

"I was going to ask you about that," Siri remarked. "Why did he help us?"

"He doesn't know."

"_He_ doesn't know?"

"Can you really expect him to know? He doesn't understand how being a normal person even works, how _living _works. He just exists. He just obeys." Obi-Wan stroked his beard worriedly. "I don't know what to do with him."

"What to do with him?"

"What will happen when we rendezvous with the Alliance? They'll put him back in a cell, they'll expect me to interrogate him." Obi-Wan's hand slid up to rub his eyes tiredly. "I don't want to be put back in that position. We _don't __need_ to be put back in that position."

Siri furrowed her brow. "What are you suggesting, then?"

"I don't know. I just don't want things to return to how they were before the attack. We… need to look out for him."

Siri's expression morphed slightly, both a little disbelieving and concerned. Before she could say anything, though, they both heard the hyperdrive disengage and the engines roared to life. The two immediately climbed down the ladder to go to the cockpit. Once they reached the lounge, Obi-Wan noted that Vader hadn't moved, though he was staring in the direction of the cockpit.

Siri led the way, and once they entered, she immediately asked Al, "Where are we?"

Obi-Wan glanced out the viewport and saw a world that, from what he could see, had several island chains, two large continents, an expansive desert, and ice caps.

"This is Ferrasco," Al answered.

"Isn't that a refugee world?" Obi-Wan noted.

Al nodded. "Which makes it all the easier for us to blend in. It's also in the Tsograda Sector, so we're close to one of the rendezvous points, Salkende. Once we finish repairing the ship we can head over there."

Siri glanced at Obi-Wan hesitantly before returning her attention to Al. "Have you already contacted the Alliance?"

"I can't," Al grumbled. "The _Beauty_'s communications were knocked out in the battle, and I can't fix it."

"I thought you were fixing the ship after we got into hyperspace."

"I've been trying to repair the _engines_," Al sighed. "They're a mess, and the best time to work on them was while the hyperdrive was active."

"Anything else damaged?"

"Part of the navicomputer's fried," Al muttered darkly. "As soon as I realized it that became the priority; it was part of this console that blew up."

"But we got here…" Siri noted confusedly. "So the navicomputer works, right?"

"For hyperspace coordinates, sure," Al replied. "But not for other things, like _docking_."

"You dock manually, Al."

"It's relatively easy to dock up with a ship floating in space," Al explained. "It's _not _easy to dock with an _orbital station_."

"Al, you're not making any sense," Siri shook her head. "I assume you intend to land on Ferrasco so we can fix the ship, right? You can't do that with what you have?"

"The thrusters couldn't handle that kind of deceleration," Al sighed heavily. "We'd have to go in hot, we'd have to have a controlled crash. But Ferrasco is too populated, and even if that weren't the case, they have such a massive influx of refugees that they regulate intake. Everyone going to the planet _has_ to go through the orbital station."

"But you just said the navicomputer can't calculate that," Obi-Wan pointed out worriedly.

"Yeah, _that's_ the current dilemma," Al leaned against his seat.

"So what are we going to do? Won't the planet pull us in and we'll crash anyway?" Siri asked. "Can you fix the navicomputer before that?"

"If I can get the _Beauty_ into orbit around the planet we can avoid that, but I have to calculate it just right or we'll circle right on in."

"Perhaps Vader could help?" Obi-Wan offered, garnering Al and Siri's attention. He shrugged. "He seemed fairly capable with the ship earlier."

Al narrowed his eyes. "You want _him_ to touch _my ship_?"

"He _did_ save our lives earlier by _touching your ship_," Obi-Wan reminded him mildly.

"Vader is a whole different level of _crazy_ that I don't need right now," Al shook his head. "I'm grateful he saved our skin, but that doesn't change the fact that he's a couple molecules short of a Dathomiri steroid elixir."

"He's never not been able to function," Obi-Wan noted. "Apart from the trauma of losing his master, he's always hidden his _insanity_ fairly well. He can still fix this ship. He _was_ fixing it earlier."

"We don't have _time_ to fix the navicomputer – we need to calculate our trajectory," Al argued.

Unbeknownst to both men, Siri had exited the cockpit to get Vader's attention, thinking that Obi-Wan's idea, though not her favorite, was still reasonable.

Darth Vader sat cross legged on the floor between the sofa and the small table in the lounge. He was staring at his hands on his lap, but he sensed Siri's scrutiny and raised his gaze to meet hers.

Siri sensed out into the Force, but she couldn't decipher what she found. She simply felt the same cold as always, making her shiver until the warmth of her husband's and baby's presences filled her. In the meantime, Vader simply continued to watch her, unmoving. It made her all the more uneasy.

"You know, you could _try_ to act like a normal person on occasion," she remarked before getting to the point. Her words brought his eyebrows together in what appeared to be bemusement. "We've got a bit of a problem on the bridge. You willing to help us resolve it?"

Vader blinked at her, his brow furrowing further, and the Force twitched slightly.

Siri sighed, not bothering to question his reaction. Instead, she simply elaborated, "The navicomputer's a little fried; we can't dock with the orbital station. We need your help so we don't crash."

Vader watched her for a second longer before standing and walking towards her. Despite knowing he was only approaching at her request, Siri still felt her body stiffen a little bit; it was hard _not_ to be nervous around the man, even after he'd saved them. She'd been too tired earlier to really care much, and even now her mind was telling her that he wasn't going to cause trouble, but… it just seemed too unbelievable. She clenched her fists, took a deep breath, and then released them. It was obvious to her by now that since he'd established some sort of connection with at least Obi-Wan, he wasn't going to harm them so long as they didn't push him.

But _why_? Was it simply because he had no one else to turn to, nothing else to do?

Siri felt her chest tighten slightly and she sighed to release the tension. Honestly, that was likely the case. She herself had said he was empty enough for that to be possible. It was just… unbelievable.

Vader brushed past her, unaware of her musings. Instead, he entered the cockpit, and Siri followed silently, wondering how Al would react.

Obi-Wan quickly took charge of the scenario before the poor smuggler could speak. "Vader, good, you can help us. Al has to calculate our trajectory without the navicomputer."

"Are we landing on the planet?" Vader asked.

Al's gaze flitted between Obi-Wan and Vader, a slightly irritated expression on his face before he sighed in resignation. "No, that's not allowed. We have to try to avoid that or we'll attract more attention than necessary. We have to find a way to dock with their orbital station."

"Figure out their orbit."

"Thanks, _genius_," Al snapped. "I would have never guessed that. Any suggestions on _how_ I do that?"

"Make contact with the orbital station."

"Our communications are down," Obi-Wan piped in, his voice low and laced with anxiety as the realization struck him and Siri that they were trapped in a ship accelerating towards a planet with no mechanical assistance to stop its crash. Siri sensed him try to release his concern, but it didn't quite work, and she found herself sighing. It wasn't surprising; Obi-Wan didn't particularly like flying, especially when things _weren't_ going the way they were supposed to.

Vader gazed out through the viewport, staring at Ferrasco. Then he looked back at Al. "We can't dock with the station if we don't know its orbit, and it's physically impossible to determine it by just looking at it. Have you gotten us into orbit yet?"

"Any ideas _how_ to do that?" Al waved his hands somewhat frantically. "Without the navicomputer I could give us too much thrust or not enough and we'll either blow by the planet, gaining gravitational energy and sling-shooting us further into space, or we'll nose dive right into it!"

"Why didn't you fix the navicomputer before the ship exited hyperspace?"

Al's dark face flushed. "You think I _haven't_ been working on it?! I did everything I could, we have neither the parts nor the time to do any more to it!"

Vader looked over the console as Al spoke, his fingers tracing wires and buttons, his eyes glazing over. His mouth tightened almost imperceptibly as he examined everything, and he eventually exhaled slowly through his nose, pulling away. He stood, silent and still, for almost a solid minute before Siri frantically looked at Ferrasco steadily growing larger through the viewport. "Well?"

Vader looked at Al pointedly. Al stared back at him, not quite understanding what he was doing. Siri tried to interpret his body language or some sort of indication in the Force, but she couldn't, and the urgency of the situation was quickly making her impatient.

Obi-Wan, however, seemed to catch on. "You want Al to move? You're going to pilot?"

Vader eyed Obi-Wan and then nodded. Al stiffened. "What?"

"Al, let him do it," Siri said a little loudly, staring at the planet growing ever closer.

The smuggler sighed heavily and rose out of his seat, grumbling, "It's my own blasted ship and I don't get a say about who flies her…"

Vader sat slowly, glossing over the controls and then closing his eyes. Siri stiffened slightly. "You going to start piloting anytime soon?"

Obi-Wan turned his head slightly, and Siri knew he was giving her one of those _have patience_ looks. Her rattled nerves, however, were soon soothed when she sensed a swelling in the Force, like warm water filling the cockpit and buoying everyone in it. Siri felt impossibly light, dazed, calm, and empowered all at once. Vader slowly reached his hands to the steering controls and started to move the ship, his eyes staring straight out into the viewport, ignoring any information from the consoles around him. Al shifted, unnerved, but Obi-Wan and Siri were too blindsided by the sudden surge of power in the Force to really do much.

Ferrasco steadily slid to the left side of the viewport as Vader guided the _Beauty_ into a wide orbit, his right hand moving between the controls for the engines and the thrusters, perfecting the ship's trajectory. He angled the _Beauty_ so the planet started to move upwards into the top left corner of the viewport.

Closing his eyes once more, the Sith leaned forward slightly, pushing the ship ahead a little bit. The engines grew louder and then dimmer a moment later. The _Invariant Beauty_ transitioned smoothly until a small blip came into view just ahead.

"The orbital station," Siri breathed, pointing it out.

"We're not in a synchronous orbit," Al noted a little worriedly.

"Call the station with your comlink," Vader ordered softly. "I'll get us close enough for you to be in range."

"You can't _visualize_ that kind of distance," Al looked at him in alarm. "We could crash into them!"

Obi-Wan put his hand on the man's shoulder. "Just trust him, Al."

Biting his lip, Al grabbed his comlink and waited for them to approach the station. Vader watched the station carefully, his hands moving the controls minutely. The ship decelerated and shuddered slightly as one of the thrusters gave out, an alarm blaring in protest. Obi-Wan and Siri looked at each other worriedly, but the Force never wavered. Vader registered the noise, glancing at the console, and then compensated accordingly.

Eventually Al started to try every frequency available to reach the station. The _Beauty_ got so close to the station that Siri could practically see the people through the windows. She felt her body tense.

"Vader…" Obi-Wan muttered warningly, his hand clamping on the pilot's chair, his knuckles white.

The proximity also caught the orbital station's attention, and Al finally managed to get through to them and relay their situation. He hastily jotted down the information that the navicomputer would typically figure out on its own and then told the station to stand by.

"Now what?" Siri asked him.

"Well, we know their radius from the planet and their speed," Al sighed, scratching his head and looking over what he wrote. "From there we could at least deduce what kind of orbit we'll need. Trying to get _into_ that orbit is another matter, though."

"Blast, this is why I hate flying," Obi-Wan muttered softly, looking away.

Vader eased the _Beauty_ into an orbit of her own and then stood to face them. "Solve for their orbit and I can match it."

"How?"

"Two reverse thrusts at the right time will get us into a lower orbit," Vader explained. "From there we can dock."

Siri nodded and then looked at Al. "Well, Al, work your math magic."

The smuggler blew out a breath and took his data to the copilot's seat, plopping into it and poring over everything before scribbling madly. Obi-Wan quietly approached Vader, who had resumed his spot in the pilot's chair, gazing out the viewport. Siri looked between the men and leaned against the wall. It was strange seeing Vader take part in a seemingly peaceful scene – stranger still that it was only peaceful because he had just saved them from possibly crashing onto the planet's surface. Though she supposed she shouldn't be too surprised by it by now – this was the _third_ time in nearly just as many hours that he'd saved their lives.

She just wished she knew _why_. And she wished she felt a little more from the hasty transition Obi-Wan was making from being distant to pitying to downright concerned for the Imperial. Not that Siri _didn't_ feel some degree of pity for the man – it was beginning to grow disturbingly understandable why he was the way he was (but did that _excuse_ what he was, what he'd _done_?)… it was just a lot to accept in such a short amount of time. For heaven's sake, Vader had _beaten_ Obi-Wan just over a week ago. What would stop his emotions from spiraling in another direction, leading to him severing all connection to them or possibly even killing them? He'd been attached to Padmé, after all, and had still killed her.

As Siri pondered these matters, Obi-Wan tried to engage in conversation with Vader. "Thank you for your help."

Vader stared at him.

"Does no one ever thank you?" Obi-Wan asked, fairly certain he already knew the answer.

"Why would they?"

Well, that wasn't quite the response he was expecting, but it was actually better; at least Vader was saying more than yes or no. "To show gratitude and appreciation."

"Why would they do that?"

Obi-Wan sighed. He felt like he was talking to a youngling who was at the stage of development when they asked _why_ to every single remark. Not that this routine was anything new. "When someone goes out of their way to do something for you, you acknowledge that effort with gratitude."

Vader scrunched his nose slightly. "People aren't expected to do their duties? Imperials are."

"There's a difference between doing your duty and doing a kindness," Obi-Wan tried to explain, though he could sense his words were slamming into Vader's thick skull, leaving the man confused.

"You do nothing but your duty." Vader remarked.

"So if I saved your life, you wouldn't thank me?" Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow.

"Such a hypothetical situation is irrelevant."

"Why?" Obi-Wan smiled, happy to flip the question on the Imperial.

"You wouldn't save me."

Obi-Wan jumped, feeling like he'd been smacked.

"Got it!" Al shouted, rushing over to them and showing Vader.

Vader scanned the information and went to a console that wasn't damaged, inputting the information.

"What are you doing?" Siri asked. "Isn't the navicomputer broken?"

"He's simulating the orbit," Al explained, watching a holographic image of a planet appear in blue while a red hologram traced an orbital pattern around it.

Vader examined the flight path silently for a minute and then nodded. Then he looked to Al. "It would be best if no more thrusters burned out. Be prepared to fix any if that should happen."

Al nodded, locking eyes with Obi-Wan and Siri briefly before exiting the cockpit. As the Imperial took a deep breath and reached for the controls, Obi-Wan's mind whirled from his statement. Vader thought he wouldn't save him? Did he have that little faith in Obi-Wan? Did he have that little faith in _everyone_? Obi-Wan half wondered if the man expected even Palpatine or Padmé to save him if such a situation had presented itself.

Probably not.

Obi-Wan felt his stomach churn, and he grew a little queasy. He was uncomfortable handling extremely emotional situations, and he wasn't terrific at expressing his own feelings, but _Force_ this was so messed up it was beyond sickening. Taking a deep breath, he tried to release his emotions and calm down, especially as he heard the thrusters fire up for their first deceleration burst.

The ship shuddered, but the thrusters held steady, and Obi-Wan felt himself move forward a little bit as the _Invariant Beauty_ slowed its velocity slightly. Ferrasco grew larger in the viewport, though only marginally, and Obi-Wan crossed his arms as he watched.

Another thought occurred to him. _You do nothing but your duty. _So if that was Vader's motto on life, was he saving Obi-Wan, Siri, and Al out of duty? What duty? It certainly hadn't been his duty to save them a few days ago. If he had such little faith in Obi-Wan, then why did he expect…

Obi-Wan sighed, shaking his head. He was thinking about this the wrong way, using the perspective of a healthy, sane person. He had to think about this from Vader's point of view. Obi-Wan had shown concern and compassion for a man who knew nothing of those emotions and thought of himself as a weapon for the emperor to wield and nothing more. It seemed apparent that Vader himself was aware that he had emotions, considering how vehemently he'd denied it. It was beyond bewildering; Vader was no idiot, so why would he lie about something like that? Why would he convince himself he had no emotions when it was so obvious that he did? Was that Palpatine's doing? Had the deceased emperor told Vader that he was a weapon, that he had no emotions, that feeling otherwise would mean he was defective?

Blast, he wished he had some sort of knowledge about psychology. Obi-Wan was certain doctors would at least be able to deduce more about the Imperial than he could.

The second deceleration was a little rougher than the first, but the _Beauty _eventually found her way into the correct orbit. The space station was slowly approaching, and Vader delicately guided the ship into a hangar after Al reentered and reestablished communication with the station's personnel.

As the engines powered down and Vader relaxed into his seat, the air grew cold again as he tightened his mental shields, and it was only at that point that Obi-Wan realized the man had lowered them slightly while flying. It was why everything had felt so strange, so powerful and focused and _alive_ for a brief amount of time. But if that's how he actually felt, then his emotionlessness would be a façade… so what was Obi-Wan missing?

He sucked in a breath softly, his brows rising in pleasant surprise as it dawned on him and he looked at the Imperial. "You like flying, don't you?"

"I neither like nor dislike anything."

Obi-Wan smiled knowingly. Oh he liked it. There was no other reason the man would be so at ease and downright eager to fly the ship, why he so easily slipped into the Force and smoothly flew the ship to its destination.

"Come on, let's go," Al said, motioning towards the exit. "I've got a deck officer to bribe."

Siri laughed. "What for? We aren't allowed to land here? It's not like the Empire knows your ship."

"No, but we have to blend in with the refugees if we're going to get down to the planet's surface, and I don't want them asking questions." Al replied. "I mean, if I were the deck officer, _I_ would wonder why people who are desperate and trying to seek sanctuary would come here when they have a ship that could get them anywhere."

"Not quite anywhere," Siri quipped, raising an eyebrow. "If I were the deck officer, I'd understand why we're here with the _Beauty_ in such a state."

Al huffed irritably and left the cockpit. Siri glanced at Obi-Wan briefly. He could tell she was wondering how Vader would act; they were about to step onto public terrain surrounded by possibly thousands of refugees. Honestly, Obi-Wan didn't quite know what to expect, either, but if keeping him safe was somehow now Vader's duty, he figured the Imperial wouldn't make a fuss or attract attention. He smiled reassuringly at Siri, who sighed and nodded, following Al.

"Shall we?" he said to Vader, motioning towards the exit.

* * *

The sky glowed bright magenta as the simulated sunrise bathed Imperial Center in its light. Éothen dragged his feet in exhaustion, drained emotionally and physically. They were all gone. _They were all gone_. He'd lost his entire team, and, worst of all, he'd lost Erwyna.

_Erwyna._

They'd known each other since they were younglings. They'd played together, fought together, laughed, cried, _bled_ together. They'd loved each other. _He'd loved her_. No, he'd never said it out loud, but he'd never _had_ to – they knew each other well enough. As Special Forces they couldn't do anything about it, couldn't act upon it, could barely acknowledge it, and with Éothen's requirement to continue his clan while Erwyna was still sworn to abstinence, he'd known that despite their feelings for each other, their duties would take them separate ways. But it hadn't affected their feelings for each other; it hadn't changed the fact that they would always love each other, even if they couldn't be together.

Éothen paused, leaning heavily against a wall, panting for air as if he'd run a kilometer, his heart racing, his mind panicking. He couldn't take this.

_Remember the mission, Éothen. You have to find her, _Erwyna's voice whispered in his mind. His heart nearly broke just hearing it.

The mission. He had to complete the mission. He had to find Padmé.

Éothen clenched his fists. All of this hell that had befallen him was because of _her_, because of her _Alliance_, because of the _Empire_. All of this was _their fault._ He shouldn't even bother finding her!

_Snap out of it, moron. You think she ordered the assassination attempt on her life?_

Éothen shook his head violently. Despite the logical argument, he still couldn't quite shake his anger. He had a _right_ to be angry – all his life he'd always done his _duty_ and what had it brought him in return? A war, a dead family, and now a dead team and best friend!

_You still have Mom and Dad. You still have Salkende. You have to be there for them. And you have to get Padmé for their sake._

He felt his chest clench as the conflict of his bleeding heart and his mind nearly tore him apart. Just reminding himself that his remaining family and all of Salkende was relying on this fueled him, but his anger and hurt fought violently against it, and his chest ached. Eventually he shoved down most of the dizzying emotions with a gasp and a clench of the jaw. Finally regaining some semblance of strength, Éothen continued his agonizing trek until he snuck into Tlenden's apartment building. By the time he reached the man's apartment the sunlight was bright in the sky and the citizens of the upper levels were heading to work.

Éothen caught Tlenden at the entranceway, the door opening just as both were on either side of it. Tlenden jumped with a gasp, startled, and his expression turned to concern at Éothen's no doubt haggard appearance. He immediately grabbed the man by the arm and dragged him inside.

"Éothen, what happened?" Tlenden immediately asked, guiding him to the sofa. "What did you do? Where are the others?"

Éothen shook his head mutely.

"There's been an attack," Tlenden continued in a hushed tone, and Éothen's head shot up, locking eyes with the senator. "The Rebel base was destroyed by the Empire."

_What?!_ Éothen rose to his feet—or at least attempted to before Tlenden pushed against his shoulders to prevent such an action.

"Most of the Rebels escaped, but they split up, and some are on Salkende as we speak. They're taking refuge there until they can find somewhere more suitable. Your mother wants you to return immediately." Tlenden explained.

"They're… on Salkende?" Éothen repeated, trying to absorb all this new information after everything he'd already endured all night.

"Yes. Éothen, what happened?" Tlenden repeated his earlier question, watching him worriedly.

Again, Éothen shook his head. He couldn't say it. Not yet.

"Perillinen?"

Hearing his title made something in him snap. He shot to his feet, kicking a small table over. "_Don't_ call me that – I'm not fit to be a warlord's son, I—I don't _want_ to be a warlord's son! I just want a normal blasted life where people I love _aren't_ killed! Is that too much to ask for?!"

Tlenden watched him, his lips slowly parting as his features changed in dawning comprehension. "Erwyna's gone, isn't she?"

Éothen felt his energy drain out of him, and he sat heavily once more. "They're all gone."

A chime resounded gently, making Éothen jump, his mind in tatters by this point. He reached for his blaster, and Tlenden hastily snatched the weapon from his loose grip.

"It's the door. It's fine." He said reassuringly. "Stay here."

Éothen didn't bother to argue. The senator rose and walked to the front door, and when he opened it, Éothen caught sight of a pale green skinned man with brown eyes and thick black hair groomed perfectly. The man swallowed and smiled politely, his body a little tense.

"Senator Tlenden, my name is Representative Svoule of the Chommell Sector," he introduced himself with a bow. "I wish to speak with you about an urgent senate matter."

"It couldn't wait until the morning session? Or at least until I was in the senate building?" Tlenden nearly snapped, obviously wanting to get rid of the pesky politician so he could look after Éothen.

The representative flinched, but his eyes widened pleadingly. "It will only take a few minutes of your time, senator, and I know you are very busy once you get to the senate building. Please, just allow me to explain. May I come in?"

"You may talk to me at the senate building like any other professional," Tlenden replied curtly.

"The senator from Naboo sent me," the representative insisted.

"I'm not acquainted with the senator."

"But you _are_, Senator Tlenden. She said so."

Éothen stood. "What?"

The representative blinked, stuttering, "Forgive me, I meant to say _he_. I'm still adjusting to the change."

The knot in Éothen's stomach loosened slightly, and he felt irritated for being led astray. However, he then saw the representative look pointedly at Tlenden, and the senator seemed to catch some hidden meaning.

"Come on in, representative," he invited, stepping back.

The politician entered quickly, the door hissing shut behind him. He glanced nervously at Éothen.

"You can speak freely," Tlenden assured him. "Does this have to do with the late senator?"

"There's nothing _late_ about her," the representative whispered, his voice strained from anxiety. "I—I saw her. She's _alive_."

Tlenden's eyes widened. "Alive? What are you talking about? I attended her funeral."

"He's right." Éothen immediately said, taking two large steps towards the man. "Where is she? Where did you see her?"

"Eriadu." Rep. Svoule answered. "She's being held prisoner by Lady Tarkin, the emperor regent's wife."

The emperor regent? What did he have to do with all this? Who was he? Éothen hadn't really cared who won the fight for the throne.

"Was there anything else you needed to tell us?" Tlenden inquired.

"What's her condition?" Éothen demanded.

"She's—she's alive, I just—I just said that. She's alive, she's okay, she's healthy. She's just a prisoner."

Éothen took a shaky breath. He found her. _He found her_. He took another shaky breath. He would get her back. For everyone he had lost, _he would get her back_.

Without saying another word, Éothen stormed out of the room, his mind whirling, but his thoughts eventually started to congeal and focus. He would take a diplomatic shuttle under Tlenden's name. He would go to Salkende to inform his mother, assess the situation with the Rebels, and then assemble a new team—he ignored the sting in his heart at thinking he had to replace his team—in order to break Padmé out of whatever prison held her.

He would get her back, and he'd _destroy_ the Empire for what it had done. This was no longer an honorable fight, this was no longer a pact with an Alliance due to a marriage proposal. This was _personal_.

* * *

Glancing around, Obi-Wan was reminded strikingly of his days with the RRM. Refugees were everywhere, sitting on crates, the floor, standing in a corner, clutching possessions, relatives, anything. The air was filled with the buzz of nervous whispers, conversations with guards, and shuffling. Now attuned to the Force, Obi-Wan could sense obvious anxiety and hope, alongside so many other emotions that he couldn't decipher from the overwhelming influx. The thoughts of thousands of beings saturated the Force, and Obi-Wan took a deep breath, dulling the noise altogether.

Darth Vader shifted, and despite all the chaos in the Force, Obi-Wan sensed the young man's slight uneasiness. He sighed. Vader had been restless since they'd left the ship, his body steadily tensing as they'd been surrounded by more people.

"It's going to be all right," he assured him as they sat around and waited for Al to bribe some officer and let them get on the next shuttle. He felt guilty for forcing himself in front of others who so desperately needed to get down to the planet's surface, but the less time they spent here, the better it was for everyone's safety. They just needed to get some parts, lay low, and then _leave_. Al had said they'd head straight to Salkende and the delay should only be a day or so. Obi-Wan wasn't sure he liked that – a part of him wanted to tell Al to go anywhere _but_ the rendezvous point. He tried to sift through his motivation, to figure out if somehow he was becoming attached to Vader or was just rationally concluding that it wouldn't be a good idea to go back to the Rebels just yet.

He hadn't quite figured out the answer.

Vader tensed even more, curling in on himself slightly. The Force rippled with more agitation. The young man had tried walking away from them when the crowd had thickened, and Obi-Wan had snatched him by the arm and insisted he stay close. Vader had been practically brooding since then.

"What's the matter?" Obi-Wan asked, wondering if he'd even get a response.

"I need to walk."

"You did that on the ship," Obi-Wan remarked, confused over the young man's obsession for walking.

"That wasn't enough."

"Why do you need to walk?"

Vader didn't speak. Obi-Wan examined the young man, waiting to see if he'd eventually say something – he'd learned to be patient when conversing with the Imperial. When several minutes had passed, he knew Vader wouldn't answer. Trying to change tactics, Obi-Wan prodded the Force, immediately distinguishing Siri's presence from the crowd, shortly followed by Al and Vader. He honed in on Vader specifically and continued to sense restlessness. This gave him an idea.

"Would you like to meditate?"

Vader stared at him abruptly, his brow furrowing in a mixture of disgust and surprise.

Obi-Wan had to laugh at his expression. "It isn't _that_ bad."

"I don't meditate."

"Well there isn't much else you can do," Obi-Wan noted.

The Sith Lord grumbled incoherently.

"We can meditate together," Obi-Wan offered, sitting cross legged beside the young man. "I'll guide you through it."

Closing his eyes, Obi-Wan quieted his mind and remembered the practices he'd learned from Qui-Gon. "Quiet your mind and let the Force flow freely through you."

"It's too loud."

Opening one eye, Obi-Wan glanced at the young man. "It takes a great amount of focus, but I know you can do it."

Vader looked at him somewhat disbelievingly. "It's _too loud_."

"How would your walk help, then? Isn't it too loud and crowded?"

"At least then I'm _doing_ something."

"This _is_ doing something," Obi-Wan noted, slightly unnerved at how much Vader sounded like Siri.

"I don't meditate."

Obi-Wan sighed heavily. "You _could_ attempt something _new_. I'm fairly certain it's a harmless venture, and it'll pass the time."

Blowing out a resigned breath, Vader closed his eyes, and Obi-Wan attempted to reinitiate the meditation. He reached out to Vader in the Force, feeling the familiar icy wall, and he could practically feel the Sith physically flinch.

"_Don't_ do that." Vader said sternly.

"Don't read your mind?" Obi-Wan smiled, amused. "Why Vader, I thought you were fairly open with that practice."

The Force simmered with annoyance.

"If I even _do_ quiet my mind, what am I supposed to do next?" Vader asked, ignoring the remark.

"Listen to the Force. That is the purpose of quieting your mind: so you can hear it."

The irritation grew. "I already _told_ you the Force doesn't speak."

"Ah, yes, because the emperor said so," Obi-Wan nodded, opening his eyes and belatedly recognizing the proverbial minefield he'd just entered. Taking a relaxing breath, he glanced at the Sith to see him staring at him.

Any remark Vader was going to make—assuming he would even comment at all—was interrupted when Al arrived hastily with Siri in tow. "Come on, the shuttle's boarding now and if we're not there they're leaving without us!"

Snapping back into focus, Obi-Wan rose to his feet and Vader followed suit. Siri threw Obi-Wan a questioning look as they hastened after Al and a shuttle came into view. He smiled reassuringly.

The trip down to Ferrasco's surface was hot, uncomfortable, and cramped. The Force was slightly overwhelming, and Obi-Wan found himself attempting to meditate as he stood squished in a corner, trying to calm down. Siri eyed the crowd carefully, though not suspiciously, and Al wrung his hands nervously. Vader, on the other hand, wriggled into a corner and crouched, taking a deep breath and boring a hole into the ground with his intense gaze. The shuttle ride was thankfully brief, and Obi-Wan hastily made his way to Vader before the young man could vanish into the crowd as people spilled out into the hangar.

The city where they'd landed, Firro, consisted of a group of semi-tropical islands that were connected by land during low tide and by plasma bridges at high tide. The warmth was welcome after freezing on Hoth for so long, and the breeze was most certainly a relief after being cramped with at least fifty other people in what was essentially the ship's cargo hold. The sun shone brightly, making Obi-Wan squint a little as he grabbed Vader by the arm.

The young man tensed at the touch, directing his gaze at the Jedi. Siri came up beside Obi-Wan, but Vader did not hold her attention. Instead, she was watching the crowd, her brow furrowing as they were guided outside of the hangar into a large area filled with incoming refugees from multiple shuttles.

"Okay, so all we have to do is get out of this area and buy the parts we need for the _Beauty_, and then we're set." Al remarked.

"I don't suppose you have much money left from all the _negotiating_ that you've been doing?" Obi-Wan questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Al chuckled sheepishly. "Not really… but Siri let me borrow some money. Would you be so kind as to chip in?"

Obi-Wan sighed in exasperation, grabbing for his money pouch.

"It might not be that easy," Siri muttered in a somewhat worried tone. Sensing her concern, Obi-Wan followed her gaze and felt his stomach clench.

There were stormtroopers patrolling the area.

Al swore under his breath. "They can't be here for us, right?"

"How would they know?" Obi-Wan asked quietly.

"That's impossible," Siri shook her head. "Unless they put a tracking device on the _Beauty_ somehow… which they _didn't_, right, Al?"

"I don't see how they could've…" Al whispered as they entered the throng, lowering their heads so they could be inconspicuous.

"I don't sense any immediate danger," Obi-Wan commented, probing the Force somewhat nervously. As he did so, his grip loosened on Vader, and before he knew it the man was several steps ahead of him.

Al nearly panicked. "He's going to them!"

Siri tensed, her eyes widening, and Obi-Wan tried to call out to Vader. The Sith Lord was staring intently at a refugee, muttering and twitching his fingers. An instant later, the Force screamed in warning.

Leaping forward, Obi-Wan grabbed Vader's arm, making the man jump. He pulled Vader to himself, looking around to identify the threat that he'd sensed. Though Siri eyed Vader nervously, as if he were the source of the problem, Obi-Wan had instinctively grabbed Vader to keep him _away _from the threat, assuming it had been something else.

He hadn't been wrong. A refugee grabbed a stormtrooper's blaster and started shooting at random.

Pure pandemonium broke out. People screamed and ran in all directions, and Obi-Wan groaned in pain as he was shoved directly on his back wound. His knees buckled, and he felt Siri catch him. He sensed Al growing steadily more distant as the crowd separated him from the couple, but he was too dizzy from the sudden onset of pain to react to it. Siri gasped as she was almost knocked over, and she felt her arm get nearly torn out of its socket as someone dragged her and Obi-Wan out of the immediate vicinity.

Catching his breath, Obi-Wan raised his head to see Vader pulling them along. They ran down a main street, which was quickly filling with panicking civilians, and then they took a sharp turn into an alley. Stormtroopers and local security rushed by, keen on reaching the shooter. The Force was sharp, and it swirled through Obi-Wan and Siri as the two caught their breath and finally started to focus. Vader released them and leapt up, grabbing an escape ladder on the side of one of the buildings. Obi-Wan and Siri automatically followed him, climbing as quickly as they could as people ran around below them. Everything was insanely loud, giving Obi-Wan a headache and making his ears ring. His heart pounded in his chest and his back felt like it had been singed with a red-hot iron.

The climb up the ladder seemed to take an eternity, but eventually they made it to the roof. Catching his breath, Obi-Wan surveyed the scene below, but Vader apparently wasn't satisfied with their perch, running to the edge of the roof as Siri called out to him and leaping to the next building. Obi-Wan and Siri stared at him and then each other and then back at the gap between the buildings. It was fairly significant, though not unattainable even without the Force, but _still_…

Vader was nearly at the next building. Siri took off. Obi-Wan groaned and ran after both of them. Siri didn't hesitate as she reached the end of the building, and Obi-Wan sensed her grab onto the Force as she jumped, bending her legs deeply as she landed. Obi-Wan took a deep breath and accelerated his pace, ignoring the tingling sensation of oncoming panic at the idea of jumping between buildings.

Well, he _had_ been training for this.

Grabbing the Force, Obi-Wan let it surge through his legs and increase the height of his jump so he could easily clear the alley below. He pushed off from the roof and felt weightless for an instant before quickly realizing he had to focus on _landing_ next. Inhaling sharply, he allowed the force of the roof hitting his feet travel up to his legs, bending them and rolling on the ground. His back screamed in protest, but he didn't have much time to listen to it as he sensed Vader jump to another building.

"Come on, Obi!" Siri shouted as she attempted to keep up with the Sith.

Hissing, Obi-Wan leapt to his feet and followed his wife. The second jump wasn't as far as the first, and Vader apparently decided that was enough death defying feats for a while and had started to climb down another escape ladder. Siri was on his heels, and Obi-Wan increased his pace so he wouldn't lose sight of them. The Force continued to roar all around them, but the more he listened the more he realized they'd put a fair amount of distance between themselves and the shooting.

After reaching the ladder, Obi-Wan watched Vader release his grip on the rungs and just fall halfway to the ground, landing easily. Glancing around nervously he noted no one was around to witness the act. Instead of following his example, Siri simply put her hands and feet on the outer edges of the ladder and slid, and Obi-Wan sensed her pain as she scraped her hands doing so. Grimacing, he did the same. Vader didn't allow them a moment's rest to survey the damage they'd just done to their palms, instead running in another direction.

"Blast it!" Siri said breathlessly as she ran after him, and Obi-Wan didn't even have the energy to comment.

Entering a side street, Obi-Wan focused all his energy and attention on sensing his wife and the Sith Lord. He blearily noticed other people in his periphery, but he didn't pay much attention to them until he realized Vader was starting to slow his pace. Looking around he saw that the street was relatively abandoned save for a few people glancing around nervously. Once they finally reached a jog, Obi-Wan called out to Vader.

"Wait," he requested breathlessly.

Vader stopped, his eyes wide, his body tense, looking around constantly. The Force swirled around him like a storm and then seemed to surge outward as he extended his senses. Siri managed to catch her breath and walked over to her husband.

"You okay?" she asked.

Obi-Wan nodded. "I'll live. What in the _blazes_ happened?"

"We need to move." Vader remarked, hastily making his way to another side street. Siri and Obi-Wan glanced at each other in exasperation and followed. He led them into an abandoned area, but Obi-Wan could see a main road ahead, filled with people bunching and talking, but no panic seemed to be evident.

The Sith Lord paused and faced them. "We required a distraction. Crowds are useful for that. I advise we lay low for a while; security will be heightened, making it difficult to leave the planet."

Siri gawked at him. "You… _you_ caused that commotion?"

Obi-Wan quickly put the pieces together as he recalled what he'd seen just prior to the disaster. "You used a mind trick – do you have any idea how many people you've potentially hurt or killed?"

Vader stared at them nonchalantly. Obi-Wan sighed heavily; he didn't even know why he'd bothered asking such a question.

"Now what?" Siri groaned, rubbing her eyes tiredly.

Vader looked at her somewhat confusedly. "I… just said we need to lay low."

"Yes, thanks, I _heard_ that," Siri snapped. "Where in the blazes is Al?"

"We lost him at the site of the shooting," Obi-Wan shook his head, reaching out into the Force worriedly, but it was still too chaotic to sense anyone familiar apart from those in the immediate vicinity.

"Let's call him, then," Siri grabbed her comlink.

"The com frequencies will be overused beyond measure," Obi-Wan pointed out tiredly. "You won't be able to reach anyone until the situation settles."

"You can't use your comlinks at all," Vader said. "Obi-Wan is correct that the frequencies are oversaturated right now, and once security controls the situation the Empire will lock the place down. They'll prevent transmissions except on public terminals, and all those communications will be monitored."

"Did you purposefully set this up so we'd be _stuck_ here?" Siri looked at him sharply, putting her comlink away.

Vader shrugged. "I weighed all the possible options. This was the best one."

"The best one for what?"

"The best one to avoid the Empire."

Siri looked like she wanted to ask him why he would even do such a thing when she seemed to recall Obi-Wan's failed attempt to get a similar question answered. Sighing, she said, "So where to?"

"Al had said there are refugee complexes," Obi-Wan noted halfheartedly, his mind spinning from everything that had just happened. They were supposed to be just getting _parts_ for the ship, and now they were _stuck_ here.

Well. It meant they wouldn't be going to the rendezvous point anytime soon, at least. He just hoped Al was alright.

"Let's go," Siri sighed, leading the trio to the main road.

Their search for shelter took far longer than he'd hoped; they explored half the city, asking for help from many locals, and by sunset Obi-Wan finally saw a noticeable line of people being herded into an area that was filled with similarly styled rectangular buildings lined with windows on each floor. A small stand was in front of the grassy area between two of the six buildings, and there was a fair number of friendly looking people there. At least they could get directions. Pointing it out to Siri, the two headed that way (whilst dragging Vader, who had hesitated).

A Twi'lek woman noticed their approach and smiled warmly. "Can I help you?"

"We came to Firro from one of the refugee shuttles," Obi-Wan explained. "We were going to be assigned a location, but…"

The Twi'lek gasped. "Oh my goodness! The shooting? It's all over the news right now. You poor things, you probably didn't even get a chance to get your proper paperwork. Do you at least have the identification papers from the orbital station?"

Obi-Wan swallowed and shook his head. "We lost them in the chaos. We were lucky we didn't get _trampled_."

The Twi'lek pursed her lips and nodded understandingly. "That does make it difficult, but… we'll make it work somehow. We actually do have some space that hasn't been assigned to anyone yet, and we've gotten word from other sites that they're getting people in similar situations. I guess it'll just be a little chaotic over the next week or so. We'll get you a room, don't you worry. Is it just the three of you?"

"Yes. I'm Ben Kenobi," Obi-Wan said, and motioning to Siri, he introduced her. "This is my wife, Mya."

Obi-Wan then glanced at Vader, his mind whirling as to how he would introduce him.

"This is his brother, Sheev," Siri said before either man could speak. "We're his guardians, he's not quite all there upstairs if you know what I mean."

Vader snapped his attention to Siri, opening his mouth to speak, when she abruptly stomped on his foot. The Imperial cringed.

Obi-Wan stared at his wife as well. _Brother? Sheev?_

The Twi'lek's features softened and she gazed at Vader sympathetically. "Oh you poor sweetheart; today must have been harrowing."

Vader's expression grew sour.

"I'm afraid I can only give one room per family, and this building used to be a dorm for the local university, so it'll be cramped," the Twi'lek sighed.

"We appreciate anything you could provide," Obi-Wan assured her. "It won't be a problem."

The woman smiled. "All right. I'll write down your names and we'll sort out the proper paperwork as things settle. I'll get you keys to the room and access to the building. It's going to be Sohjon, at the top of the hill, on the second floor."

As the woman got the necessary items ready, Obi-Wan turned away to speak privately to his wife. "What was that all about?"

"Well what was I supposed to say?" Siri countered. "He's just some random guy tagging along? He had to be family or they would put us in separate areas, and we _can't_ lose track of him. I wasn't expecting to be crammed into a _dorm room_ with him."

As the two conversed, Vader shuffled towards the woman and spoke with her, and she looked worriedly at Siri and nodded. Obi-Wan noticed the action and Siri, in turn, yanked the Imperial back over to them.

"What did you tell her?" she hissed.

"I said you were pregnant and needed an obstetrician to look you over," Vader answered. "She said they have one on call for this area and she can drop by tomorrow morning."

The two Jedi looked at each other uncertainly. "You called an OB?"

"I don't know how to deal with… _that_." Vader motioned towards Siri's abdominal area.

"How did you know I was pregnant?" Siri asked, and the Force knotted with worry.

"I sensed the youngling a few days ago."

"Even other _Jedi_ don't sense it," Siri argued.

Vader remained silent, and the Twi'lek woman cleared her throat. "I have your room keys. This code cylinder will get you into the building and your room, 277."

"Thank you," Obi-Wan acknowledged, taking the cylinders from her. Glancing at a map also provided with the code cylinders, he saw that the six buildings were arranged in two rows of three, each at a higher elevation on the hill than the next. Theirs was the top left. Ignoring his trembling muscles, he led his wife and _brother_ to their temporary home. It shared the same dull reddish color as the rest of the rectangular buildings, with dark blue doors leading inside. A quick flash of his code cylinder unlocked it, and they entered a small stairway, climbing to the second floor. Once they entered the correct area, Obi-Wan saw a long narrow carpeted hallway flanked with two decently sized lounges. The hall's walls were entirely taken up with doors leading to different rooms and one door in the center leading to a shared refresher.

"This one's ours," Siri said tiredly, opening the correct door. The room inside was square in shape, had the same carpet, and a single loft bed. A sleeping mat was rolled up in the corner where a desk had probably once been. The only other notable aspect was a dresser in the opposite corner and a window on the back wall with a pleasant view of the entire dorm area.

Siri looked bleakly at the bed. "Well this'll be comfortable."

"No worse than the bunks on the _Beauty_," Obi-Wan sighed, taking the opportunity to prod the Fore and search for their friend, but it they were either too far or… they were too far. And there were too many people.

Siri grunted in acknowledgement and rubbed her face again. "I can't believe this."

"Trust the Force," Obi-Wan tried to advise her reassuringly. It was the best thing he himself could do at this point. Patience was their friend right now, and honestly, he was too exhausted to ponder much more on the matter. "It's gotten us this far."

"How many people died today?" Siri asked quietly.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, unable to answer and unwilling to guess.

"Come on," Siri eventually said, pushing passed the matter. "Let me look at your back and then let's get some sleep."

Sighing, Obi-Wan complied, sitting on the floor and taking off his tunic. As Siri cleaned his wound to the best of his ability, his haggard mind registered that someone in their party was missing. Before he could ask, Siri sensed his realization and also looked around, but their question was answered when Obi-Wan sensed Vader just outside the room. Standing, he exited into the hallway and saw Vader staring out the large windows in the lounge.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Keeping watch."

"Are you expecting trouble?"

Vader looked at him pointedly. "You're not?"

"You said this was our best option," Siri pointed out, her exhaustion wearing her patience thin.

"That doesn't eliminate the possibility of trouble."

Obi-Wan was remiss to argue, particularly since the young man had a point. "You can keep watch in the dorm room."

"This provides a better view."

Siri and Obi-Wan both bit their lips in exasperation, but before Siri could say anything, Obi-Wan grasped her hand. _Let it go_.

She looked at him warily. _And if he leaves…?_

Obi-Wan blew out a breath. "Don't leave the building."

Vader didn't acknowledge him, simply gazing out the window, bathed in the light of the sunset.

The Jedi duo gave up on the matter, finally worn out. Obi-Wan trusted the man enough to leave it at that… or at the very least he trusted his own senses enough to detect if Vader left. They reentered their room and climbed into bed, which was surprisingly spacious for the two of them.

"You don't think he'll try anything?" Siri asked, her eyes closed.

"Why would he after what he did today? You do realize this is the _fourth_ time he's saved us, right?"

Siri opened her eyes, her brow furrowing. "This situation would be a whole lot easier if we could understand his motivation behind all this. He's still a loose turbolaser."

"I know," Obi-Wan acknowledged. "But at this point… I think he's more of a danger to himself than us."

"And _others_, apparently."

Obi-Wan felt his gut clench with guilt at the thought of the commotion Vader had started today for their sake. _For their sake_. Siri was right; they really needed to figure out the man's motivation.

Or, more accurately, _Vader himself_ needed to figure out his motivation.

* * *

Tarkin paced his quarters, agitated. He'd received reports from Hoth, and it left him more irritated than before. The Rebel base had been destroyed, their forces scattered, their resources depleted… but they hadn't been entirely eliminated. On top of that, Intelligence had just informed him that Rhaegon's foothold in his oversector had increased since a good amount of Imperial forces went to Hoth for the attack.

And he'd heard nothing from his spy.

Had she been killed? It would be a pity; she was his most useful operative apart from Vader. More importantly, she was his means to _finding_ Vader – if she was gone…

Blast it all, he needed _answers_. He couldn't maintain this uncertainty for much longer. Either the senate would demand an explanation about Vader or he would have to come up with a possibly false conclusion and assume the throne. Not that the latter option was a bad one, but…

He was running out of time. That was all. If he didn't have a verdict on Vader soon… he would have to make one.

"Blast it all, _find_ him," Tarkin muttered, squeezing his comlink as if he were talking to his spy.

_Find him._

* * *

**The reverse thruster method to change one's orbit is called a Hohmann Transfer maneuever.  
**

**Next chapter won't be up for a while, still have exams to contend with, but the title is _Breakout_, so I'm sure you can come to your own conclusions. :)**


	47. Breakout

**So. This chapter is _slightly_ long. But you guys seem to like long chapters and I couldn't find a good way to divide it up, so here it is. (I really need to learn how to be succinct ugh). Also, please forgive any typos, I'm sure I missed some. On the plus side, if you felt like the pacing had been sluggish, that is definitely no longer the case. Enjoy!  
**

* * *

_Darth Vader isn't here_.

Obi-Wan's eyes opened in an instant. The room felt unusually warm, his heart beat quickly as if he'd just run a kilometer, and his head ached. Slightly dazed by his abrupt transition to wakefulness, he blinked several times and gazed at his wife. Siri furrowed her brow in her sleep, sensing her husband's distress, but was too exhausted to be bothered by it just yet. Obi-Wan quickly took a deep breath to calm himself. Where had all that come from?

_Darth Vader isn't here_.

The thought went through his mind once more, and then its meaning finally registered.

Eyes widening, Obi-Wan slipped out of the bed, hopping lightly onto the ground and ignoring his aching back. The sleep mat that would have served as Vader's bed was still rolled neatly in the corner, and the young man's presence in the Force was practically nonexistent. Hastily putting some boots on, Obi-Wan threw a robe over himself and exited the dorm. The lounge was empty, confirming what he essentially already knew at that point.

"_Blast,"_ he muttered, gazing around helplessly.

Obi-Wan spent the next minute or so wandering the entire building, wondering if somehow he could figure out where Vader might be. Where could he have vanished off to? Obi-Wan had little worry over him meeting with Imperials; it was fairly obvious he didn't care about rejoining the Empire. He'd killed stormtroopers for heaven's sake. So where would he go? He wasn't in danger, was he?

When Obi-Wan eventually started to calm his thoughts, he tried sitting in the lounge and meditating, focusing on finding Vader through the Force. He'd meditated a few times in the early hours of the morning on Hoth and had appreciated the sense of peace from being surrounded by those whose minds were at ease with slumber, and this time was no different; it also made it far easier to find the one relatively close mind that was _not_ at peace in the slightest.

_There you are. _Opening his eyes, Obi-Wan hastily made his way outside. The morning was muggy, dew clinging to the grass as the sun started to blearily pierce through the haze that had settled in the night. Obi-Wan could barely see the next building, but the Force burned through the fog, immediately pointing the way to his target.

Even at a distance, he could see Vader was slouched and dragging his feet. The differences in the Force were far subtler, but Obi-Wan had been around the young man enough to start to notice them. His usual ice cold demeanor, like frigid air on a breezeless night, fluctuated a little, making Obi-Wan's head throb one moment and his stomach clench in the next. As Vader drew nearer he tried to close his mind off, and the air was sucked out of Obi-Wan's lungs, but he took a deep breath and immediately got to the point. "I told you _not_ to leave the building."

Whether Vader heard him or not was unclear, but the Sith did pause, indicating it was likely. However, he didn't comment. Instead, his hands fiddled with his trousers, and he simply watched Obi-Wan tiredly.

"Why are you doing this to yourself?" Obi-Wan asked, exasperated, confused, and weary all at once. _Obi-Wan_ was pretty certain he knew the answer, but did Vader himself know? He knew Vader probably couldn't answer him, but he at least wanted to try and pose the question so the man might actually _consider_ it.

Predictably, Vader said nothing. Unpredictably, he sank to his knees right in front of Obi-Wan. Startled, the Jedi stepped toward him before hesitating.

"Walking isn't working," Vader remarked dully, staring at the dew.

What did walking have to do with any of this, anyway?

And then it hit him. Coping. It was a coping mechanism. With as many _issues_ as Vader had, it was no doubt he probably had plenty of those.

Filled with uncertainty, Obi-Wan simply watched the young man. He was no master of reassurances, after all. But he supposed he couldn't just leave him sitting here moping… especially when he noted the scrapes on the man's hands. "Where did you get those?"

Vader was mute. Obi-Wan sighed heavily. Taking a deep breath, the Jedi slowly knelt in front of the Sith. "Look at me."

The young man did as he was told, hollow eyes gazing into Obi-Wan's. Seeing the amount of confusion and despair in them made the Jedi tremble for a moment.

"You can't keep doing this," Obi-Wan said softly, grabbing the young man's wrists and turning his hands so his palms faced upward. They were caked with dry blood and slightly swollen.

Vader's gaze went down to his hands, and he tried to pull them away. Obi-Wan held tighter, making the young man glance at him in confusion.

"You _don't have_ to keep doing this," Obi-Wan continued, trying to figure out what he himself was saying let alone what he wanted to convey to Vader. He didn't see a need for the boy to keep wallowing in despair like this. It wouldn't do him any good. It wouldn't do _any_ of them any good. But with as much as Vader had been through, would simply saying that really help? That's all he wanted to do. He just wanted to help.

"Neither of them would want this," Obi-Wan remarked, locking eyes with Vader once more. "They wouldn't want you hurting yourself."

"I didn't _hurt_ myself," Vader snapped, finally yanking his hands out of Obi-Wan's grip, causing his palms to start bleeding again. "You don't know what he would want."

"I know what _Padmé_ would want," Obi-Wan said, his voice growing firmer as his frustration grew. How in the blazes had Padmé not lost her mind on Varykino with as _stubborn_ as this boy was?

Hearing her name made Vader flinch, and he shot to his feet. Obi-Wan slowly stood, mildly wondering to himself why he wasn't more nervous about the Sith's rattled state. Perhaps he was just used to the man's mood swings now.

They stood in silence for a long time. Force only knew what Vader was contemplating, but Obi-Wan was wondering how he would convince the young man to come inside, get his hands bandaged, and _go to bed._ It had probably been a few days since he'd slept without being drugged. Perhaps even weeks. How long had it been since Palpatine's death? Obi-Wan didn't even know anymore. It felt like a lifetime ago by now.

Mentioning Padmé seemed a helpful tactic, so he employed it once more. "She wouldn't want you to be hurt. Come inside and let me clean your hands up."

Vader hesitated, swallowing. His eyes were wide, his face pale. The Force fluttered, the ice cracking and floating at the surface of an angry ocean. Obi-Wan steadied himself, and as he focused, he could sense Vader calming as well.

"Could you do it?"

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, surprised the man had even spoken and confused about his question. "Of course I can clean them. It's not the first time I've had to treat one of your wounds."

The Force rippled more violently, and Vader's brow furrowed. _"Could you do it?"_

This didn't have to do with his hands. "Vader, what are you talking about?"

"You've… you're better. Moved on. Unaffected. You could do it."

_What?_ "I could do what?"

"You could kill her."

Obi-Wan felt his jaw drop. _"What?"_

"Just _look _at you!" Vader motioned sharply in his direction, starting to pace. "You can talk about it like it's nothing—you can talk about _her_ like it doesn't matter that someone you love is _dead_! Like it doesn't matter that a part of your _being_ is _gone_, that your reason for _existence—_"

He froze, panting for air. Obi-Wan stared at him. Vader's words cut deep into the Jedi, and he felt an old wound trying to reopen. He slammed down on any thoughts or emotions that tried to tear out of him. His mouth became a thin line. Vader seemed to detect the distinct change in his demeanor, and he turned away.

"You apologized for killing her," Obi-Wan said curtly. "That would imply that you knew it _hurt_. That would imply that you knew it _did_ affect me. What sort of assumption led you to think I _don't care_ about my own _sister_?"

The Sith Lord said nothing, balling his fists. Blood dripped lazily from his fingers.

"You're selfish," Obi-Wan remarked, his tone growing even sharper. "You don't understand anything outside of your own little world, outside of your _training_. You're incapable of thinking beyond your upbringing, and it's limiting you, _destroying_ you. Don't you _dare_ pretend to know how the rest of us think, how the rest of us _feel_."

The Force snapped, and Vader whirled around, his face flushing. "I understand how the world works—it's _you_ who does not. Duty and obedience dictate everything, power and efficiency are what prove one's worth."

"So you're worthless, then?" Obi-Wan surmised darkly. "You failed your master, therefore proving that you are utterly useless."

In an instant all the color drained from Vader's face. Obi-Wan felt his chest clench, and he was immediately filled with regret. The Sith Lord took two hasty steps away.

"Vader—" Obi-Wan called to stop him, reaching a hand out.

The young man shook his head, taking another step away from him. His words had cut straight to his core, likely echoing his own thoughts. Obi-Wan grew slightly alarmed and took a hasty step towards the Sith, ignoring his retreat and grabbing his wrist.

"I'm sorry," he whispered sincerely. "I—I'm sorry. Her death does affect me. I try to move on, but sometimes my emotions still get the best of me. It's something I'm still working on. We all have moments of weakness, moments where we snap and say things we don't mean to. You're not worthless, Vader."

Darth Vader continued to watch him with slightly wide eyes, his body tense and his brow furrowed. He swallowed, but the color didn't return to his cheeks. Obi-Wan felt sick through the Force, empty and hurt and twisted in a million different directions. He felt lost.

Taking a deep breath he let it all go. "You're not worthless. You never will be. Padmé believed that and so do I."

The Force rippled, and Obi-Wan felt the ice in his soul melt a little. He closed his eyes and pulled Vader slightly closer, opening them and smiling reassuringly. "Come. Let's walk."

The Sith's forehead creased as he drew his brows together in hesitancy and mild bewilderment. Obi-Wan didn't bother to explain himself. He just followed the Force's gentle pull, and he knew that walking was what seemed to help the man. Pity and compassion motivated him, understanding made him care about the boy, and Obi-Wan felt incredibly guilty for hurting Vader, for practically agreeing with the man's own inner demons.

The pair walked in silence, stepping softly in the dewy courtyards between the buildings. The moisture clung to Obi-Wan, but it wasn't hot enough to be uncomfortable yet. Darth Vader was silent, and the Force still felt tumultuous, but as they continued it grew steadily hazier, even dull. Vader's mind started to blend with the others, losing focus. Obi-Wan wasn't sure if that was how he normally was on his walks, but it at least seemed better than how he'd been just moments prior. Obi-Wan himself was simply trying to focus on what he would do next and how he would juggle hiding from the Empire with taking care of Vader with taking care of Siri with trying to get back to the Alliance. He was still debating whether he _should_ try to get back to the Alliance.

The Alliance had said they'd give him a week to get information or they would kill Vader. Obi-Wan tensed slightly just thinking about it. No, he wouldn't have that. But he wasn't going to interrogate Vader. This wasn't about that anymore. But how could he still aid the cause, still fight the Empire, if his desire to care for the young lost Sith contradicted with his duty to help the Rebels?

_Duty and obedience dictate everything_. Obi-Wan nearly scoffed just listening to the boy's words in his mind. If that were the case, Vader was as good as dead. As if the Jedi Padawan would sink to that level, as if he would put a false sense of obligation before someone's life. Obi-Wan had joined the Alliance to help eliminate the disease that was the Empire; he'd instinctively known the galaxy was suffocating under the hold of the Dark Side. But the emperor was now dead, and the only practitioner of the Dark Side and all around _threat _to the Rebels was with him now and needed _help_, not harm. Would the Jedi call this an attachment? Was his concern for Vader blinding him to the bigger picture? Perhaps… but the alternative was no better; attempting to interrogate Vader would yield no result, and then the boy would die at the end of the week.

Eventually the haze started to lift, the Force lit up with conscious beings, and the heat started to get stifling. Obi-Wan paused, and he had to stop Vader from continuing to walk away from him. "Come on. Let's go inside."

The Sith didn't argue, his presence in the Force still muted, and the two made their way back to their temporary residence. As they entered from the opposite side Obi-Wan had originally exited, they reached their floor on the other end of the hall. The hall was flanked by two lounges, but the one that was farther from them had a HoloNet receiver, making it far more traveled than the one closer to them. As they entered the hall from the stairway, the HoloNet receiver was on the news and the lounge was filled with the residents. Obi-Wan sensed Siri and saw her standing in the back, her arms crossed. She locked eyes with him and her gaze shifted to Vader before looking back at Obi-Wan questioningly. _What happened?_

Obi-Wan smiled. _Don't worry about it_.

His wife raised an eyebrow, but didn't argue, resuming her original position. Obi-Wan guided Vader down the hall, passing a few neighbors along the way, before finally reaching their own room on the right. He slowed as they approached the door, noticing a blue skinned Nautolan woman standing just in front of it looking like she was about to knock.

"Can I help you?" Obi-Wan asked, prodding the Force suspiciously, but he felt nothing threatening.

The Nautolan jumped. "Oh! Are you Ben Kenobi?"

"Yes," he answered, his body tensing slightly, but he noted that Vader didn't seem bothered by the stranger, and he took some comfort in that; if the Sith Lord had detected a threat he would have acted on it by now, whether Obi-Wan liked it or not. He'd learned _that_ much about the man, at least.

"I'm Dr. Alinep, the obstetrician you requested," she introduced herself with a nod of her head and a small, tired smile.

_Oh_. Most of his suspicion melted, and Obi-Wan bowed in greeting. "Thank you for coming. My wife is in the lounge at the moment; if you're willing to wait I'll send her over, but I will be a little delayed in returning. I have to take care of—of Sheev first."

Blast it was strange calling Vader that. And it just felt _wrong_ – Obi-Wan wasn't sure if Siri had been trying to insult Vader or make him feel a little better by giving him his master's name as an alias.

The physician's large eyes seemed to focus on Vader, and she immediately noticed his hands. "What happened? I can help clean up his hands if you like."

"I don't require assistance." Vader immediately said, his tone cold. His face grew stony, and the Force froze. He wouldn't show weakness in front of someone he didn't know. Obi-Wan had the general idea that Vader wasn't in the habit of showing weakness to anyone, really – he supposed it was a compliment, then, that the Sith would be so unsure around him.

"I appreciate the offer, but I wouldn't want to waste your time with something so trivial," Obi-Wan brushed her off, turning towards the lounge once more. He wouldn't leave the doctor and Vader alone together, so it was better to just bring him along to retrieve Siri. "Just give me a moment."

Heading back to the lounge, Obi-Wan motioned to Siri, who walked over to them.

"I was just seeing what the news had to say about yesterday's fiasco," she muttered, throwing Vader a pointed look before returning her attention to her husband. "Looks like they think it was just due to unrest, but it's got people on edge and the Imperial forces aren't very happy, either. I didn't expect there to be much of an Imperial presence here, though – this place is a refugee center for those who want to get _away_ from the Empire."

"It's hard to find a place where there aren't Imperials," Obi-Wan remarked in response. "With as many refugees as this planet gets on a daily basis, it's fairly easy to hide from the Empire even if there are stormtroopers patrolling the streets. Besides, there aren't many of them from what I saw. In either case, there's an obstetrician waiting to look you over."

Siri blinked, having forgotten about the request for a doctor. Then she sighed and looked at Vader. "Aren't they going to want medical records? This isn't a good idea."

"It's a refugee center, Siri, and they already know we were unable to get our paperwork," Obi-Wan pointed out. "It'll be fine."

Siri smirked. "You're agreeing with our local lunatic?"

Vader stiffened at the title bestowed upon him. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, somewhat amused, and only tipped his head in response with a smile. The trio silently returned to the other end of the hall and Siri and the physician introduced themselves as Obi-Wan unlocked the door and let Siri and Dr. Alinep enter first. He then took Vader to the shared refresher and watched the Sith rinse his hands with warm water before toweling it dry. He supposed he could ask the physician for some bacta, at least.

As the two returned to the room, Obi-Wan saw Siri sitting on the bed talking to the doctor, having apparently finished the imaging. Vader followed him like a shadow, silent, poised, and looking almost normal if it weren't for the occasional twitch of his hands or facial muscles.

"Ben, she was just telling me why she's on Ferrasco," Siri remarked, getting Obi-Wan's attention. "Apparently she's a refugee as well."

"I'm sorry to hear it," Obi-Wan sighed. "The Empire has affected far too many."

"It's all right," Dr. Alinep replied, her expression distant. "I was a different woman back then. Arrogant. I was the best in my field and I knew it, and I extorted the rich for it. It also kept me alive during the early years of the Empire. I took pride in it… until I made myself too indispensable. But in either case, I'm here now and far humbler."

"Too indispensable?" Siri asked, her curiosity piqued.

The doctor sighed. "I was called on by… by the emperor himself."

Obi-Wan and Siri nearly gawked at her. Vader stiffened. "The emperor?"

"He had a slave who was pregnant," the doctor explained. "I thought maybe she was a breeder slave, but it would be strange to call in the best obstetrician in the galaxy for that. I figured there was more to it, but I wasn't stupid enough to ask questions. I just took care of her. She was… different from anyone I'd ever met. She was filled with this indescribable sense of worth and dignity, like no matter what position she was in she would never break for anyone. I was amazed at how she could be that way when she was owned by the worst man in the galaxy. Her strength of character was… unbelievable. And she was always so kind to me.

"As the pregnancy progressed I started getting suspicious, especially when I was told to do a midichlorian count without looking at the results; they were only for the emperor. Things only got worse when the slaves looking after the mother changed constantly. I knew they weren't just switching them out—they were killing them. This baby was special. And then I overheard the conversation with—with that moff and… and I knew this was going to be my last case if I didn't find a way to get out of there."

"They were going to kill you?" Obi-Wan questioned.

The doctor nodded. "As soon as the baby was born, as soon as I made sure he was healthy, they were going to kill me. I suspect they were going to kill the mother too. The only one that seemed to matter was the child. I felt so bad for that mother. I wanted to get her out of there, but there was nothing I could do… nothing. So I just try to be as kind as she was, and I remember her. That's all I can do."

"You don't know what happened?" Siri asked.

"Oh I was there for the birth—I didn't have much of a chance to escape before that," the doctor sighed. "He was fine. Healthy, beautiful little boy. His mother's face just lit up when she saw him; I could tell he was the most amazing thing she'd ever seen. Made me feel sick to my stomach thinking what they were going to do to her. But I couldn't do anything. I just could save myself. I took some tests on the baby and said I would get the results to them in a minute. Left the baby with the insane amounts of security there and I _ran_—I ran as fast and as hard as I could. Nearly got shot for my troubles, but I got out of there, and I was living like filth for the next decade of my life before I finally started rebuilding my identity, my career, everything. I stayed in the Outer Rim, but I eventually found my way here so I could help those in similar situations. I suspect the mother's long gone, probably died that day."

Obi-Wan glanced at Vader curiously. Did he know anything about this? He probably would have been around to witness it, assuming this wasn't some sick experiment of Palpatine's. Unless…

No. No. No, no, no, no, _no_.

"Do you… do you know if the father was…?" Obi-Wan asked hesitantly, wondering if the doctor would catch his meaning since he couldn't even stomach finishing the question.

The obstetrician sighed again, her expression grim. "I suspect he was. It would explain the secrecy, the emperor's interest… everything, really."

Obi-Wan felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. He looked at Vader again. The Sith had gone completely rigid, and the Force groaned a low warning.

"What was her name?" Siri asked softly, not quite catching on to Obi-Wan's epiphany just yet.

"Shmi Skywalker," Dr. Alinep answered. "She named her boy Anakin. I can't imagine what the emperor did to him, where he is now… if he's even alive. But I pray he's alive; his mother would've wanted that."

"You don't know what she wanted," Vader snapped, and the air felt electric as he stepped towards the physician. "Finish your work and leave."

Siri stared at Vader as Obi-Wan's realization hit her, and dawning comprehension and horror colored her expression. Obi-Wan tried to catch his breath, and he pulled Vader away as he said, "Forgive him, he—gets upset easily. I'm sorry to have dredged up such terrible memories. Getting back to matters now, is the baby alright? And Mya?"

Dr. Alinep blinked, a little taken aback at Vader's action, and she faced Obi-Wan. "S-she's fine. Mya and your baby are perfectly healthy. I told her to get some rest, though, because it looks like her body's seen some stress. I gave her some multivitamins. I'll be back to check up on you in a few weeks if you're still in this area."

Obi-Wan bowed. "Thank you very much. We greatly appreciate it."

The doctor nodded, glancing once more at Vader before bidding them a good day and leaving. As the door closed behind her, the room was filled with silence.

Eventually Siri spoke first. "So that's your real name, then: Anakin."

"My name is _Darth Vader_," the Imperial immediately said, his tone sharp, but it held no threat to it. Through the Force there was an undercurrent of desperation.

"Palpatine was your father," Obi-Wan finally said, unable to _not_ state what had been screaming in his mind ever since he'd realized it. "Your _father_."

_His father!_ If Obi-Wan had known nothing else about Vader, just knowing_ that_ would explain his demented behavior and personality _completely_. This was _beyond_ sickening – it was one thing to know that a Sith Master had raised a youngling through brutality and relentless training, molding him into a weapon devoid of life and emotion—he could at least fathom that. Sith Lords were despicable. But for that child to be _his own_… it was… it was _disgusting_.

Obi-Wan thought of all the happy memories he had with his family. He wasn't even their biological son and they had raised him with such love and care. He felt physically ill just pondering what Palpatine had done. His gut filled with an ugly emotion that he rarely felt: _hatred_.

Obi-Wan exited the room, needing to _breathe_, unable to stand right beside Darth Vader and fathom that. He shouldn't have been so surprised, honestly – after everything he'd learned, it was actually a logical conclusion if one was insane enough to make the leap and assume Palpatine had ever fathered anyone.

_He was his father_. _He killed his mother._ The more Obi-Wan thought about it, the more another realization settled in… Vader knew everything. He knew Palpatine had killed his mother. And he _still_ loved him, despite that, despite _everything_.

Obi-Wan leaned against the wall, fighting another wave of nausea. It hit him all the harder now that he himself was a father. As soon as _that_ thought crossed his mind, as soon as he had the idea of doing to his unborn child and Siri what Palpatine had done to Vader and Shmi, Obi-Wan balled his fists and gritted his teeth, completely oblivious to the windows nearby steadily cracking as the Force thickened with emotion.

He was _happy_ Palpatine was dead. He couldn't be happier. If there was one person who deserved to burn in hell for all eternity, it was that monster.

His bond to Siri was searing hot. She felt the exact same way, though she was still trying to register everything. But then Obi-Wan started to breathe again, and he slowly released the tension in his body. The Force cooled, his calmness seeped into his wife and soothed her, and he recited the code in his mind. After all, there was no reason to hold onto any hatred about the matter – Palpatine was, thankfully, dead and could no longer hurt his son. All they could do now was help Vader.

Help _Anakin_. Obi-Wan knew that the first thing that would change was that man's name – he would _not_ hold onto a title bestowed upon him by that _Sith_.

In the room, Siri had come to the same resolution. "Your name _can't_ be Darth Vader anymore. We're in hiding."

"You said my alias was Sheev."

"We're changing it."

"You can't change it, it's already on record."

"People have other names. Nicknames. _Better_ names. Their _actual names_." Siri emphasized, getting off the bed and standing right in front of the young man, trembling from head to foot at the sheer amount of rage and disgust coursing through her, though her bond with Obi-Wan was steadily helping her calm herself. _"Your name is Anakin."_

"You can't do this," Vader said quietly, his voice a mix of fear and anger. "You _won't_ change my name."

"We _can_ and we _will_," Siri insisted firmly. "So get used to it, _Anakin_."

The window shattered, making Siri jump. Vader stormed out of the room, but her reflexes were fast enough now that she followed him and prevented him from leaving. The raucous caught Obi-Wan's attention, as well as a few of their immediate neighbors. A teenage Devaronian girl exited the room across from them, holding an infant as a toddler hid behind her legs, and a Cathar male exited from the room adjacent to them.

"What happened?" the Cathar asked.

"Our window broke," Siri answered, wanting to quickly diffuse the situation and get back to the original issue. "Not quite sure what happened. It was an accident of some sort."

"Is everyone okay?" he glanced around at the group.

"Yes, thank you," Siri nodded with a strained smile. She appreciated his concern but she had more pressing matters to worry about right now, particularly since Vader took her temporary distraction as an opportunity to shove passed her. Thankfully, Obi-Wan stepped in his way.

The Cathar seemed to notice the tense atmosphere, but he didn't question it, retreating to his room. The Devaronian looked more uncertain, however, but any remark she may have made was drowned out when the infant in her arms started to cry. She looked at the child in a panic, embarrassed that she was inadvertently causing an even greater raucous, and she mumbled an apology, hurrying to her room with the toddler in tow.

"What _actually_ happened?" Obi-Wan asked Siri and Vader.

Siri sighed and gave him a pointed look. _Take a guess._

"Get out of my way," Vader warned.

Siri was about to speak when Obi-Wan stepped aside. She gawked at her husband as Vader disappeared into the stairwell. "What are you doing?"

"Not starting a fight," Obi-Wan answered. "Don't push him."

"So we're going to let him throw a temper tantrum and storm off?" Siri rebutted, waving her arm to emphasize her point.

"We _all_ need to calm down," Obi-Wan said firmly. "Our emotions are influencing our actions, and the last thing we need to do is _antagonize_ him."

Siri tried to argue her point, but his words made too much sense. Biting her tongue, she sighed. Fine, she shouldn't push him. But they couldn't lose track of him either. "Are you going to follow him?"

Obi-Wan nodded. "Perhaps you can figure out how to resolve our window issue?"

Siri ran a hand through her hair somewhat exasperatedly. "Yes, I'll handle it."

Leaving his wife to that task, Obi-Wan hastened down the stairs in an attempt to keep up with Vader. He caught sight of the man making his way through a crowd of refugees who were entering the area. Picking up his pace, he caught up with him. "Anakin—"

Vader whirled on him. "I said _don't call me that_."

"Well I can't call you anything else out here," he muttered just loud enough for the young man to hear.

Vader clenched his jaw, unable to argue against that point. Instead, he lowered his own voice as well. "You don't have that right. You—you _can't_ do that. My name is _Darth Vader_, and _nothing else_."

Why was this upsetting him so much? He'd been fine with an alias earlier. Granted, it was his father's name—_his father_, his mind screamed again, and he shoved that thought away—so he probably didn't mind it, but… he knew the importance of an alias. Why was he suddenly so insistent on only being called Vader? What was actually fueling this? Was he just upset that they now knew his parentage? If that were the case, it would seem more likely that Vader would be just upset in general, not vehement about this particular subject.

"Why does this bother you so much?" Obi-Wan asked.

"It—it doesn't—I'm _fine_."

Obi-Wan stared at him. _Really?_ He wasn't sure if Vader's emotionalism was making him moronic or the man just assumed _Obi-Wan_ was dumb enough to believe him. Or he just had no other defense.

_It's all I have left_.

Obi-Wan jumped, startled by the stray thought. The voice wasn't his own, the emotion wasn't his own… but it wasn't Siri, either. Where had…? Had that been _Vader_? Had he just heard _Vader's thoughts_?

When had a _bond_ developed between them?!

Obi-Wan pushed the temporary astonishment aside and instead contemplated the words. All he had left? What did he mean? In terms of identity, remembrance, possessions?

_It's all I have left._

Palpatine. It was all he had left from Palpatine. It was all he had left of _himself_.

Obi-Wan took a small step towards him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "He gave you your training, your skills, your _life_. He gave you everything you have. But your mother gave you life too… and that name."

"She doesn't matter. She served her purpose." Vader's voice trembled here, and the Force quivered with him.

"Is that really all you can think she is? Just a means to—" Obi-Wan stopped himself, knowing what the answer would be. Of course Shmi Skywalker was just a means to an end. That's exactly what Anakin Skywalker thought he was, so why wouldn't he assume his mother was the same way?

How the blazes could he _help_ this boy?

"That doctor knows _nothing_," Vader snapped, looking elsewhere, not even noticing Obi-Wan anymore. "She—she can't know. That's—she knows nothing. Shmi did her duty. That's all."

What was he getting at? Why was he suddenly ranting about this? What assumptions was Vader accusing the doctor of? Obi-Wan thought back to the man's initial biting remark towards the poor woman, and it echoed the remark Vader had made to Obi-Wan earlier in the morning. Apparently he grew upset when others said what they thought his parents would wish for him. Obi-Wan could see how that might bother Vader when it concerned Palpatine, but why would it bother him when it concerned his mother, for whom he apparently cared little?

Unless of course that was just the issue: Vader didn't care for his mother because he'd taught himself that she hadn't cared for him.

Obi-Wan blew out a shaky breath. That was likely the issue at hand, but he wasn't sure how to resolve that at the moment. He just knew he had to find a way to calm Vader. It had steadily grown more apparent over their time together that since Vader had convinced himself he had no emotions, he also had no way of _controlling_ them when they came forth. It was so odd how the man had such an instinct for coping mechanisms like walking without even realizing why he had them. But Obi-Wan was nearly convinced now that a part of him _knew_, a part of him _realized_ that this was wrong, that his views were incorrect and self-destructive. So how could he bring that part forward without causing Vader to completely melt down?

Vader was a blunt man. Obi-Wan tried for the same tactic. "You don't know if she did or didn't care, but judging from the account of someone who had actually _interacted_ with her, it seems likely she did indeed love you. Use your mind, young one – the lies you've fed yourself over the years are just that: _lies_. You _have_ to realize that."

"Master—"

"Is _gone_," Obi-Wan emphasized. "And if he were still around, even you can't argue with the fact that he wouldn't want you wallowing in despair, tearing yourself to pieces. You have to accept the truth."

"What _is_ the truth?" Vader snapped, walking towards Obi-Wan and towering over him. "What makes you an _expert_ at it, anyway?"

"What made Palpatine an expert at it?" Obi-Wan continued calmly, knowing he would win this argument and maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to calm the boy.

He could practically hear the words _because he's Master_ trying to escape Vader's lips, but he could tell even Vader himself was starting to doubt his faith in those words. He was starting to see the lack of logic behind them, the utter childishness in them.

Vader's anger melted in a heartbeat, and he blew out a shaky breath, burying his face in his hand and swaying dangerously. Obi-Wan grabbed him by the arms and steadied him, wondering if his argument had finally reached Vader or if the Sith's mood had just shifted radically to avoid the subject.

"I… I don't…" Vader mumbled brokenly.

After repeating himself for nearly a few minutes, Obi-Wan let it go for the man's sake. "It's okay. Let's just go back. You need to rest."

Turning, Obi-Wan slowly guided the shaky young man back to their building and room. The glass had been cleaned up, and Siri had closed the blinds over the area where the window should be. Judging by the breeze the window itself was still missing. Nevertheless, Obi-Wan didn't comment; he simply guided Vader towards the bed and then backed away so the Sith wouldn't feel like he was being watched. Siri and Obi-Wan slowly inched towards the doorway as Vader climbed up to it without prompting, collapsing and passing out nearly immediately. The couple stood silently, unable to articulate how this new discovery left them feeling, though Obi-Wan was at least trying to settle the raging emotions, and his mind whirled as to how he would handle this issue when Vader awoke.

Beside him, Siri took a deep breath through her nose, releasing her emotions at last as she crossed her arms and watched Vader with soft eyes. "Palpatine was a bastard."

Obi-Wan sighed and headed towards the hall. "Yes. Yes, he was."

* * *

The familiar smell of crisp cold air filled his nostrils and made his heart clench. Éothen wasn't sure if home comforted him now or was somehow worse than Imperial Center. Sighing, he shoved the thought out of his mind. He had work to do and he was damn well going to make sure he got it done.

Entering the official residence of the warlord, Éothen immediately sought out his mother. When he found her, she was speaking to a Jedi (at least Éothen assumed he was a Jedi, given the fact that he had a lightsaber). She noticed her son's entrance, and though under normal circumstances she would simply continue her conversation and force Éothen to wait, she seemed to sense his urgency.

"Excuse me, Master Jinn," she said with a tip of her head. The Jedi bowed, waiting. His mother approached him, guiding him into a side area and whispering, "Éothen, what happened? You left for Imperial Center in such a hurry."

Éothen swallowed. It had been long enough. He could say it. "Erwyna had been investigating the nature of my fiancée's murder. She discovered… she discovered that she's still alive. We went to Imperial Center to help her learn more, but Imperial Intelligence killed… killed them all."

Dammit, why was his voice shaking? Get it together!

His mother's eyes widened as she tried to process everything she'd just heard. Before she could speak, though, he cleared his throat and continued, "She's being held prisoner on Eriadu. She made contact with a representative, who told me and Tlenden. I'm going to get her. I need your permission to assemble a team."

"Éothen…" his mother muttered, shocked, concerned, and confused all at once. Her sharp eyes examined his face, and Éothen felt all the more agitated by it. His mother wasn't necessarily a warrior; her ascension to warlord had been due to the loss of every other member of the family. Nevertheless, when it came to her son, she was aggressive, demanding, and far too perceptive, and right now, Éothen _really_ didn't need that. He just needed her to say yes.

"I need permission, Triarkka," Éothen repeated, using his mother's title to emphasize his point.

His mother clenched her jaw. He knew that look. This shouldn't even be a debate.

"Intelligence doesn't know about our involvement," he explained hastily, even angrily. Each second he lost was a missed opportunity, it increased his likelihood of failing, and he _would not_ have that. "That gives us an advantage, one that we have to _use_ – I don't know how long she'll be staying at Eriadu. I have to leave _now_."

"Eriadu is a _planet_, Éothen," his mother said tersely. "We don't have time for you to search an entire _planet_."

"The emperor regent is holding her prisoner. She must be in some place he owns." Éothen argued. Why was she fighting him on this?!

"You're expecting me to let you run off to some foreign world you know nothing about with barely enough information to find her when you're in this state of mind?" his mother crossed her arms.

"This is a _clan matter_," Éothen emphasized. He knew that would eliminate any rebuttal she had; if there was one thing that dominated all other matters, it was the clan. He knew that; he'd _grown up _with that philosophy, he'd watched it hollow out his mother and father as the war had progressed.

His mother bit her lip, obviously frustrated and worried. After a few tense moments, she sighed and looked away before eventually turning her eyes towards him once more. She stepped closer, her voice low, even threatening. "You have my permission, but _only_ under these circumstances: you will take another SpecForce team _and_ you will take a _guide_ – someone more traveled than you, someone who can get you in and out of there without being detected and without being connected to Salkende. We _do not _need the Empire breathing down our necks right now, not when we're housing half the Rebel Alliance. You do that, and you can go. But be _swift_ – bring her home, and we can focus on the issue at hand. Is that understood?"

Éothen nodded. "Yes, Triarkka."

As he turned to leave, his mother grabbed him by the shoulder and made him face her once more. Her eyes had softened, and her brow had furrowed. "I'm sorry, Éothen."

_Mother above. Don't start. Please, don't start._ He bit his tongue and nodded again, hastily retreating. He couldn't stop and allow himself to react. He still had a mission to accomplish. And his mother needn't worry – he knew exactly who would pilot him to Eriadu.

Surely that smuggler had to be _somewhere_ in this mess of Rebels now residing in Fjesky.

* * *

"Son of a Hutt…"

Al groaned, leaning back against the pilot's chair aboard his ship. _Blast_ he was hungry, on top of everything else that was bothering him; he'd spent all the money Siri had given him on parts, but now he just realized he was out of food as well.

The _Invariant Beauty_ was quiet. Too quiet. _Creepily_ quiet. It meant her engines were finally running normally, but it also indicated that he was _lacking_ three other passengers. Al swore again.

On Ferrasco all hell had broken loose. According to the local news it was possibly due to civil unrest from housing so many refugees. Al wasn't sure, and he honestly didn't care what had caused it; he'd seen plenty of hell holes, so civil unrest was nothing new to him. What he _did_ care about was the fact that the place had practically been shut down since then; he couldn't contact anyone. He'd spent all day searching with no luck, and had eventually resigned himself to buying the necessary accoutrements to repair the _Beauty_; he'd figured he could at least have the ship ready to go when he found them.

But he _still hadn't found them_. And it had been twenty-four hours. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't search an entire planet, particularly one as chaotic and packed as this one. Blast, it would take him _years_ just to sort through all the people in the _capital_ let alone the entire planet. He couldn't contact them because of the lockdown. He couldn't contact the _Alliance_ because of the lockdown.

Salkende was only a few systems away. He was in the same sector; Ferrasco was part of the Tsograda Sector.

Al swore a third time. This didn't feel right. He _couldn't_ just _leave_ them on Ferrasco, _especially_ since they had _Darth Vader_.

Darth Vader. What a _lunatic_. And Obi-Wan and Siri were _stuck_ with him. Stars, this was bad. This was _really _bad. What the blazes could he do?

Al got to his feet and paced, ignoring his growling stomach. He had no way of contacting them, and he had no means to find them. But the Rebels were only a few planets away, and they could send a team to retrieve them… if they were still around to be retrieved by the time Al got to them.

Well if that was his best option, then what was he waiting for? He couldn't waste time! But… it just felt _wrong_ leaving Ferrasco without them.

Al blew out a sigh, dragging his feet back to the pilot's chair. He wasn't leaving them; he was getting help. They needed help.

"Hang in there, guys," Al muttered as he fired up the engines.

The takeoff was thankfully smooth and the hyperspace trip short, barely half an hour. Al spent the entire time wringing his hands. He hated this. He wished he could just find them on Ferrasco himself, but he had no contacts there. His console signaled the exit from hyperspace and he saw Salkende race into view. Heading for the capital, Fjesky, Al tried not to push his ship too much after all the beating she'd taken; he'd fixed her hastily, good enough to get him where he needed to go, but also still on the brink of malfunctioning if he did too much at once. He _really_ needed to make time to just _fix her_ without worrying about a million other things.

Al quickly established contact with the spaceport and landed the _Beauty_. From here it should be straightforward. Grabbing his comlink, he input a Rebel frequency as he nearly jogged out of his ship. "Qui-Gon, it's Al, do you read me?"

"Almusian," Qui-Gon's voice was tinged with surprise and relief. "It's good to hear from you. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Al immediately answered. "I need your help. It's about Obi-Wan and Siri."

There was a pause as Qui-Gon reacted in whatever way a Jedi would react. Al wouldn't know, this was audio only, but he supposed it meant standing there, blinking, and looking generally unfazed. That seemed to be the typical Jedi thing to do. "You know what happened to them? We've had no contact from them since we left Hoth."

"They're on Ferrasco," Al explained. "I took them there because the ship was damaged. Vader's with them. I got separated from them, the place is on lockdown by the local forces, I didn't know what to do—"

"Calm yourself," Qui-Gon interrupted, though he didn't sound nearly as calm as usual, either; more like he was trying to keep up with everything Al was saying. "How long have they been on Ferrasco? Why is the planet on lockdown?"

"Somebody fired on a stormtrooper, caused a huge raucous," Al waved a dismissive hand as he neared spaceport exit and froze in place as the cold slammed into him. _Blast_, he did _not_ miss that – Firro, the capital of Ferrasco, was practically a tropical climate, and Al found himself desperately wishing he was back there right now. "It didn't have anything to do with them, but they're stuck now because of it. I got separated from them, I have no clue where they are. That was twenty-four hours ago. We need to send help, get a team together—we need to find them!"

"I know, Almusian," Qui-Gon said reassuringly. "I will assemble a few operatives."

"_Operatives?!"_ Al repeated, staring at his comlink. "They've got _Darth Vader_ with them, you need to send _Jedi_!"

"A majority of the Jedi went to the other rendezvous point, Ghanu'jivo," Qui-Gon replied. "We're still trying to account for everyone here. I cannot spare more than one or two agents."

"Why can't _you_ go?"

"I'm in charge of the Rebel cell here. I can't leave."

Al squeezed his comlink and bit back a groan of frustration. He shouldn't get angry – an agent was better than nothing. But _still_… "Fine. Fine. How do you want to do this, send them my way, or what?"

"Captain."

Al jumped, looking up to see the half-Human, half-Togruta Salkenden son of the warlord. "Uh, hey, just a second."

"This can't wait," Éothen said. His body was tense, his face dark. Something was wrong.

Like Al hadn't had enough _bad news_ already.

"I'll call you back, Qui-Gon, just please get someone to me so I can get back." Al hastily said as he cut the connection. "What's the matter?"

"We require your assistance," Éothen stated bluntly as Salkenden soldiers walked up behind him.

Al shifted uncomfortably. "My assistance? Look, I've got a situation—"

"The Rebel Alliance is here on my world. The warlord is providing help, we are _protecting_ you." Éothen interrupted, his voice lowering. It wasn't quite a threat, but it was certainly a stern reminder. Al felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. "All I ask is you help us in return. It's an emergency, and I'm fairly certain you're invested in this mission as well."

"Mission?" What was he talking about?

"May we speak privately aboard your ship?"

Al sighed. "Quickly."

The group returned to the _Beauty_ and Al reluctantly let Éothen aboard, though he requested the troops stay outside; he didn't need an entourage, and he still wasn't sure he'd have time to deal with whatever _issue_ the man had.

Éothen turned to face him. "Padmé's alive."

Al stared at him. Then he opened his mouth. Then he furrowed his brow. Then he said, "Is this some kind of a sick joke?"

"She's alive," Éothen repeated. "Believe it. We need to rescue her. She's being held on Eriadu by the emperor regent."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, _whoa_, _wait_." Al took a step away as if to breathe some air that wasn't infested with such _insane_ ideas. "First, _you_ of all people should know she's dead, _you attended her funeral_. Second, how the hell would you even know all this? And, and—have you _completely_ lost your mind? The Rebel Alliance is fleeing from the Empire, Darth Vader's on the loose in Imperial territory, I have better things to—are you _insane_?"

A very, _very_ tiny part of Al supposed he shouldn't be so rude to someone of such high stature on whom the Alliance was depending, but the idea of using Padmé as some sort of joke was infuriating and sickening. And Al had _far_ too many other concerns to put up with this guy getting hysterical over heaven only knew what.

"It isn't a joke. I'm not lying. She _is_ alive, and you _will_ help us." Éothen said, his voice growing even darker, his orange-brown complexion flushing in frustration.

"Really?" Al started to pace. "So we all hallucinated what happened?"

"The Empire set her up, they set us _all_ up!" Éothen finally snapped. "I lost my team just _learning_ about this!"

Al stared at him. And stared. And _stared_.

No. _Hell_ no. This… what? _What?_ But… _why_? _How?_ She… she was…

_Padmé's alive?!_

"How did you…?" Al tried to ask, but he still wasn't sure his brain would register the simple fact that Padmé Amidala was somehow _not dead_. Images of that night flashed through his mind, the cacophony of sounds and panic and his head throbbing and Qui-Gon's somber expression. _Qui-Gon_ thought she was dead – surely a _Jedi _couldn't be wrong about that, right?

"My second-in-command, Erwyna," Éothen said, his voice suddenly quiet. "She investigated the matter."

And it clicked. Lt. Erwyna had asked Al about Padmé's murder, about who she could contact to learn more. That had been _ages_ ago, hadn't it? It had been immediately after Vader's capture, after Palpatine's death. Al hadn't really thought anything of it.

_Holy stars above_. She… _she_…

Al shook his head, unable to speak, gaping at the man.

"We need to leave _now_," Éothen stressed. "I don't know how much longer she'll be held there."

There? There? Where? What? They were—_what_? "We're—we're rescuing her?"

"_Yes,"_ Éothen said, exasperated. "Let's _go_. I'm bringing my troops aboard. Set a course for Eriadu."

Padmé. They were—they were _rescuing_ Padmé. Because she _wasn't dead_. She—she—

Al shook his head and backed away even further. _Think, blast it, think!_ "Right. Right. I'll… I'll do that."

The more he moved, the more his thoughts started to congeal into something half sane. As Al heard Éothen's soldiers walk up the ramp, as he sat in the pilot's chair in the cockpit, he recognized he was out of breath and his heart was racing. He heard the thought _Padmé's not dead_ over and over and it _really_ started to sink in.

They'd… they'd thought she was _dead_. Why wasn't she dead? Why hadn't Qui-Gon sensed it? What was _Tarkin_ doing to her? Obi-Wan and Siri… oh heaven. Obi-Wan and Siri.

_Obi-Wan and Siri._

_Darth Vader_.

Al gasped, his hands trembling.

"We're all aboard, let's go." Éothen said from the lounge.

Go. Go. They needed to go. They needed to go _now_. Al jumped, grabbing the steering yoke and flinching when the ship didn't respond. Of course it wouldn't; he'd shut everything off. _Think, blast it, one thing at a time_…

Turning the engines on, Al waited for what felt like an eternity as each second steadily made him more frantic. _Come on, power up!_

As soon as the engines were humming, Al immediately lifted the _Beauty_ into the air. They exited the atmosphere in a heartbeat, and his fingers moved so quickly over the keyboard that he mistyped the coordinates for Eriadu at least three times before stopping, breathing, and slowly entering in the correct ones. Then he activated the hyperdrive, and the _Beauty_ disappeared from the Salkenden sky.

_We're coming, Padmé. We're coming._

* * *

"You're doing it wrong."

Siri huffed. "I am _not_, thank you very much."

"Siri, that _isn't_ how you cook that."

"Since when did _you_ become a master chef?" Siri shot back with a raised eyebrow.

Obi-Wan sighed. The couple stood in the kitchen that was shared by their entire building. After ensuring Vader had gone to bed, the two had decided a walk would help clear their minds, and hunger had quickly necessitated a trip to the market. Obi-Wan thankfully still had some money, and the two managed to buy some snacks and enough food to make a decent meal for themselves.

"You're not supposed to fry them," Obi-Wan insisted, trying to push past his wife and grab the bowl filled with raw meat and spices in her hands. "You need to roll it up into balls and put it in the _oven_."

Siri dodged his attempt. "I'm not _frying_ these, you shaak, I'm frying the _vegetables_."

Obi-Wan gazed at her in mild horror. "Siri the last time you tried to sauté vegetables you nearly burned the kitchen down."

His wife gave him a dirty look. "I'll admit stews are my specialty, but I thought of the meal so _I_ am going to cook it."

"Do bear in mind that finding another residence will be difficult."

"I'm not burning the blasted building down!"

Obi-Wan sighed, giving up. Sitting at the only small table in the tiny kitchen, he watched his wife prepare the food before turning his attention elsewhere. He still wondered where Al was and if he was okay, but he didn't dwell on it for too long; worrying about that wouldn't do him any good in this situation, not unless he could actually do something to help find Al. He tried directing his thoughts elsewhere, and his stomach churned uncomfortably when he thought of the people who were injured or—gods forbid—killed by Vader's escapade yesterday morning. Perhaps he shouldn't think about that, either.

Of course then there was the unavoidable train of thought about Vader himself. Obi-Wan shook off a shudder. No. He'd thought enough about _that_.

"Hey, you remember how much muuka leaf I'm supposed to put in this?"

Looking at his wife, he shrugged. "Mother was liberal with the spices."

Siri sighed, muttering about how that wasn't entirely helpful. Obi-Wan smiled and watched her work. She was trying to cook a Naberrie favorite, consisting of meat rolled into balls, baked, and served on soft, fresh spiced bread with vegetables. Just smelling it made Obi-Wan reminisce about his younger years on Naboo, and he felt his heart ache, but he pushed past the pain and enjoyed the happiness the memories brought; it had been long enough, the time for mourning was gone. Besides, they had enough matters to worry about.

…Such as that smell of something burning. "Siri, how long has that been cooking?"

"It hasn't been _that_ long," Siri remarked, crossing her arms somewhat irritably. "You have such little faith in me, Obi-Wan."

"I still have a distinct memory of seeing _flames_ from the frying pan the last time you cooked something."

"I _misunderstood_ your request last time."

"How can you misunderstand _please sauté the vegetables for me_?"

"I thought you wanted me to just put it on the stove, not mind it too!"

Obi-Wan sighed heavily.

Eventually the dinner was prepared, but the small kitchen was in high demand by other residents, so the couple opted for eating in the lounge on their floor. It was right by their room, and they didn't want to disturb Vader, so it seemed ideal.

It also happened to receive a bit of attention; the Devaronian teenager who lived just across from their room wandered out, carrying the infant from earlier and followed by the toddler who had accompanied her. Another youngling, a girl, was also with them.

Obi-Wan smiled kindly. "Hello there."

The teenager grinned shyly. "Hi. That smells _really_ good."

When the couple simply smiled politely in return, unsure if the girl was asking for some or just making a remark, she shifted awkwardly. "Sorry. My—my name's Isona. I just… wanted to say hi."

Obi-Wan looked the girl over. She appeared relatively healthy, if a bit undernourished, and most certainly exhausted. An empty echo emitted from her in the Force, and, though he'd never actively sensed it before, Obi-Wan recognized it for loneliness.

"Isona's a pretty name," Siri remarked. "Who's the entourage?"

Isona jumped. "Oh! This… these are my siblings. We… our parents died in an Imperial attack. I've been taking care of everyone since then."

"You brought your family to Ferrasco?" Obi-Wan asked, a little surprised.

The girl nodded. "We've been here for a few months."

"I'm so sorry about your parents," Siri said. "We've lost loved ones to the Empire as well."

The girl's face darkened. "I hate the Empire. I hate it and everyone in it."

"Hate is what made the Empire," Obi-Wan sighed. "Don't be like them. Focus on more important matters; you're doing an incredible job taking care of your family."

Isona suddenly pouted. "No I'm not. I… I don't know how to take care of—"

She cut herself off, seemingly remembering that her siblings were standing just beside her. Not that the toddler or infant would care, Obi-Wan could imagine, but he suspected she wanted to save face for her sister, who looked around seven or eight. Siri seemed to sense it too, but any remark was interrupted when the baby started to cry. Isona looked tiredly at her baby brother and tried to comfort him. Obi-Wan sensed an overwhelming amount of pity from Siri, and she stood.

"Hey, why don't you let me look after your brother for a little while, even just a few minutes," she suggested. "You look like you could use a nap. Or food. Or both."

Isona watched Siri somewhat uncertainly. It was obvious she wasn't sure leaving her baby brother in the care of a stranger was a good idea. Obi-Wan couldn't blame her. But the girl had started the conversation, obviously looking for help and attention. He didn't say anything, leaving the choice to her. Eventually she smiled. "A nap would be nice… but I couldn't. I mean… can you hold him for a few minutes? I can get some formula ready for him, and put Meeko down for _his_ nap."

The toddler looked grumpy at the prospect. Obi-Wan chuckled.

"Of course," Siri said, reaching her arms out and taking the crying child. Isona smiled gratefully and led her siblings back to their small room. Obi-Wan watched his wife start to pace around the room, trying to soothe the youngling until he could be fed. Witnessing her hold the infant and hush him softly filled Obi-Wan with warmth, and he had to smile at the sight. In a handful of months they would be doing that with their own child… though he didn't quite look forward to being awoken at unholy hours by a screaming infant. But no matter; it was part of bundle of joy, stress, and wonder.

Siri noticed his scrutiny and shrugged with a gentle smile. "Figured I'd start practicing."

Obi-Wan had to laugh at that. The Force shifted as he did so, though, and he turned his attention towards the hallway just in time to feel everything grow chilly. The door to the couple's room opened and Vader entered the hall, taking two steps to his right to enter the lounge. He gazed at Siri and the infant, sleepiness washing away from his face and being replaced by bemusement. He certainly looked far calmer than before, and Obi-Wan tested the waters with a neutral question.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked a little loudly to be heard over the baby as his cries intensified.

Vader—_Anakin_—tipped his head. Then he looked at the baby again. Obi-Wan followed his gaze and noted that Siri was having a little difficulty trying to calm the child.

"Use the Force," Vader said, noting her frustration. "You can put it to sleep."

"_It_ is a _he_, you shaak," Siri remarked, temporarily ignoring the child to give the man an exasperated look. Then she registered his words. "Wait, you can do that?"

Anakin nodded, approaching her and the youngling as if to demonstrate. "You have to be careful, though; the younger the subject, the more likely you could cause damage or put them into a coma."

Obi-Wan jolted. "A _coma_?!"

Siri immediately took three steps away from the young man, clutching the youngling close to her. "We don't need you killing any younglings, blast it! Besides, you don't put a crying baby to sleep unless you're sure nothing else is wrong; crying is how they communicate."

Vader blinked, his nose scrunching slightly, as if to say _well that's an odd way to communicate._

Wait, did Obi-Wan just…? The Jedi sighed.

"So what's he saying?" Vader asked.

"He's probably hungry," Siri remarked. "Particularly since his sister said something about food."

"So feed him."

"I don't have any formula," Siri rolled her eyes. "His sister's getting that."

"You have breasts."

Obi-Wan stared at Vader, shocked and flustered. Did he just say that?! "Anakin!"

The young man gazed at him, his features darkening for a second before innocent confusion appeared. Obi-Wan groaned and put his face in his hand. The boy's lack of tact was beyond astounding.

The bond to Siri sang with irritation. "I'm. Not. Lactating. You. Moron."

"But you're a woman."

"What do you think we do, just press a switch and it comes out?" Siri snapped. "You don't start lactating until _after_ you give birth!"

Obi-Wan groaned yet again. Were they _really_ having this discussion right now?

"Then what are nursemaids?"

"As _fascinating_ as this conversation is, surely we can discuss something _else_," Obi-Wan interrupted.

"Do you have food?" Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan's frustration melted slightly, and he glanced back at their empty plates, somewhat guilty that they hadn't made any for him. Honestly, they hadn't thought about it – they were both a little emotionally drained from recent events, and any thought concerning Darth Vader had been about his parentage, not his current needs. Obi-Wan sighed, irritated with himself for being so careless.

"We bought snacks. They're in the fridge downstairs," Siri told him. "Should be in a bag with Obi's name on it."

Vader nodded and left, heading downstairs. Once he vanished, Siri sighed audibly. "Can you _believe_ that guy? One minute he's freaking out about his name and his parents and the next he's telling me to _breastfeed_ somebody else's kid."

Obi-Wan did his best to disguise a laugh for a cough.

"At least he seems calmer," Siri remarked, gazing off into the distance. "How long before his next mood swing?"

Obi-Wan was going to comment when he realized he had addressed Vader as Anakin and the man hadn't protested. Perhaps he'd soured for a moment, but he'd brushed past it fairly quickly. Was that a sign that he'd accepted it? Or he'd just not deemed it a good time to argue the point? Glancing back at the baby once more, Obi-Wan felt nauseous, some inherent protectiveness washing over him at the thought of what had happened to that man.

The Devaronian girl reappeared with formula and an apologetic smile. "Sorry, he really doesn't stop crying when he's hungry."

Siri laughed. "I noticed. It's okay, he's just very insistent."

After handing the youngling back to the teenager, Obi-Wan and Siri watched her go to her room. The silence was broken a second later when Obi-Wan sensed Vader returning and heard the door to the stairwell opening. The young man walked into the hallway, heeding the Jedi no mind, munching on something and holding a bowl with something that suspiciously did _not_ look like any of the snacks Obi-Wan and Siri had bought.

"Is that ice cream?" Siri asked.

Anakin paused and looked up at her. Then he nodded.

"We didn't buy ice cream," Obi-Wan remarked. "Where did you get that?"

"I found it in the fridge."

Siri gawked at him. "You _stole_ somebody's ice cream?"

"It's chocolate." The young man said, as if that were self-explanatory.

"What _is_ your point?"

Anakin stared at her, his face blank. Eventually he returned his attention to his ice cream, as if remembering it would melt if he didn't hasten his efforts to inhale as much as possible.

"You can't _steal_ from someone," Siri emphasized, walking towards him.

Obi-Wan wasn't quite sure what to do. Siri was absolutely right, but he was more concerned with what had compelled Vader to steal ice cream of all things. The young man didn't do things needlessly.

"Can't implies impossibility."

"Do I _really_ need to—for Force's sake—here, let me put this in simple terms a youngling would understand: It's wrong. Don't do it."

"They won't notice a few missing scoops."

"That's not the _point_, blast it!"

Despite having stolen someone's food, Obi-Wan was pleasantly surprised to see Vader acting as close to normal as was possible for the young man. He half wondered if this was the side Padmé had seen the most of on Varykino.

Probably.

Still, they couldn't allow Anakin to run around causing mayhem wherever he pleased just because it allowed him to act somewhat normal by his standards. If they were going to be laying low, they couldn't attract attention to themselves. He needed a distraction.

Obi-Wan pondered it. Yes, a distraction, just as he'd attempted to do an eternity ago when he'd first tried establishing a rapport with Vader. It was risky, though; this area was heavily populated…

"Then what is the point?"

"The point is you're not supposed to steal."

"Why?"

Siri groaned.

"Why don't you teach us?" Obi-Wan asked.

Vader blinked. "Teach you how to steal?"

"No," Obi-Wan shook his head with a smile. "You were talking earlier about using the Force to calm a youngling. How do you do that? What other techniques do you know?"

Siri looked at him incredulously, but any argument was stopped when he gave her a pointed look. _Play along._

She sighed heavily. "Honestly, learning how to put people to sleep might be pretty useful."

Vader hesitated. The change in conversation suddenly made him uneasy. His gaze drifted between Obi-Wan and Siri, his spoon in midair between the bowl and his mouth. He seemed to be debating something, confused by something, desiring something. Emotion glittered in his eyes, his mouth became a thin line, his brow furrowed, and then he looked down at his ice cream contemplatively. It was strange seeing him debate the matter so much when he'd so willingly offered to demonstrate a technique just minutes ago.

"Why do you want to learn from me?" he eventually asked quietly.

"Well you are far more knowledgeable about using the Force than we are," Obi-Wan pointed out, watching him carefully.

"Yet you claim to be an expert on life."

He sighed. He should've known Vader wouldn't let the day's earlier events drop that easily. "I have more experience in some matters, and you have more experience in others. It isn't that uncommon, you know."

His rationale seemed to be making headway in the young man's mind, but Anakin still looked reluctant.

"What's stopping you?" Siri asked.

"Nothing. Let's go." He immediately said, heading to the stairway. Obi-Wan and Siri hastened after him, exchanging looks. _What was that all about_?

The Jedi followed Vader for what felt like an eternity as he wound them through streets, alleys, and eventually to the edge of the city. They went to an abandoned forested area that was covered from view by large rocks and trees on all sides. Obi-Wan half wondered why they didn't go to a beach; most of the outskirts of the city consisted of beaches.

Here, Anakin paused. He turned towards them, ready to speak, when he abruptly looked at the bowl of ice cream that still sat in his hand, somehow forgotten until this moment. His blue eyes twinkled as he examined the now liquefied chocolate, and his shoulders sagged minutely.

Was he _pouting_ over melted ice cream?

"We'll buy you some," Siri said before Obi-Wan could comment.

Vader's head snapped up, and he examined Siri curiously before shaking his head and plopping the bowl on the ground. Obi-Wan felt him gather the Force, but he caught his lightsaber before the man could summon it. "What are you doing?"

"You want to learn. Using your lightsabers is the most important thing you can learn right now."

"How about some Force tricks instead?" Siri suggested. _We don't want you cutting anyone to pieces, thanks._

Anakin watched them for a second, and then took a deep breath. The Force cried in warning, and Obi-Wan and Siri both jumped back to dodge what they suspected was a lunge. Instead, they were tossed into the air, tumbling in different directions. Obi-Wan immediately grew dizzy and his adrenaline surged, preventing him from thinking properly for an instant. He hit the ground hard. Leaping to his feet, he looked for his wife and found her crouching, having landed better than him.

Before either spouse could speak, Vader landed between them picking Obi-Wan up with the Force and preparing to toss him at his wife. Obi-Wan gasped and tried to concentrate on _not _floating, but that didn't seem to make a difference. Siri went directly for the Sith, trying to push him with the Force as he had just done to them, but Vader planted his feet into the ground, barely budging. Obi-Wan flailed a little bit, feeling completely helpless, but then he focused on his wife instead of Vader, calling to her through the Force. She locked eyes with him and the two instinctively knew what to do, both attempting to throw Vader with the Force. With their combined efforts they managed to knock the Sith off his feet, and Obi-Wan fell in an unceremonious heap.

Siri immediately took advantage of the moment, charging towards Vader and preparing to pin him down, but he tossed her away, though she flipped and landed on her feet. As she was twisting in the air, Obi-Wan drew his lightsaber.

Vader gave him an indignant look. "You said Force tricks."

Obi-Wan sighed heavily. "Yes, we said _teach us Force tricks,_ not _please try to kill us_."

"You two worked together to knock me down. That was good thinking. You need to continue with that. It's obvious you have some combat training, but very little Jedi training."

Obi-Wan sighed again, deactivating his blade. "Yes, Jedi training. _Do_ bear in mind that we are Jedi, and this training should therefore _not_ be tailored to Sith."

"I didn't strangle either of you. Or electrocute you. Or torture you."

Siri walked up to them, panting and brushing some dirt off her tunic. "That's a typical training session for you?"

He nodded. Obi-Wan and Siri exchanged long-suffering looks. Before they could comment, though, Anakin was on his feet once more. "You have to continue training, and I insist we use sabers. Siri will go first."

"Siri is _pregnant_," Obi-Wan emphasized, not wanting the young man to get too carried away.

"Exactly. That's why she needs to learn more than you do. No one else can protect that baby."

The Jedi paused, oddly touched by his remark. Even stranger was that Obi-Wan noticed a subtle shift that had occurred in Anakin since they'd arrived. Initially he'd been reluctant but relatively neutral to assisting them. Now he was downright eager.

He liked this.

Obi-Wan smiled to himself, taking note for later. "All right, then. Take my saber."

As he handed the hilt to Anakin, Obi-Wan was surprised to notice Siri didn't argue. Perhaps she'd seen the change as well. Obi-Wan backed away, watching as Anakin ignited the blade, his piercing blue eyes glowing in its light. They were firm, determined, but not so cold as they normally were. Siri took an opening stance, a fierce smile on her face. Her energy seemed to seep into Anakin as well, and he nearly bounced in place before charging forward. Siri parried him, though the force of his blow pushed her off balance temporarily. Anakin pressed the attack, and he started to instruct Siri as he intensified his barrage. Eventually he slammed the hilt into Siri's hand, making her flinch, and he paused as the blue blade hummed at her exposed neck. Obi-Wan took a step forward, alarmed, but Anakin pulled away.

"Again."

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, stepping away once more. He watched the two of them spar for what felt like an eternity. As more time passed, Anakin spoke even less, eventually letting the fight speak for itself. He was fast—unbelievably fast, _unnervingly_ fast. Obi-Wan shuddered at the thought of being his enemy. He was certainly glad Siri's idea on Ilum never came to pass; he wouldn't want to be fighting Vader, _killing_ Vader—

Ilum. The vision on Ilum.

Obi-Wan slowly unfolded his crossed arms, the realization slamming into him.

_You won't take my apprentice away from me!_

Obi-Wan gasped. That… had that actually been a vision? Had it already been fulfilled, then? Palpatine was dead after all. Or did it mean something more?

Well, it didn't matter what the vision said or meant. Obi-Wan would _ensure_ it meant something more. He was not going to let Anakin remain under Palpatine's control – it was beyond obvious the emperor's influence was still choking the life out of him. Obi-Wan had to find a way to stop that, a way to make Anakin _open his eyes_ and actually see the galaxy for what it really was for the first time in his life… to see _himself_ for what and _who_ he really was.

"Stop, _stop_, blast it!"

Obi-Wan snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of his wife's voice. Automatically he reached into the Force, but she wasn't hurt, just absolutely exhausted.

"We can't stop. You still have to improve."

"Running me ragged won't do anything," Siri argued, panting for air.

"Let her rest." Obi-Wan insisted, walking towards him. "I'll train with you."

Obi-Wan was nearly floored by the young man's reaction: worry flitted across his face. _Worry_. However temporary it was, something bothered Vader enough that he watched Siri with concern, but he didn't voice it; instead he sighed and tossed Obi-Wan's lightsaber back to him before the Jedi could say anything. He then summoned Siri's from her loose grip, activating it. Without saying a word, he immediately charged towards Obi-Wan, who barely had time to activate his own blade before holding it in a parry as Vader nearly brought both blades into Obi-Wan's shoulder. His back screamed in protest.

Anakin looked down on him with determined eyes. He looked like he hadn't broken a sweat training with Siri. He looked downright menacing. The Force swirled around him intensely, and Obi-Wan felt it swell as the young man prepared to push forward. Obi-Wan deactivated his blade entirely, letting himself drop to the ground as Anakin lost his balance. He dodged the blade and kicked out, and Anakin grunted as his feet made contact with the man's gut. However, it also left Obi-Wan completely vulnerable to counterattack, and Anakin's blade was at his throat in a heartbeat.

"You had the right idea," Vader remarked as he tried to regain his breath. "But you didn't follow through with it. The first rule is self-preservation. You're no good to anyone if you're dead."

"Yes, I'm fairly aware of that," Obi-Wan replied sarcastically, his voice a little strained as the blade mildly singed his skin. "Do you mind?"

Vader flicked the blade just a hair, and Obi-Wan felt his skin burn. He yelped, trying to get away from the young man, but Vader had already backed away from him.

"Hey!" Siri called out. "What the hell was that for?"

"Learn and don't make that mistake again," Vader ordered. "Now get up."

Anger and protectiveness flared over his bond with his wife, and Obi-Wan glanced at Siri to calm her. She watched him with determined eyes, not quite willing to back down.

"We appreciate you helping us," she said. "But _hurting_ Obi-Wan won't teach him anything."

Vader shot her a bemused look. "How do people learn anything?"

Obi-Wan shook off the chill that ran down his spine. "Mistakes in life can hurt emotionally as well as physically, but sometimes it doesn't take pain to learn a lesson, Anakin."

Vader snorted, raising his blade once more. His eyes burned brighter than the lightsaber itself. He was starting to itch for a fight. Obi-Wan watched him uneasily; he couldn't take the man in a real fight. Was it prudent to encourage sparring when he was like this? Attempting to diffuse the situation a little, he prodded the Force first. Anakin was filled with energy, eager to continue training, and a part of him felt… odd. Like a part of him was bleeding somehow. Obi-Wan couldn't quite pinpoint it.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

Anakin stiffened. "Don't ask that."

Obi-Wan sighed. "Don't avoid the question."

Siri watched the two men warily.

"We're here to train, nothing else," Anakin eventually said, his voice deeper than before. The Force moved ominously, but not quite threateningly. Not yet.

Obi-Wan paused a moment. He didn't used to push matters like this. He used to let people sort out their own problems, let _them_ reach out first. Padmé's murder had taught him to not be so passive. He wasn't going to ignore any issue Anakin was hiding.

"Something's bothering you," he said. "What is it?"

"You're not listening."

"That's not it." Obi-Wan crossed his arms, ignoring the stinging on his neck and back.

Vader shifted uncertainly, looking at the ground.

Then the Force snapped and he immediately sprang into action. Obi-Wan reactivated his blade fast enough to parry the attack, but it knocked him to the ground nonetheless. Siri leapt forward Force pushing Vader to the side with far more strength than Obi-Wan expected.

Vader landed neatly on his feet about a meter away, unperturbed by the attack but still flustered by something else. "You are weapons. You must think like you're weapons. You're nothing more. As soon as a fight begins, as soon as your blade comes to life, nothing exists outside of the battle. You do not pause to see if someone's _bothered_, you do not try to _talk_ to your enemy. You _kill_ them. You are _weapons_."

Obi-Wan and Siri exchanged looks once more. Sighing, Obi-Wan rose as his wife assisted him. "No. We're not. And neither are you. We're people, and so are our enemies. When a fight begins, we focus, but we never lose sight of who and what we are. Our concern is with survival, with protection, with defeating the enemy in the least damaging manner possible."

Anakin stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. "What do those Jedi _teach_ you people?"

"That isn't just Jedi philosophy, it's _my_ philosophy," Obi-Wan said firmly.

"No wonder the Rebels are losing," Vader muttered.

"We're _not_ losing," Siri countered. "Have you ever thought about why, despite all the beatings the Alliance has taken, we're still around being the biggest thorn in the Empire's side? Have you ever wondered how we managed to grow from small cells stirring up trouble for local Imperial forces to the people who managed to take down the head of the Empire? Your ideas are more flawed than ours."

Vader's eyes narrowed dangerously, the Force stirring with darkness, but Siri continued before he could jump to conclusions or react. "I'm not insulting your father. I'm saying you both underestimated us, which implies we might be doing something better than you. Surely your logic can deduce that?"

"We're saying that we fight for freedom and for life," Obi-Wan explained. "We remember our humanity and we remember the personhood of everyone around us: those we protect and those we fight."

"That doesn't make any sense." Anakin shook his head, sounding agitated.

"If that makes us weak, then why are we winning the way we are?"

"You're _not_ winning, the Empire overran Hoth."

"And yet you came with us."

"I had to."

"Why?"

"Why do you care?" he asked, the edge leaving his tone.

Siri looked at Obi-Wan confusedly, recalling his recounting of previous conversations with the young man. _Haven't you explained that to him before?_

Obi-Wan sighed. He had… to an extent. It had been far more generic, less concerned specifically with Vader himself. With _Anakin_. Perhaps he could better answer the question now, with the understanding he had about the man. "We care because you deserve a better life than the one you've lived. You deserve to _live_. And you haven't done that."

Something clicked in Anakin's mind, and he immediately grew somber. Then he sighed heavily and shook his head. "You need to train. Let's continue."

He hadn't reached him. Or somehow his words had been interpreted incorrectly. Obi-Wan wanted to try again, to insist he was sincere in wanting to help him – what ulterior motive did Vader suspect of him?

"You take things too literally," Siri sighed, walking towards Anakin. "Obi-Wan's very formal in his wording, you have to learn how to dissect it. What he's saying is he's fond of you."

Obi-Wan blanched. What—he—he hadn't—

Oh. Well, he supposed she was right.

When had _that_ happened?

"Probably due to your fairly amusing naiveté," Siri answered her husband's internal question, smirking at both men. "For heaven's sake, he was saying he was worried about you, that he wanted to look out for you… I'm tempted to start calling him Mother Bird."

Irritation flooded him. _Really, Siri?_

Anakin eyed her a little confusedly, his eyebrows knitted together slightly. Suspicion wafted through the Force, mixed with uncertainty, but the fabric of the Force itself trembled, on the edge of _something_ if they just said the right words.

But what words? What was he suspicious about? How could Obi-Wan unlock his trust? An idea struck him, but he was hesitant to enact it; he himself hadn't decided whether it was good to do, let alone good to bring up with Darth Vader of all people. Nevertheless, he felt the Force nudge him, the words wanting to spill out of him. He hesitated for a moment, still debating the matter, but something in Anakin's eyes caught his attention, filled him with some urgency that said if he didn't speak his peace now, he wouldn't have another chance.

"Anakin, we… appreciate your help. I have a question to ask you."

Anakin watched him, his expression denoting he was open to being questioned, but he still seemed guarded, like a timid animal in the edge of shadow tentatively wondering if could step forward towards a welcoming hand.

"Do you know of any good places to hide from the Empire?"

The Force shifted tumultuously, filled with alarm from Siri and utter confusion from Anakin. This was not a question either of them had been expecting.

Anakin took a small step back, his face covered partially in the shade of the trees. His eyes glittered, narrowing ever so slightly as he tensed. "I won't tell you anything."

"I'm not asking for the Rebels' sake." Obi-Wan immediately shook his head, knowing why the man was reacting in that way. "They've already found good areas. I'm asking for _us_… I'm not entirely sure we're returning to the Alliance."

_Obi, what are you doing?!_

Obi-Wan ignored his wife's thought, taking a steadying breath. "They're… uncomfortable with holding you prisoner. I don't want you getting hurt."

The Force trembled. So did Anakin. But then it closed off suddenly, jarringly. Anakin walked to Siri, his gaze fixed on Obi-Wan, his face guarded, his eyes wide, before eventually turning his attention to her.

"You have to focus on his mind. Grab the Force and calm it. Slow your heartrate, silence your thoughts, and will him to rest. The better connection you have with him, the easier it will be."

Obi-Wan and Siri both stared at him confusedly for a second before Siri caught on. Instead of asking why he abruptly had changed the subject, she read something in the young man's eyes in some strange moment of clarity and just nodded, facing Obi-Wan and reaching her hand out.

"Siri, what are you—" Obi-Wan was about to say when he was suddenly overcome with grogginess. Moaning, he collapsed to his hands and knees and tried to glare at her irritably and tell her to _not_ do that, but the forest was spinning and his eyelids were suddenly _incredibly_ heavy.

"Just like that." Anakin said, sounding far more satisfied.

Siri watched her husband, sensing his status through the Force. Despite his sudden collapse, he was healthy, just suddenly influenced by the Force to calm down. She hadn't even tried that hard; Vader must have helped as well. She looked at the young man and raised an eyebrow. This had to be the oddest conversation of her life, the oddest _situation_ of her life. She'd been tempted to push the matter, to continue the previous conversation, but she saw the instability in Vader's eyes – he couldn't take much more of that train of thought, so there was no point in lingering on the subject. Even _Siri_ could note when to stop pushing the matter.

And it was fairly amusing watching Obi-Wan basically pass out and snore on the ground.

Her heart fluttered with worry, though, at how easily she had slipped into the conversation and clarified matters for Vader. How _voluntarily_ she'd done so. She'd been arguing with him a minute ago, telling him he was wrong and the Alliance knew what they were doing, and now she was… she didn't know. All she _did_ know was that they were playing with fire. Vader was still a loose turbolaser, just not quite as reactive as before.

"Keep practicing," Vader said.

"Oh, I think he's had enough fun," Siri remarked, releasing her grip on the Force and slowly sensing Obi-Wan return to consciousness.

Groaning groggily, Obi-Wan shook his head and rubbed his eyes before glaring at both of them. "I'm glad you two are getting along so well. Perhaps next time you _won't_ conspire against me?"

Siri smiled a little shakily and helped her husband stand. They were both exhausted now, emotionally more than anything else. She wasn't very attuned to Vader through the Force, but she could fairly easily tell he felt the same way.

"Well, I've had enough training for one night," Obi-Wan sighed heavily. "Let's go back."

The Force hung heavily, and Vader's shoulders sagged while the rest of him tensed. "We should continue training."

"No," Obi-Wan said sternly before taking another breath and smiling. "We all need a break. Take your time coming back, but you'd better be there by midnight."

Siri and Vader both stared at Obi-Wan. _What?_

"You don't have walk with us, Anakin. I trust you." Obi-Wan said with a smile, offering an arm to Siri.

Siri didn't even bother trying to argue the point. They'd both said enough crazy things this evening. Sighing, she reached out to the Force, summoning her lightsaber from Vader, and then she held her husband's arm and the two departed.

Once they were far enough away from Vader, Siri broached the subject. "Why did you mention not returning to the Alliance? That had been a possibility, not a certainty."

"Siri, if we can't help him in time, the Alliance will only kill him," Obi-Wan said, gazing in the distance. "I won't let that happen."

Siri sighed. She'd been somewhat joking when she'd remarked Obi-Wan had grown fond of Vader, but she supposed it really was true. She didn't know what to make of it.

Obi-Wan's grip on her arm tightened, and she sensed amusement trickle through their bond. "You're growing fond of him too, you know."

Siri jumped. "I am _not_."

"Well, you _did_ offer to buy him ice cream."

Siri froze in place, jerking Obi-Wan's arm. "Blast it, that doesn't mean anything."

Obi-Wan smiled knowingly.

"Just shut up." Siri snapped, twisting her arm out of her husband's grip. "Let's just go buy the blasted ice cream."

* * *

Padmé sighed as she cleaned the floor in one of the sitting rooms. The longer she waited, the more anxious she got; what if Rekk somehow hadn't gotten to Tlenden, or worse, what if Tlenden did nothing about it?

How much longer would she have to wait? Should she try to make a move of her own? She couldn't risk that – her family was in too precarious a situation.

It didn't help that Lady Tarkin was growing ever more suspicious about Crix. She was asking constantly now, and Numa was running out of excuses. In fact, Padmé was fairly certain Numa was being interrogated about it once more at this very moment.

Padmé herself had searched at any available moment, but she had found neither Crix nor the teenager who had paired herself with him. She would have figured that by now they would have shown up. She couldn't even imagine what had happened. Did they escape? That was extremely unlikely given Crix's lack of hope in general. So where were they?

Sighing heavily, Padmé leaned forward slightly to relieve pressure from her knees; she'd been crouching and scrubbing the floor for the past hour. As she took a deep breath, she heard someone scream. Startled, she leapt to her feet, and her stomach clenched as she recognized Numa's voice and heard indiscernible shouts from Lady Tarkin.

What could she do? She knew that hag was torturing Numa for information now. Could Padmé fabricate some kind of story about Crix to save the poor woman? How would she back it up with evidence? Her heartrate increased as Numa screamed all the more, and she _hated_ herself for standing here, paralyzed and unable to come up with a solution.

As Padmé debated the matter, she felt odd, like something had changed in the room. Looking around, she was momentarily distracted from her panic over Numa. Darker. The room was darker. That's what was different. Why was it darker?

Numa's screaming stopped. Had Lady Tarkin finished torturing her? Padmé turned to look down the hall and somehow check on her, but when she did so, she noticed why it was darker.

The sun was eclipsed by star destroyers.

Her mouth dropping open, Padmé slowly walked towards the window, confused and filled with dread at the sight. Why were there destroyers here? There was no reason to bring a fleet to Eriadu; it was perfectly under Imperial control and was nowhere near any conflict that Padmé knew of. Or… had news of her survival reached the Rebels, and Tarkin was taking precautions? What had happened? Was her family still safe?

Feeling frantic, Padmé rushed down the hall towards the area where Numa had been screaming. She came across the woman sitting on the ground, staring outside as well. Lady Tarkin had apparently left the room.

"Are you okay?" Padmé asked, crouching down beside her.

"I'm fine," Numa shook her head. "But what's going on?"

"I don't know."

"This can't be good," Numa said worriedly. "Lady Tarkin looked terrified."

Padmé blanched. What? "Terrified? Why would she be terrified of destroyers?"

Wait… had word reached the Imperial Senate? Was this their retaliation to Tarkin's supposed treachery? Did they even have the authority to make a move like this?

A droid entered the room and tapped Padmé on the shoulder. When she turned to glance at it, confused, it held out a small box. Padmé stared at it quizzically – what was this all about? She turned to look outside once more but didn't see much activity, so she helped Numa stand and then took the box from the droid. As Numa walked slowly towards the window, Padmé opened the box.

Her shoto was inside.

Padmé stared at it, her eyes widening. Numa made some sort of remark, but it fell on deaf ears as the Twi'lek left the room. The world seemed to fade around her, swirling and growing darker as the sight of the weapon brought a million memories, emotions, and thoughts to her mind.

How had this gotten here? Who had sent it? Had Obi-Wan sent it? She had given it to him. How did he manage to get it to her? So was that Imperial fleet outside actually because of the Rebels? Had the Alliance managed to land troops on Eriadu? Were they coming to get her? What was the plan?

First things first. Taking the shoto, Padmé glanced around nervously and tiptoed to a closet, hiding herself inside. She pushed any objects away so the blade wouldn't ignite anything, and then she activated it. The distinctive _snap-hiss_ was music to her ears, wrenching forward so many feelings that she started to cry silently.

_Naboo. Varykino. Vader._

Gasping, she steadied herself and then slowly brought the blade to her neck, where it quickly sliced through the slave collar she wore. She heard it clang loudly as it fell to the floor, and she felt like she'd just had ten kilograms lifted from her shoulders. Smiling, she let out a small laugh and gazed at the blade in wonder.

Then she heard noise outside the closet, and she quickly deactivated the blade, sinking further into the tiny room. It sounded like Lady Tarkin's voice, and she did indeed sound terrified, as Numa had indicated.

"Get me in contact with the emperor regent, now! Tell him Rhaegon's fleet has arrived!"

"Milady, we can't get through; they're jamming our communications," a droid informed her.

Rhaegon? Who was Rhaegon? What was this all about? Did this actually have nothing to do with the Alliance? Who had sent the shoto, then? Or was Rhaegon a new ally of theirs?

"Get security outside, now!" the woman hissed.

Padmé bit her lip, holding her breath in an attempt to keep as quiet as possible. It was obvious there was a battle brewing, and she had to get herself and the other slaves out of there… but she couldn't move until Lady Tarkin left the room, which, after a few tense moments, she eventually did.

Exhaling quietly, Padmé slinked towards the door and slowly peeked out. The room was empty. She slipped out and snuck down the hall, running quickly but silently, trying to get to the slave quarters downstairs. As she passed another window she looked outside – what if these destroyers sent fighters? They would annihilate this place and everyone in it. Surely that wasn't their prerogative if they were with the Alliance, if they were here to rescue her.

Padmé nearly made it all the way to the slave quarters without a problem, but she ran into one of the few guards on his way outside. Gasping, she tried to hide the shoto, but he already seemed to notice she was missing her slave collar. He reached for his blaster. Padmé charged, knocking him to the ground and slamming the hilt against his forehead, leaving him unconscious. Gasping for air as her adrenaline surged, Padmé dragged the man out of the hall and into the nearest closet, pulling his comlink and holder from his wrist and slipping it onto hers. She left the channel open to listen to the chatter.

"South entrance is clear, still nothing. East is clear too. North, come in."

Silence.

"Northern entrance, is the perimeter clear?"

Padmé bit her lip. Had the guard she'd just knocked out been the northern guard? Things were about to escalate faster than she'd wanted. She ran as hard as she could, reaching the stairway that led to the slave quarters.

"Sir, we don't have contact with the norther perimeter. We're sending a team."

Padmé nearly tripped down the last few stairs as she entered the kitchen. All the slaves were there, and they turned their attention to her worriedly. Apparently Numa had gathered everyone downstairs, which had been a smart move. Padmé turned the comlink off temporarily so she could speak.

"We need to leave. Now." She immediately said. "I don't know what's going on, but it looks like Lady Tarkin is in danger, which could mean we all are."

"Leave? How the blazes are we supposed to do that?" one slave asked.

Padmé held the shoto for them to see. "I can cut through the slave collars. Then we can escape."

"What about the guards?"

"They're busy outside. Besides," Padmé explained, holding up her wrist. "I can listen in to everything they have to say."

Numa entered the kitchen from the slave quarters, having heard Padmé's voice. She nodded. "Get us out of these things."

Padmé hastened forward, putting her finger to her lips to indicate their silence as she activated the blade and then keyed the comlink on once more.

"—update on the northern perimeter?"

"I've still heard nothing. We lost contact with three more guards."

Padmé paused in cutting one of the collars. Three more? This wasn't her fault, then. Was the estate under attack? Shaking her head, she continued her work until all the slaves were free from their collars. Numa smirked and motioned for everyone to follow her.

"Sir, we've got a shuttle incoming!"

Everyone looked at each other nervously before Numa started to lead them once more. Padmé felt dread course through her, but she trembled with anticipation.

Once they reached the top of the stairs, Numa stopped abruptly. Worried, Padmé pushed her way to the front to see Lady Tarkin herself standing in front of them, looking as surprised to see them as they were to see her. However, her shock quickly morphed into rage, and Padmé noticed with great alarm that she was armed.

"You _dare_ defy me!" she shrieked, grabbing her blaster.

"Run!" Padmé shouted, charging forward and activating her shoto.

Seeing the weapon startled the woman considerably, but she still fired, though her fear made her miss. Padmé dove forward, swinging the blade, but it barely singed the woman; she hadn't adjusted to this saber's length, still used to Vader's own weapon.

Padmé shook off the memories that came with the thought – she didn't have time for that right now. Instead she took another leap forward, grunting as she swung the blade once more, and it finally landed a hit, cutting cleanly through Lady Tarkin's wrist. Padmé gasped, just as startled as Tarkin – she remembered Vader's blade slicing through people, but she'd thought it would take more force.

Lady Tarkin screamed, falling to her knees and cradling her now severed right hand. Padmé felt nauseous as the smell of burnt flesh permeated the air, but this wasn't the time to pause. Instead she backed away from the scene and ran out of the room. The slaves had long since left. She was on her own now.

"_Padmé!"_

She froze. She knew that voice. Turning, Padmé saw a Togruta-Human hybrid standing in the hall, a massive assault cannon in his hands. He eyed her with fierce determination.

"_Éothen,"_ she breathed.

Éothen's lips tightened for a moment as he took a deep breath, and then he nodded. "Let's get out of here."

Padmé deactivated the shoto and ran to him as he led the way out. "What's going on?"

"Apparently there's still a lot of Imperial infighting," Éothen explained, his sharp eyes constantly scanning the area for enemies. He paused as they reached a corner, and Padmé heard blaster fire and engines; the exit to the courtyard had to be close. "We got through the fleet, but getting back to our ship is going to be interesting if they land ground troops."

As they turned the corner, Padmé hesitated an instant as she took in the sight before her. The courtyard was dusted with light, powdery snow and dark grey rubble. A fire was beginning to spread from where some sort of grenade had blown up part of the wall, disrupting the ray shield that would normally protect the entrance. A handful of corpses littered the area. This was the northern side of the estate.

"Perillinen, we've got an Imp shuttle coming in! It's armed and likely bearing troops!" someone Padmé didn't recognize shouted from the courtyard.

Éothen nodded. "Fall back. We've got what we came for."

_Perillinen_. If Padmé wasn't mistaken, that was Éothen's title. So her rescuers were all Salkendens. Rekk had gotten to Tlenden, and Salkende had responded to her cry for help.

Padmé coughed against the smoke as the two dashed across the courtyard, reaching the perimeter quickly. She grabbed a blaster from a fallen guard as they approached a team of Salkendens that awaited them, and they quickly led the retreat into the surrounding forest as snow began to fall.

Éothen's comlink emitted static, and then a voice spoke. "Hurry up, our window of opportunity's fading fast with all these Imps around!"

Padmé felt her heart skip a beat. _"Al?!"_

A moment passed and then Al replied over the comlink. "P-Padmé?! Is—is that you?! Are you okay?!"

Padmé felt tears burn in her eyes. "Yes, _yes_, I'm fine, I'm fine! I'm okay!"

Oh how _wonderful_ it felt to say that, to tell the ones she cared about that she was _alive_. How _amazing_ it was to hear Al's voice, to know that the Alliance was waiting for her.

"We've just left the estate's perimeter, but they're landing troops," Éothen spoke into his comlink, ignoring the conversation. "You'll have to meet us before the stormtroopers catch up. They'll probably want to know why we were attacking the estate."

"Their presence helped divide security, though," another squad member noted.

"Yeah, but they're going to make escaping damn near impossible if we don't leave _now_," Éothen said through clenched teeth. "Track my signal and _get over here_."

"On it!" Al replied.

A tree nearby splintered as blaster fire slammed into it, making Padmé jump. The squad members immediately dove for cover, one of them grabbing her. Padmé grunted, slamming into the frigid dirt and scrambling to stay hidden behind a rock. The team members started to return fire upon the stormtroopers who were now chasing them. Padmé bit her lip, looking at the shoto and blaster. She had nowhere to put the shoto, dressed in servant's clothes, and so she placed it on the ground and peeked over the rock in order to get a good shot.

There was only a handful of stormtroopers right now, and they were quickly being taken out by the Salkendens, but if there were a few now, there would be a full squad soon. Padmé felt a shiver run down her spine as she took aim; despite all the things she had done for the Alliance, she'd never been in open combat with the Empire. Seeing those skull-like helmets face her down with a blaster was unsettling.

Éothen made a motion to his squad, and they nodded, one of them grabbing Padmé by the arm and whispering, "Keep going!"

Startled, Padmé didn't manage to fire the shot, but another Salkenden took the trooper down. The team formed up so that Padmé was kept in the center while the rest covered her. Éothen led the way. The sound of TIE fighters screamed through the air, and Padmé swallowed, not daring to look up. The trees at least protected them from view from above, so there was no way the Empire could tell where they were.

As the cold air scraped at her lungs, Padmé gripped the blaster and shoto firmly as another sound pierced the sky: familiar engines. The sound of freedom.

_The Invariant Beauty_.

Padmé found herself laughing in relief as she saw it hover just above the tree line. Éothen motioned towards the trees, and the team started to climb. Padmé glanced warily at the branches, wondering how she would manage to get up there while carrying all her weapons.

"Drop the blaster," Éothen said as he shouldered his assault cannon. "I'll take the shoto."

Listening to him, Padmé handed the shoto over and followed the others. She cringed as the skin on her hands slowly started to get scraped off in the endeavor, and her abdominal wound, though healed, still ached against everything that was happening. Her arms and legs felt too weak for this venture, which was likely due to being bedridden for so long. Padmé felt her entire body tremble and she grew all the more anxious as everyone else climbed higher whiel she barely held onto the first branch.

Thankfully, one of the team members noticed her plight and reached down, helping her climb. After what felt like an eternity, the _Beauty_'s lowered ramp came into view. A few of the Salkendens managed to get on and then reached out for her. Padmé grasped their hands and felt them pull her over, her feet temporarily leaving the branches and hovering in midair, making her stomach do somersaults. She gasped as she hit the landing ramp, quickly rushing into the ship.

"Everybody on?" Al shouted from the cockpit.

"Go!" Éothen ordered as he boarded last.

The ramp came up and the ship accelerated, nearly knocking everyone off their feet. Padmé crawled over to the sofa, strapping in as Éothen went to the cockpit. _Gods_ it was good to see this ship. She felt weightless with joy as she looked around the small lounge, taking in the familiar sights of the table, the long math equations written on the wall, the doorway to Al's bedroom, the cockpit, and the kitchenette… she smiled. She was _free_.

"Hang on!" Al yelled, and the ship jerked to the right, making Padmé and the others who were on the couch lunge forward. The safety straps knocked the wind out of her. The ship shuddered, and Padmé heard Al swear before throwing everyone in another direction. "Padmé, I need you up here!"

Jumping slightly at being addressed, Padmé quickly unstrapped and practically crawled to the cockpit, keeping herself low to the ground so she was less likely to fall. Éothen stood at the entrance, watching her before brushing by. His gaze looked far different than Padmé remembered, but she couldn't place what it was. She pushed the thought of her mind, though; now wasn't the time. Lunging forward, she grabbed the copilot's chair and strapped in as Éothen took her place in the lounge.

Al was gritting his teeth, muttering curses seamlessly under his breath. The viewport showed destroyers in the distance. Padmé felt her skin crawl. "What do you need, Al?"

"Man the turret in case the fighters get too close," Al ordered. "They weren't expecting anyone to escape, but that doesn't mean they can't get to us in time."

"Who are they?" Padmé asked.

"Grand Moff Rhaegon's people," Al answered. "He said Tarkin was a traitor for claiming to be emperor regent. From what I hear, almost half the Empire agrees with him. I just didn't realize he'd take Tarkin's homeworld."

"It would make quite the statement," Padmé muttered as she ensured the targeting system was functioning properly. If Rhaegon could take over Tarkin's homeworld, it would make Tarkin look incredibly weak. People would flock to Rhaegon in a heartbeat. That was good in that it took power away from Tarkin, but Padmé knew nothing about Rhaegon, so she wasn't sure it was much of an improvement.

_Blast_, there were a lot of things to keep track of. So much had changed since she'd been captured. And speaking of which…

"Is my family alright?" Padmé asked, looking at Al.

"They're fine," he said hastily as he flipped the ship in another direction, making Padmé stomach do a somersault. She clutched the console in front of her, but while her body was tense with adrenaline, her mind was singing with relief; _her family was okay_.

Al quickly input coordinates into the navicomputer and punched a button on the console. Padmé heard the hyperdrive scream to life. The stars grew long, and space faded into the kaleidoscope of hyperspace. Padmé leaned heavily into her seat, immensely relieved. Both Al and Padmé just sat there, catching their breath, before she finally looked at the Zabrak smuggler.

"It's so good to see you," she said softly, feeling tears brim in her eyes once more.

Al let out a laugh that sounded almost disbelieving. "Good? Good? Are you kidding me, Padmé? It's a _miracle_ to see you. I thought—we _all_ thought you were _dead_."

Padmé felt her chest clench at the thought of it – she couldn't imagine what her family and friends had endured. "What's happened while I was gone?"

Al laughed again, even louder. "Uh, well, a _hell of a lot_. Obi-Wan and Siri left spying behind; they're training to be Jedi now. They cut ties with Naboo entirely, haven't been home since your—your, eh, funeral…"

"They did what?" Padmé interrupted, standing. "What about my parents? My sister?"

"I don't know," Al shook his head. "I figure they're fine, though. Why wouldn't they be?"

"Tarkin said he'd kill them if I did anything," Padmé remarked, growing slightly frantic.

"Kill them? But—but I didn't—" Al stammered, looking nervous and uncertain as to what to do. "I—I don't know, Padmé. I figure Obi-Wan and Siri broke connection with them to protect them, so—so they should be fine. I mean, surely the Alliance would've noticed something was up."

"We have to go to Naboo," Padmé immediately said.

Al shook his head. "Hold on, Padmé, we can't do that right now. I haven't even told you everything that's happened yet. Besides, if Rhaegon takes over Eriadu, Tarkin won't know anything about you for a while. He can't make assumptions."

Padmé sighed heavily, slowly sitting. Al shifted, trying to figure out where he should start. "So… Obi-Wan and Siri are Jedi Padawans now. That means students, by the way. And… wait, do you know Palpatine's dead?"

Padmé smiled. "We did just discuss how Tarkin is the emperor regent."

Al blinked, and then he chuckled sheepishly, obviously frazzled. "Right. Right. Uh, so yeah, Palpatine's dead."

"And… and Vader?" Padmé asked hesitantly.

Al stiffened, and his expression was bizarre. He looked at her with some mixed form of pity, concern, and judgement. Padmé grew both confused and uneasy under his gaze.

"How could you _love_ that guy, Padmé?"

Padmé felt her heart nearly stop. What sort of question was that? How did _Al_ of all people know that she loved—she _had loved_ him? And why was he saying it when Éothen was _just outside_?

"W-what?" was all she could say, her world spinning.

"We captured Darth Vader," Al explained, and Padmé felt her eyebrows shoot to the ceiling. "We interrogated him. Obi-Wan—_Obi-Wan_ of all people had to interrogate him. He started learning more about Vader, and—and he—I mean, I don't know what to say about it, the guy's a _lunatic_, but he'd helped, and—now they're stuck on Ferrasco—"

"Al, what are you talking about? Obi-Wan interrogated Vader?" Padmé was on her feet again, feeling panicked. What had happened? Had Vader hurt Obi-Wan or vice versa?

"Vader had listened to him, kind of took orders from him," Al waved his hand, his brow furrowed as if he himself still didn't quite understand it. "Obi-Wan was the only one Vader would talk to. So the Rebels and Jedi had Obi-Wan deal with him all the time. But—but things got—got weird. I mean, Vader didn't care for anyone and almost killed Obi-Wan, but then he… I don't know. I think Obi-Wan might give him a little too much credit."

Padmé wasn't sure if she should feel hopeful or terrified. Al's wording indicated that Vader and Obi-Wan had had a rough start, but they were somehow getting along now. "Are we going to them?"

Oh how she wanted to see Obi-Wan. But she wasn't sure what she'd do if she saw Vader as well.

"No," Al sighed heavily. "The Empire attacked our base. We barely got out. I had to leave Obi-Wan, Siri, and Vader behind on Ferrasco, a refugee world. It's close to Salkende, but I can't access them right now; the planet's on lockdown."

"Lockdown? The Empire attacked? What?"

Al sighed again. "Okay, I'll just try to start from the beginning again. I just—I just need a minute to sort this out in my head."

Padmé nodded mutely, too frantic to string a coherent sentence together. Obi-Wan and Siri were with Vader alone? Were they his prisoners? Or the other way around? What were they doing on Ferrasco? Why did Al have to leave them behind? Wait, if he'd left them behind, then surely Vader hadn't been hostile, right? Or was _that_ why he'd left them behind? No, surely not, Al would never do that. But how…?

She shook her head, sitting down as her world began to spin. This was too much information at once.

As Al fought to figure out what he would say, Éothen entered the cockpit. "Are you hurt?"

Padmé jumped, startled. "No, no I'm fine. T-thank you. Thank you _so much_ for saving me."

And she truly meant it. She would have never gotten out of there if it weren't for him, if it weren't for Salkende. She owed him so much.

She owed him_ too much_. Padmé felt her insides crawl a little. She wasn't sure why this was bothering her so much; she'd been fairly resigned to her fate before all this insanity had occurred. Éothen had obviously invested a great amount of time and effort into saving her, and she highly doubted it was just because it was the honorable thing to do. And his eyes still seemed so different than what they were when she'd last spoken to him.

"Are… are you alright?" she asked hesitantly.

Éothen's mouth became a thin line. He took a slow breath and took a step away from her. "I'm well, thank you. It's… good to see you. I'm glad you're alive."

The statement seemed very formal, which wasn't too surprising since they hadn't known each other that well anyway, but Padmé still knew there was an underlying current of _something_ in his voice. Éothen had changed somehow. She glanced at Al, wondering if he knew, but Al was watching Éothen a little warily.

"If you require anything, I'll be with my men," Éothen eventually said, disappearing.

As soon as he was gone, Padmé looked at Al with a quizzical expression.

Al shook his head, saying quietly, "He said he'd lost his whole team to learn you were still alive. I'd be careful around him if I were you."

He'd… lost his team because of her? Padmé looked at her lap, feeling as if the weight that had lifted from her upon her escape had returned tenfold. How many people would have to die because of her?!

"We've got a long flight before we reach Salkende," Al remarked. "I'll tell you everything. Let's just… start from your funeral."

Padmé sighed and nodded, somehow feeling worse now than she did before escaping.

* * *

The nightlife on Firro, the capital of Ferrasco, was fairly active, the city aglow from restaurants, clubs, theaters, and other such establishments. People walked to and fro, enjoying themselves. The warm ocean breeze blew through the streets, playing with people's clothes and hair.

A piece of litter flew into the air, unnoticed by anyone until it landed unceremoniously on a teenager's shin, though he didn't seem to register it. He was too lost in his own mind, wandering in silence and solitude. His eyes glittered with so many thoughts, his face ranging in expression from deadpan to wonder to confusion to worry to hurt. His hands twitched, occasionally playing with his trousers, but mostly hanging limply at his sides as if he didn't even remember they were there.

Words that were foreign to him played in his mind. Words that were familiar tore into him. Images, faces, feelings… he shook his head, clenching his fists and continuing his walk.

The young man continued this trek for nearly an hour, barely paying others any mind. Most avoided him, getting an uneasy feeling as he passed. Eventually he wound up in an abandoned park.

Or perhaps not so abandoned. Pausing, the man seemed to detect something, his eyes glittering in recognition. He turned slowly, his face steeling into its usual neutral expression. Then he walked towards a fountain where a lone petite figure sat, watching him intently. The woman stood as the teenager approached her.

Cipher 8 smiled and tipped her head. "Lord Vader."


	48. And the Walls Come Tumbling Down

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* * *

Vader stared at her. He was waiting for her to make the first move.

Cipher 8 smiled. "I'm relieved to find you alive."

The Sith Lord remained silent, still waiting.

"You must return to Imperial Center," she said.

Vader blinked, his eyebrows twitching minutely, coming together for an instant as he processed her words. Apart from that he was motionless. _This_ was the Darth Vader she had heard about, not the uncertain one from the gala. He was dangerous in either state (she distinctly remembered the bloody corpse of Fyra Xen, after all), but now he was poised, prepared for anything, _suspicious_. He didn't trust her.

How curious.

"Did Tarkin send you?" he asked, his voice smooth and quiet. It held the undercurrent of a storm, and his eyes nearly glowed in the darkness.

Cipher crossed her arms. "No. I came of my own volition. Tarkin won't remain emperor regent for long. If you don't return he will declare you dead and take what is rightfully yours."

Her words seemed to intrigue him. His brow furrowed again, this time for a longer period before smoothing once more. He shifted on his feet, taking a minute step closer. Every centimeter of his body was tense.

She took a step towards him, not breaking eye contact. "I want you to take the throne. I want you to be your own man, to stop taking orders from Tarkin, from anyone. I've read your file, milord; I know how you've been used. There's nothing to stop you now. It's time you lead the Empire."

Vader's eyes widened for an instant, his lips parting slightly, and he took a step away from her. He broke eye contact, looking elsewhere as he pondered her words. Eventually he looked at her once more. "What do you gain from this arrangement?"

She smirked. This man wasn't as naïve as Tarkin thought he was, at least in concern to matters that were actually important. "When I first joined Intelligence, I thought I could change the galaxy. I thought I could do some good. I had so many hopes and ideas for the future. But as time progressed, I lost myself more and more to my work. One of my first assignments as a cipher forced me to allow a genocide to occur—one that I easily could have prevented—in order to root out a terrorist group's leaders. A few missions later, I was in deep cover, and a man who had fallen in love with my cover identity proposed marriage. I couldn't say no; the match made sense, and refusing would bring up questions. So I married him. I left him a month after the wedding, and to this day I still don't know if I actually ever loved him or just accepted his proposal because of the job. I _lost myself_ in Intelligence. I became an empty vassal to be used as needed, when needed. I don't want to see you go through the same thing.

"Return to Imperial Center and claim your birthright. Be free, and be the one to give commands instead of receive them. The only thing I stand to gain is the satisfaction of seeing at least one of us come out ahead after the abuse the Empire has made us endure. Once I see you on the throne, I'll know the Empire is better than it was when I started working for Intelligence. I can happily retire. I'm just a Fixer, after all; a useless position for agents they've forced to retire but still might need in the future."

Vader watched her carefully, looking intrigued and nervous at the same time. His respiration rate had increased, though he wasn't panting so much as watching her like an animal ready to pounce or flee, but it hadn't decided which it would do quite yet.

It didn't matter. She'd said what she had to. She knew this would take time to ruminate. She bowed. "Long may you reign, my emperor."

With that, she vanished into the night, and Darth Vader stood in the darkness alone.

* * *

Obi-Wan sighed as he gazed out the window in their room, which had apparently been installed while they were training.

"I still can't believe you let him wander the city alone," Siri remarked from the floor where the two had been sitting and meditating together. "You're placing more trust in him than you should."

"Words alone won't convince him we actually care, Siri. We have to prove the point." Obi-Wan noted. "You shouldn't keep fighting against the idea of actually helping him, of looking out for him. He's saved our lives, stayed by our side despite technically being emperor… I'm not sure what other indications you want."

Siri leaned against the wall, her eyes distant. "I don't know. I just feel like I'm the only one being _reasonable_ here. I understand why he is the way he is, and I'd like to think we could help him… but he still loses control, Obi. He's still dangerous to others. Us getting to know him and like him doesn't change that. Just because we want to help him, just because there's a chance we can actually stop others from hurting him doesn't mean he's incapable of hurting others himself."

"Then we must teach him." Obi-Wan faced her.

Siri raised her eyebrows. "Teach him? You expect him to listen?"

Obi-Wan glanced at the chronometer. It was midnight. Siri looked at it as well before gazing pointedly at him. _You told him to be here._

Before either spouse could speak, however, they both sensed Anakin approaching as if to answer Siri's question. Obi-Wan smiled at her.

The door opened, and Anakin entered. By all accounts, he looked perfectly normal and calm, if a bit distant. The sight of it made a small shiver run down Obi-Wan's spine. The Force was motionless. He was reminded strikingly of the day he had first met Darth Vader.

"Anakin?" he questioned softly.

The young man took a deep breath, still standing right in front of the door, which he had closed quietly. "What do you want of me?"

Obi-Wan and Siri exchanged bewildered looks. Where had this come from? Was this because of his words during training? Why was he asking now when he'd been fairly adamant about _not_ discussing the matter at the end of their last conversation?

"We want you to _live_, Anakin," he eventually answered. "We don't want anything _from_ you."

"What does that mean?" the boy asked, though his low, even tone indicated more of a statement than a question.

Obi-Wan examined the young man, wondering what brought this on. Perhaps the walk had just made him this contemplative. But last time he'd walked alone he'd come back dejected, unable to parse out how he felt as he apparently normally could do during that ritual. In either case, this question demanded a thought out reply, so he took his time in answering. "It means acknowledging who and _what_ you are. You are not a weapon, nor are you anyone's tool to use. You are not just a means to an end. You're a person, you're _Anakin Skywalker_, or… even perhaps Darth Vader, if you choose to be. But _you_ must be the one to choose. Not Palpatine, not Padmé… not us."

They had to let go. They had to let him make his own decisions… assuming he was ready to do so. The problem was that Obi-Wan was fairly certain he wasn't – nevertheless, he had to make his point.

Anakin looked beyond them, staring at the wall as he contemplated his words. His demeanor was unnerving; Obi-Wan had grown used to seeing some sort of cracks through his armor, to sensing his unease. Anakin had been unstable ever since Palpatine's death, and though he'd been slowly trying to rebuild himself since then, he'd always been off. Now… well now, it _still_ felt off, but it was that unsettling feeling that made one's hair stand up, that unnatural stillness in the Force that Obi-Wan had sensed when he'd first met the man.

What _happened_?

"You helped me. You show concern, you…" Anakin took a deep breath, his eyes distant as he tried to sort it out in his own mind. "You want me to be a—a person."

"You _are_ a person," Siri said firmly. "Our wanting has nothing to do with it."

"What makes you say that? How do you know?" Anakin asked, suddenly looking at her with hard eyes.

"There's no such thing as a living weapon, Anakin, not in the way you imagine it. And even you yourself realize that," Obi-Wan responded for his wife, garnering the young man's attention. "You… refute your feelings for Palpatine, but you know you have them."

Anakin swallowed, his body stiffening. "I… can't have weaknesses. I won't. Love is a weakness."

Obi-Wan felt his heartrate rise at the man's wording. Since when had it been a choice to have feelings? Originally it was simply a negative statement altogether: _I don't have feelings_. He hid the smile, but the minute change was monumental, and he couldn't help but feel some relief at the prospect that they were finally getting to the boy.

"Why do you say that? Just because Palpatine said so?" Siri asked.

"It destroys everything. It _has_ destroyed everything." Anakin said sharply.

Obi-Wan crossed his arms, now curious. "What do you mean?"

Anakin shifted, and the stillness in the Force fluctuated a little. His tight shields were cracking, and Obi-Wan was flooded with uncertainty, suspicion, and longing, though he couldn't pinpoint the reasoning behind them. "I… I…"

He stumbled for over a minute, growing steadily more uncomfortable.

Obi-Wan watched him carefully, prodding their fledgling bond. Anakin seemed to sense it and snapped to attention, taking a startled step back. "No—no, don't—no—"

Siri leapt to her feet, confused as to what had just transpired, while Obi-Wan hastily stepped forward, putting a reassuring hand on Anakin's outstretched arm. "It's okay. It's okay. I won't. I'm sorry."

Anakin took several gulps of air as if he'd been on the verge of panic, and through the Force Obi-Wan felt as if his head had been smacked into duracrete as the boy slammed the bond closed. The Jedi groaned softly, stumbling away, making Siri even more confused and nervous.

Anakin bit his lip. "I—I must rest. So must you."

He brushed by them, grabbing the sleeping mat and waiting for them to climb onto the bed so he had room to lay it out. Siri watched him curiously, but she'd learned by now when to push him and when not to. Sighing, she exchanged a glance with Obi-Wan. _Just get in bed. We'll sort it out tomorrow._

Obi-Wan reluctantly agreed, giving Anakin one last glance and getting in bed. Siri, however, took a step towards the young man and put a hand on his shoulder, actually offering him a smile. "Look, I… I get that you don't want to talk about these things. Just know that we're here to help, and we're here to listen."

Anakin searched her eyes, looking for something before shaking his head. "I don't have any wants."

"Yes you do," Siri replied softly, taking a step away to join her husband in bed. "You want him back."

Anakin's lips parted slightly, and the Force shifted, leaving an empty ache in Obi-Wan's chest. He then closed his mouth, blinked a few times while furrowing his brow, and gazed downward, no longer able to speak. Siri sighed and hopped in bed, and after a few moments' pause, Anakin rolled out the sleep mat and lied down. The spouses stared into each other's eyes, some silent understanding glittering in them as they both used the Force to send gentle reassurance to the young man on the sleeping mat, just as he'd taught them to.

The trio fell into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

Padmé hugged herself as she sat on the bunk in the hidden guest quarters in the upper level of the _Beauty_. Al had explained everything and had patiently endured her double takes and panicked interrogation. She'd then decided she needed to ponder this alone. And _gods_ there was a lot to ponder.

Al had found the agent who had bought Kelathik only to discover he was a mechanic working for Intelligence, but he'd given them priceless information about Palpatine's location. And they'd acted on it, they'd killed Palpatine and _captured Vader_. And _Obi-Wan… _Obi-Wan had been _looking after him_. Al had noted how they'd learned that Vader had been the one to shoot her, that he'd loved her, that he loved _Palpatine_… Padmé shuddered; although Vader's final words to her had haunted her, she'd given little conscious thought to them in the frenzy to get away from Eriadu. But now… she sighed heavily, angry at herself for missing such an obvious conclusion based on what Vader had told her at Varykino, at _Thecine_.

The Empire had attacked the Rebel base on Hoth, and they'd scattered their forces between Salkende and Ghanu'jivo, which was apparently the Jedi hideout. In the midst of all the insanity, Vader had _helped_ Al, Obi-Wan, and Siri escape. He'd helped them _escape _the _Empire_. Padmé didn't know what to make of it. She tried to tear through all her interactions with Vader, with her understanding of him to figure out why he would do such a thing. The Empire was a part of his _being_, wasn't it? Palpatine had founded it, after all, and anything that monster had touched was precious in his apprentice's eyes. It was highly unlikely Vader was playing them; that poor man wouldn't know how to play someone if he'd tried. Padmé laughed, but her mirth turned sardonic when she thought of how he'd succeeded in playing her.

Well, perhaps not _playing_ her. He didn't seem happy with his objective, either; he hadn't wanted to do it then and he regretted it now. She hugged herself even tighter, her abdomen aching despite being fully healed.

What was most worrisome, however, was the fact that _no one knew she was alive_. She'd thought the entire Alliance was aware of it by now, considering Salkende _and Al_ had come for her, but apparently Éothen only had time to inform Al on the matter, and Al had been too rushed to tell anyone else. Obi-Wan and Siri knew nothing about it. They still thought she was dead. _Vader_ still thought she was dead.

To top it all off, Al had lost his informant and Éothen had lost his team just learning Padmé was alive.

Padmé didn't know what to do, how to fix this. She breathed slowly through her nose, then her mouth. She tried to calm her own thoughts and focus on what would happen next. She felt so helpless, so out of control. She felt worried and guilty all at once. Somehow this situation made her more stressed than her previous one, though she was infinitely grateful to be free. Her fingers traced her neck where the slave collar had been and she shuddered. She'd only been enslaved a few days and she felt violated – she couldn't imagine what it was like for those who spent _years_ in slavery.

She wanted so desperately to go to Naboo and check on her family. She wanted so desperately to go to Ferrasco and find Obi-Wan and Siri, and…

Did she want to see Vader? After what he'd done… tears sprang to her eyes as she thought about their time together on Naboo and how it had all ended. She… she still loved him. But that didn't mean she trusted him. It didn't mean she felt ready to get near him. Not after he'd _shot_ her. Though really, with Palpatine dead, how much of a threat was he? Then again, Al had said he'd killed a great many Rebels and Jedi. Padmé lowered her head, curling inward.

It wasn't just her family and Vader. It was Éothen too. Her _fiancé_. A man who had barely known her, who she'd proposed marriage to in a panic to aid the Alliance when she'd had little other choice… a man who had just _rescued_ her when no one else even knew she was still alive.

Padmé took a steadying breath and then rose from her spot on the bunk. She needed to at least check on him properly, to _thank_ him properly. But she felt so conflicted now – in one respect, it made all the more sense to go through with the marriage since Éothen obviously cared for her and had done _so much_ for her and the Alliance, but in another respect, it made less sense to go through with the marriage since Salkende was already aiding the Alliance.

It just felt wrong altogether. She'd never been happy with the decision, but she herself had made it and had forced another man, another _planet_ into it. She couldn't back down now, right? Especially after what he'd done for her, especially after what _Vader_ had done to her.

Shaking her head, Padmé took the ladder down to the main lounge, where Éothen's new team sat. Al was still in the cockpit. Éothen was nowhere to be seen. The Salkendens all stood when they noticed her, which they'd done when she'd initially gone upstairs. They faced her, nodding their heads in acknowledgement and respect. They all viewed her as Éothen's fiancé, as practically Salkenden already. She tried to ignore the feeling of her heart clenching.

"Where's Éothen?" she asked them.

The teammates exchanged slightly confused glances. "He's upstairs, milady. We thought you were with him."

Upstairs? He wasn't… was he in the concealed cargo bay? Had he been there the whole time? Padmé turned to climb the ladder once more, but she hesitated when she had the idea to make something for him in the kitchenette. He could probably use some food, anyway. She quickly put a sandwich together and some bantha milk and somehow managed to get to the guest quarters without spilling or dropping anything. She then walked to the other end of the room, opening the door.

Éothen sat off to the left side, his lower back against the wall while he leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. He had a distant, somber look, his jaw clenched.

Padmé stepped towards him hesitantly. "I brought you something. Are you hungry?"

Éothen remained motionless. In a quiet tone, he said, "No, thank you."

Padmé watched him uncertainly and then walked towards him, putting the tray beside him and then sliding to the floor so she was at eye level with him. "I'm… sorry about your team. I didn't… I'm sorry I'm the cause of this."

Éothen turned his gaze to her, his eyes soft as his jaw clenched even tighter. He swallowed thickly before speaking. "You didn't plan this. It's not your fault."

Padmé looked down at the floor, not feeling quite as guilty but not feeling absolved. Before she could say anything, Éothen continued, as if now that he was speaking he couldn't stop himself.

"They knew what they were getting into," he said softly, staring at nothing in particular. "We all agreed to break in. We all knew. It was for Salkende. She knew that too. She… she knew you were the future."

Padmé immediately grew uncomfortable and felt her heart sink into her stomach. Then she grew confused. "She?"

Éothen swallowed again. "Erwyna. My second-in-command."

Erwyna. Padmé remembered that name. That was the woman who had escorted Obi-Wan and Siri off Imperial Center all that time ago. That was the woman whom Éothen had brought along to break Bail out of prison. Judging by the fact that Éothen specifically singled her out, Padmé had a feeling he was far closer to her than the rest of the team.

"I'm sorry," she apologized again.

"Being sorry won't bring her back!" Éothen suddenly snapped, leaping to his feet. Padmé jumped, shifting away from him. Once he was halfway across the room, however, he froze in place and took another deep breath, and Padmé saw all the energy he'd just had transfer into his muscles in the form of tension. Eventually he faced her. His face was stony, his eyes sharp, and his breathing very measured. "She died so that my clan could continue, so that Salkende would prosper. If you're truly sorry, then let's not let her death be in vain. We have many issues with which we have to contend once we land. Let's get the most important one out of the way first, the one _we _can solve, the _one thing_ we can fix in all this."

Padmé watched him, mouth sealed shut, so many words expressing dread, regret, worry, and guilt trapped in her throat.

"Let's get married once we land," Éothen said, standing tall, making him look like a statue looming over her. "Then we can focus on the war."

Padmé fought to find the right words, though a part of her wondered why she was even fighting it. She herself had created this engagement. Why didn't she follow through with it?

_What about Vader?_

She felt her body stiffen. Back on Eriadu Darth Vader had been too much of an enigma to decide anything; she'd been scared of him, angry at him, and worried for him all at once. She hadn't wanted to get near him, not unless it was on her terms, and even then she wasn't sure she could handle it. But after hearing Al speak about him, she… she didn't know. His account of the man didn't completely destroy any possibility of… she swallowed. She hated herself. She hated this whole situation.

_What is more important, Padmé? You or your duty? You or the Alliance? Do you really have to think about this?_

She bit her lip. "Éothen… let's… not be too hasty."

His eyes immediately lit up, and his face darkened. "Hasty? _Hasty?_ _You're_ telling _me_ to not be hasty when you _proposed marriage_ despite—don't you _dare_—she _died_ for this! You don't have a say in this!"

Padmé gaped at him. Éothen took a hasty breath, stepping away, and then his expression morphed to mild panic. He shook his head and balled his fists. "I'm sorry, milady."

She couldn't say anything. She didn't _know_ what to say. His words scared her and angered her, but his sudden backtrack indicated this was just emotion spilling out; he wasn't in his right mind. Éothen continued to shake his head and moved to the other side of the small cargo bay, sitting on the ground once more and hiding his eyes with a trembling hand.

Padmé watched him worriedly, her heart racing. Losing his team must have been akin to her losing family. This somehow made her feel worse. She didn't know what to do. She'd forced this marriage on him and now she had the gall to back out of it after he'd lost family to save her? Why did she have to hold onto the false hope that somehow she and Vader could be together? Even if she weren't engaged, Vader had _shot her_. But Al had said he'd regretted it…

She shook her head. She couldn't think about this now. Standing, Padmé instead focused on the current dilemma, which obviously was _not_ their engagement, but the price Éothen had to pay to save her. She walked over to the Salkenden and sat beside him, slowly putting her hand on his shoulder. Éothen shuddered under her touch, but he did nothing else, so she eventually pulled him close and held him tightly as he finally sank into the embrace, one of his hands wrapping around her wrist.

* * *

It was never a promising start to the day when the Minister of Intelligence wished to speak immediately. Typically Tarkin would at least have _breakfast_ before receiving the report, which would be given to him in writing by the minister once a week for normal occasions and perhaps in person for more serious occasions. He'd never heard of the minister taking the initiative. This couldn't be good.

Rubbing the sleepiness out of his eyes, Tarkin straightened his uniform just as he allowed the minister to enter. The Minister of Intelligence was a fairly elderly man, having been Keeper for a decade after thirty years of service in Intelligence. He was one of the most knowledgeable men in the galaxy, and, therefore, one of the most dangerous, though his position was essentially diplomatic, serving as the conduit between Intelligence and the Imperial crown. The man offered a brief bow and then immediately began. "Sire, Grand Moff Rhaegon has taken control of Eriadu."

Tarkin's mouth became a thin line as anger coursed through him. It had been a calculated risk sending some of the Imperial forces in his oversector to Hoth. He thought it would be worth it to get Vader back, and he'd told Ukoz to ensure Seswenna was properly reinforced with other fleets. What in the blazes had his successor been doing? Not only was such an invasion a symbolic victory over Tarkin, weakening his power in the eyes of others, but it could seriously compromise his _operation_ on Eriadu.

The minister continued, and the situation immediately got worse. "There have also been rumors among several members of the senate concerning the late Senator Amidala. People claim she has been spotted on Eriadu."

_What?!_

Tarkin swallowed, clasping his hands behind his back and squeezing them so hard his knuckles popped. He let his brow furrow slightly in faux confusion, and then released his hands, waving one almost dismissively. "Senator Amidala is dead. We should focus on the more important matter, that being Rhaegon."

The minister watched him silently for too long. Tarkin grew distinctly uncomfortable and agitated at once, but he maintained a calm façade. Eventually the minister lowered the data pad from which he'd been reading. "Of course, sire. If you wish anything of Intelligence I will relay it to Keeper."

"Monitor the situation in the Seswenna Oversector, particularly on Eriadu," Tarkin ordered carefully. "And I want you to find Rhaegon's _mother_; she is the one who controls him and many of his supporters, she is the one we need to eliminate first."

The minister bowed and departed without another word. Tarkin sat heavily on the sofa in his apartment, temporarily allowing his composure to slip. How in the blazes had rumors about Amidala started to spread?! What if the Alliance found out? What if, somehow, _Vader_ found out? This couldn't be the way for it to happen; Tarkin had to be in control of _everything_ to ensure Vader took the realization the right way, to ensure Amidala played her role properly, to ensure the pieces fit together _just right_.

Tarkin heard the front door open without any sort of warning, and he stiffened. A petite silhouette appeared in the hallway before walking into the dim morning sunlight.

It was his spy.

Shooting to his feet, Tarkin demanded, "Where is he?"

His spy stared at him, her face completely neutral. Now that his mind had managed to catch up with his initial reaction, Tarkin backtracked. "What happened? Why didn't you report in after Hoth?"

"I was tracing a lead, sir," she answered calmly, her eyes sharp. "I found what I needed, but I don't have enough to get what you want."

Don't have enough? "What are you talking about?"

His spy started to walk towards him slowly, her eyes boring into his own. "I've heard there are rumors about your rose garden at your estate."

Tarkin narrowed his eyes. Where was she going with this?

"It would be unfortunate if the senate learned the truth," his spy commented. "Particularly if Lord Vader remains indisposed. I'm not sure what would happen."

Tarkin felt his gut twist as he grew angry. What sort of stunt was this woman pulling? She should know better than to toy with him. "You wouldn't happen to know who _started_ those rumors, would you?"

His spy stopped so she stood one pace away from him. "No. But it is an interesting dilemma. One that would blow over easily if the right pieces fell into place."

Tarkin crossed his arms, his temples pounding as he grew angrier still. "What are you playing at?"

"I have everything you need," his spy said frankly. "I have the ability to silence the rumors. I can ensure your garden remains perfectly trimmed. I can eliminate Rhaegon and his mother. I can bring you the one person who can ensure your position."

Tarkin felt his blood run cold. She knew where Vader was. That meant he was alive.

_Darth Vader was alive_.

"Where is he?" he demanded once more, his voice loud.

"I have everything you need," his spy repeated, her face hardening. "Yet I do not have everything _I_ need."

This wasn't about necessity. She was blackmailing him. Tarkin took a deep breath, hearing his pulse in his ears as rage settled into his chest. How _dare_ she do this? He could have Intelligence eliminate her right now. He _would_—

Vader. She knew where Vader was. She knew about Amidala.

She knew everything.

Tarkin bit his tongue until he tasted blood. "What do you want?"

"Make me Keeper," she immediately said.

Tarkin stared at her. _What?_ She wanted him to install her as the _head of Imperial Intelligence_? He'd thought she was a loyal spy, but now that he knew she was power hungry like the rest, placing her in that position was akin to giving his worst enemy all the tools needed to destroy him. It was suicide. How could he get out of this?

She knew everything. _She knew where Vader was_. But surely he could get Intelligence to find the boy? He could silence her now, he could have her killed, he could even do the killing himself, but not here, not now – his blaster was nowhere close, and she was a better warrior than he. If he let her go now without making her Keeper, she would go straight to Intelligence and tell them about Amidala. Would that really be so terrible? It wasn't like Intelligence had its own agenda… right?

Tarkin felt his heartrate spike. He didn't know much about the current Keeper, to be honest, a mistake he sorely regretted now. All he'd ever needed to know about the man before was that he was unaware of his spy's dealings with Tarkin. What a _fool_ he was.

But he could still turn this around. If he installed his spy as Keeper, he would at least know, then, the motivations of the new head of Intelligence. He could read her better, figure out how best to keep her in line, or better yet, completely eliminate her. In the meantime, he could potentially give her what she wanted and then allow her to play with her power for a while until he had settled matters with Vader.

This was still too risky, though. What would she do with that power in the short time he allotted it to her? He couldn't allow this to happen… but she had all the cards.

Tarkin swore internally. "Very well. I will inform Intelligence later this morning."

"You will inform Intelligence now, sir."

Swallowing down an enraged retort, Tarkin glared at her as he slowly reached for his comlink. He supposed there wasn't really a way he could still have some semblance of control of this situation. He didn't trust her out of his sight, and she was the same way.

A brief call to Keeper himself ensured a smooth transition… and it did at least eliminate _one_ thorn in Tarkin's side; with this change in power, the current Keeper would become the next Minister of Intelligence, and the current minister would be silenced… permanently.

His spy tipped her head and then placed her hands behind her back. "Lord Vader is on Ferrasco alongside two Jedi Padawans: the former representative of Naboo, Obi-Wan Naberrie, and his wife, Siri Naberrie, the former handmaiden to Senator Amidala. They were originally going to make way to one of the two Rebel rendezvous points. I only know the location of one: Salkende. The Jedi were unable to get there, and they're now stranded without any assistance."

Tarkin felt his jaw go slack. Vader was being guarded by mere _students_? Those Jedi Padawans were _the Naberrie couple_?! Since when were those two Jedi?! The Rebel remnant was on Salkende?

"I will ensure Rhaegon's mother is eliminated, sire," his spy added, bowing deeply. Before Tarkin could utter a word, she left.

The emperor regent stood in place, fathoming everything he'd just learned. His heart fluttered at the thought that Vader was alive, and he felt dizzy. He sat down in order to calm himself, but after a few more seconds of registering all the information, he was on his feet again, grabbing his comlink in a heartbeat. He had to get Vader. He _would_ get Vader. But first he had to ensure Salkende didn't interfere; it was in the same sector, after all. He divided up his forces, letting a bulk of them go to Eriadu while a sizable fleet went to Salkende; the Rebels were weary from Hoth, and this was only half their surviving forces, so a fleet should be enough. He had to reestablish control of Eriadu, he had to ensure Salkende was taken out of play, and then he would send an armada for Vader.

Nothing would stop him now.

Meanwhile, Cipher 8 walked through Intelligence and entered the office that would now be hers. Closing the door, she slowly made her way to sit behind the desk, and she gazed around the room before smiling.

* * *

_She had her back turned to him, her shoulders tight as knots and her fists balled. Her hands trembled, she gazed at the wall, and though he couldn't see her eyes, he knew they were distant, lost in so many worries. Too many worries. They all had too many worries now._

_Obi-Wan took a deep breath. "Padmé?"_

_Padmé turned and gazed at him somewhat confusedly for a second as if she didn't realize it was nightfall. He had a funny feeling she didn't; she seemed quite preoccupied. As soon as it registered, though, she worriedly asked, "Is everything set?"_

_Obi-Wan pushed his own stress away as he tried to look reassuring. He smiled and nodded, not quite able to muster up enough energy to say much. "Stay here, all right? Qui-Gon will keep you safe."_

_The last thing he needed was for her to do something rash once more, and with the state she was in it was quite possible. He bit back a tired sigh._

_Padmé stepped forward and hugged him tightly. He returned the embrace, not wanting to let go but eager to get Siri off-world._

"_Shouldn't Qui-Gon go with you, at least until you leave the planet?" Padmé asked._

_Obi-Wan held her tighter and shook his head. No. He had to make this point quite clear. "Padmé, we agreed on this. Qui-Gon stays with you, and you stay here."_

_His sister sighed, her muscles relaxing slightly as she tried to stay calm. "Be safe, Obi. Please."_

_He rubbed her back reassuringly. "We will be, Padmé."_

_He felt her shudder and the air shifted as if a cold wind had temporarily blown through. He fought the sensation as best he could, at least for his sister's sake. It wasn't as if he weren't exceptionally worried. He'd been feeling dread in the pit of his stomach for some time now. _

"_Have you still heard nothing from Al?" she asked._

_Obi-Wan couldn't hide the tension in his muscles as he thought about it. They'd been trying to contact Al all day ever since the attack on Siri. "No."_

_Padmé tightened her grip on him, burying her face in his shoulder. "I love you."_

_Obi-Wan swallowed, composing himself before he said anything in return. They rarely spoke these words, so hearing her say it was like saying goodbye for a long period of time. It was probably just because she was so worried. _Everything will be fine_, he lied to himself, ignoring his gut instinct that something really _was_ wrong – because, honestly, how would he know if something was genuinely wrong, anyway? He was just discovering his Force sensitivity, and Qui-Gon seemed more at ease than they did. Obi-Wan knew he was a worrier, so he figured that was all this was. Padmé was stressed too._

_Nevertheless, he didn't try to reassure her. He just returned the sentiment, meaning it wholeheartedly. "I love you too."_

Obi-Wan opened his eyes, feeling a little queasy. He glanced around the small space. He and Siri had awoken to an empty room; Anakin had already gotten up, rolled his sleeping mat, and disappeared. By this point Obi-Wan wasn't _quite_ as concerned over Anakin's location – he'd eventually return. He just wasn't sure what state the boy would be in when he did. In the meantime, Obi-Wan and Siri had stretched, eaten breakfast, and then decided to meditate before heading to the outskirts of the city and training (though at this rate they'd have to get lunch before they left - they'd meditated all morning). They figured they might actually find Anakin there, anyway.

So why was a memory of his last interaction with Padmé surfacing? What did that have to do with anything these days? He still missed his sister, but she wasn't constantly haunting his thoughts, weighing him down with guilt – that hadn't been the case since Ilum. He'd dreamt of Padmé on Hoth just after he'd started dealing with Vader, but that had likely been a reaction due to his own perception of the young man. Times had changed. He marveled for a moment at just _how much_ they'd changed. For a millisecond he thought that Padmé must have felt the same way as her time with Anakin on Naboo came to an end, but he brushed the thought aside. Jedi did not linger on regret; if something regrettable happened, one would learn from it and move on.

"It's her birthday."

Obi-Wan glanced at his wife, who had also ended her meditation. "What?"

"Padmé," she explained, folding her hands on her lap. "Today's her birthday. She would've been turning twenty-one."

Obi-Wan stared at her, confused. He'd lost track of the days after they'd parted from his family on Naboo. Was it really his late sister's birthday? When he asked the date, Siri confirmed it. He exhaled heavily, releasing the emotions that flooded him for a moment as he thought about it, and then he leaned against the wall.

"You think Anakin knows?" Siri asked.

Obi-Wan looked at her, not having considered it. Would he? The man had been counting the days since Palpatine's death, but that didn't necessarily mean he knew the actual date. Surely he wouldn't know…

Well. This _was_ Anakin. He probably was quite aware of the fact. Perhaps that was why he'd left.

Obi-Wan stood and looked out the window. It was a depressingly grey day, with clouds covering the entire sky, growing ever heavier and darker with oncoming rain. Something settled into the back of Obi-Wan's mind like a familiar presence, and the room chilled slightly, though he ignored it.

"I was thinking about something," Siri remarked softly, catching her husband's attention. "How far should we really be going for him? Isn't our first loyalty be to the Alliance and the Jedi? Padmé's was. And look what he did to her."

Obi-Wan stared at her confusedly. "What are you saying? Surely you don't actually think he'll kill us?"

Siri shook her head. "I don't think so. But… Obi, he _loved_ her and he _killed_ her. If he just likes us, what does that guarantee us? Why are we risking it all for him?"

Where was _this_ coming from? This had not been either of their sentiments last night.

Before he could ask anything, Siri also stood, shaking her head and running a hand through her hair. "I don't know what's wrong with me, Obi. I mean… what he did was _monstrous_… but I… we've both kind of brushed it to the side, you know? The more we learned about him and the more we learned about being Jedi, the more we tried to move on. And that's a _good_ thing, but I feel like we left something behind rather than moving forward."

The chill left the room, and Obi-Wan felt like he could think a little more clearly all of a sudden. His wife was conflicted; this wasn't her saying Anakin was a monster, it was just her saying she had feelings for him that didn't coincide with how she _assumed_ she should feel… with how she'd originally felt.

"Siri…" he started to say, but she cut him off.

"Relax, Obi, I'm not getting upset about it. I'm not even mad at him. He's frustrating as hell at times, but he can't help the way he was raised. I just… we need to make a choice if we're really going to commit to this, and I'm not sure I'm ready to make it."

"What choice?"

Siri looked at him, her eyes determined. "Whether we can forgive him for what he did."

_Forgive_ him? Obi-Wan took a small step back at her words.

Well… she _was_ right; neither of them had ever considered forgiving Darth Vader for murdering Padmé. They'd learned about his parentage, his personality, his traumatic life, and they'd brushed off his actions as a result. They'd grown close to him, he'd helped them and they'd helped him. They'd formed a relationship, had _bonded _with him. But they hadn't fully reconciled what he'd done. That didn't change the fact that Obi-Wan did care deeply for Anakin, nor did it change his conviction to help him, but it did bring up an important point.

_Could_ he forgive him for what he'd done? There was a distinct difference between excusing or ignoring his actions and actually confronting them and forgiving him for them. Darth Vader had been brainwashed, but he had also consciously decided to shoot Padmé despite being in love with her. It had been too soon, Padmé had expected too much out of him too quickly… the end result was… logical, _predictable_ in hindsight.

Anakin _had_ actually apologized for killing her. But murdering his sister was…

Was it unforgiveable?

The room shifted. He felt empty suddenly, and he remembered the strange change in atmosphere that had occurred during the conversation, the funny feeling in the back of his head. Without having to say a word, Siri pondered it as well. The couple gazed at each other in dawning comprehension.

Anakin had been outside. He'd overheard part of their conversation. He'd left.

_Oh no._

The couple immediately rushed out into the hallway, tracing Anakin's signature in the Force. Looking out the windows the lounge, Obi-Wan could barely see anything through the heavy rain that had just started seconds ago.

What part of the conversation had the boy heard? Did he leave because he didn't want to interrupt, or because he'd made the wrong assumptions? He was unstable enough as it was…

Obi-Wan had a _really_ bad feeling about this. Looking at Siri, the two ran down the stairs and into the torrential downpour outside.

* * *

The world was spinning. The Force was empty and full all at once, silent as death in the one corner of his mind that mattered most, but screaming in all other respects. His heart beat loudly, and he could barely breathe. He'd been running for at least an hour.

The dragon had lost, just as he knew it would, just as he knew it _had_ to. The dragon that had poisoned Padmé had attempted to sink its teeth into Obi-Wan and Siri, but it had failed. _It had failed_. This was a victory, right? This was a victory.

He took a shaky breath. Ever since Master had died, his world had been lost to him. He'd lived to serve Master. He'd been _created_ to serve Master. He'd _killed Padmé_ for Master. And in the end, he'd failed him.

_He'd failed him_.

He gagged, overcome with a wave of nausea. He wasn't sure if his skin was soaked because of the rain or sweat.

After Master's death, nothing had mattered, and then that stupid brother had started talking to him, pretending to show concern in order to get information out of him. At least that was what he'd originally thought, once he'd bothered to even give the man any consideration. Obi-Wan was a Jedi, and all the Jedi deserved to die for what they did to Master, but he was also Padmé's brother. He couldn't kill her family. He wouldn't. He'd done enough damage, and Master had never cared if anyone else died. He knew Padmé would've cared, and that had been enough reason to hold back. And so he'd given Obi-Wan the smallest glimmer of courtesy, just enough to respect Padmé's memory, because dammit he was going to do _something_ to remember her.

But he'd still failed Master. After everything, he'd lost him.

_What the hell is wrong with you?!_

At first he'd… he didn't know what had happened. Something in him had just _snapped_. He'd needed to kill everything, everyone. There had been no reason to it. He'd done the same when he'd killed Padmé. But after that Jedi had knocked him out, he'd had no purpose. He'd had _nothing_. So he'd just… existed. He didn't even have the energy to end it at that point.

But he'd be _damned_ if he let anyone _insult_ Master. And so he'd killed that interrogator. He would kill anyone who insulted Master.

Well, except Obi-Wan and Siri, apparently. Originally his obedience had been merely a result of their relation to Padmé. Originally.

He took another shaky breath, his legs trembling. One would think he'd learned from his mistake the first time. Just because Padmé spoke of foreign concepts that awoke that dragon inside him didn't mean he should actually _listen_ to it. Just because Obi-Wan echoed her words didn't mean…

He still didn't understand. He still didn't understand any of it. He'd failed Master. He should have died that day. His world had been torn away from him that day. But Obi-Wan had somehow offered him an alternate world, one where he wasn't just a means to an end, one where two people actually thought about him and looked out for him for _his own sake_, not because he was a valuable asset or because he was a possible threat.

Even Padmé hadn't done that. After all, she'd used him for the sake of her Alliance. But Obi-Wan… Obi-Wan wanted to get _away_ from both the Alliance and the Empire. He was willing to break ties for _his_ sake.

But that just _didn't make sense_. There _had_ to be an ulterior motive, just as the governor had an ulterior motive all along. After all, he'd taken the throne _immediately_ upon Master's death. Even if he hadn't planned for Master's demise, he'd obviously thought of it as an opportunity.

An _opportunity_. As if Master were an enemy. As if Master weren't the most important thing in the galaxy. He gritted his teeth, gripping the knife he'd stolen from the dormitory kitchen. He'd never been designed to trust anyone except Master, but… he'd _trusted_ the governor. And look what that had brought him. _Look at what he'd done!_

His gaze fell to the knife. Up till recently he'd had no motivation for anything. He'd been nothing but a failure. If it weren't automatic, he would've stopped breathing. There was no point to it anymore. After humoring Obi-Wan for some time, he'd eventually started to reform his thoughts. Perhaps, he'd wondered, he could still be useful. He could do nothing to honor Master at this point, but he could at least honor Padmé for a short while longer before ending it. If he taught Obi-Wan and Siri how to defend themselves, if he ensured their safety and their youngling's safety, then he would have done everything he could for Padmé. After all, family came first.

That had been his duty. His reason for living. But Obi-Wan continued to press him, continued to act like he wasn't just some tool. Padmé had done it too, but she'd inevitably chosen to be his enemy, to be _Master's_ enemy. Then again, it hadn't mattered anyway; he'd known it would happen. She'd made herself too much of a threat. But Obi-Wan and Siri were _Jedi_ – the very _creatures_ that had killed Master! And it wasn't like they _didn't_ use him – they'd given him a new name, a new lifestyle – what were they trying to mold him into?

But they were willing to leave it all behind for him. _For him_.

And then the _cipher_...

He growled. He glared at the knife, at his _one objective left_. He was no longer useful even to them, after all. They'd just lied. That's all anyone seemed to do apart from Master.

_As if Master didn't lie to you_.

He shook his head. No. No. No. Even if Master did lie it wouldn't matter. He wasn't there to be coddled, he wasn't there to be loved. He was there to be used, he was there to serve a _purpose_.

He felt hollow just thinking it. He always felt hollow, cold. It was his state of being. That was normal.

None of this was normal. Obi-Wan himself pointed it out, and the more he said it, the more it really sank in. The amount of worry and love and care those two Jedi dedicated to their _unborn child_ surpassed anything he'd ever seen. But that was because their youngling was a person. He wasn't.

Right? _Right?_

He was a weapon. He was a tool. He was whatever he needed to be.

He was _defective_. He was _useless_. He had so many flaws and he knew it. He'd always known it. He'd just hid from it in the past, but he couldn't do that anymore. Not anymore.

He'd left this morning to try and return to his usual habits, to try and shut that dragon up once and for all. He'd returned to hear Obi-Wan and Siri talking about him. Some irrational side of him refused to enter and interrupt, whispered that he should instead listen so he could hear what they _really_ thought of him. They would speak freely if they didn't think he was around; they wouldn't have to play to him—_like the governor_ a voice whispered, and he shook his head fiercely.

Siri had been speaking about what he'd done to Padmé. They'd mentioned that he might kill them. That was all he'd needed to hear. They didn't care for him. He was still an enemy. Everything they'd said had been a lie.

But _why_ would they lie about all that? What were they trying to use him for? Were they actually trying to find hiding places for the Alliance when Obi-Wan had asked about areas where they could avoid the Empire? He wouldn't help them. He wouldn't help the Alliance. Master had died because of the Alliance and the Jedi. He would _never_ help them.

And that had been it. His purpose was finished. Padmé was gone, Master was gone, the governor had betrayed him, and Obi-Wan and Siri were still his enemies.

He hadn't had the motivation to end it in the past. But now he did. Now he _would_ end it. Now he _wanted_ to end it. And that in itself was the reason he would – he wasn't supposed to want anything.

_But Siri was right_, the dragon whispered. _Because you do have desires, you do want him back_. _You do want to be loved._

He sliced his hand open and hissed, letting the pain drown out the voice of that poison inside him.

He was defective. He always had been. He'd loved Master. He'd loved Padmé. He'd almost loved Obi-Wan. And love was a weakness. It was why he'd killed Padmé. It was why he'd obeyed Master, why he'd obeyed Obi-Wan, why he was in this karking state in the first place. It brought nothing but _this_ – emptiness, uselessness, an unfulfilling existence. He should have never been born.

_"You're a person, you're Anakin Skywalker, or… even perhaps Darth Vader, if you choose to be. But you must be the one to choose. Not Palpatine, not Padmé… not us."_

He'd _almost believed them_. He'd almost believed Obi-Wan, almost given in to that damn dragon and its secret whispers about his true nature. How could he have been such an _idiot_?!

"_Anakin!"_

He flinched, not having sensed their arrival, too lost in his own thoughts and feelings he knew he shouldn't even have (_you've always been defective, after all – even Padmé noticed it_). Turning, he saw Obi-Wan and Siri rushing towards him, worry on their faces, the Force fluctuating wildly around them. His eyes settled on Obi-Wan's lightsaber, and he dropped the knife, immediately summoning the hilt instead. Both Jedi jumped, and he sensed a flicker of danger as Siri reflexively reached for her own weapon before stopping herself.

Stupid woman. Why would she stop herself? Did she really think the act was still fooling him, or was she just _weak_ like all the other Jedi? She'd been the more promising between the couple – feisty, aggressive, and an overall better fighter, whereas Obi-Wan had been less likely to be provoked, more introspective, and _far _too intuitive. But she'd also been the more distant, the less likely to actually listen to him. Not that it made a damn bit of difference now.

"Anakin, what are you doing?" Obi-Wan asked in an even tone as if he already knew the answer. That tone drove him _insane_ – did Obi-Wan just assume he knew nothing? Did he think that he was brainless because he'd followed Master, because he was an Imperial, a _Sith_? Were all Jedi that pompous?

"Get away from me," he ground out, his gut on fire, his head spinning, his body burning with something he didn't recognize. He didn't know how to stop it, either; in that moment the only thing he could do when he looked at them was imagine their corpses on the ground, hear their screams as he cut them to pieces. He felt sick just thinking about it.

Obi-Wan and Siri exchanged looks. What were they planning now? How would they entertain themselves, playing with his thoughts? Would they invent some new relative of his and say that person cared about him too? Would they come up with some new tactic to prove how _concerned_ they were about him? Like they actually _knew_ what true _concern_ was!

_You're not supposed to know, either_.

He took another shaky breath, growing dizzy. He activated the lightsaber, watching steam curl from the blade as rain made contact with it, evaporating instantly.

As he watched Obi-Wan and Siri's somewhat frantic expressions, something in him almost made him smile – they had better fear him. But what little logic was left in him noted that their fear didn't feel like the emotion he sensed when he was about to kill someone. They weren't scared for their own safety. He felt the burning sensation drain out of him, and he mumbled, "It's better this way."

"Stop it!" Siri called out. "You think you're worth so little that you can just throw your life away like this? What happened, what's _wrong_?"

_What's wrong? You broke my trust. You don't actually care. You still view me as an enemy. You almost made me _listen_ to you._

_What's wrong? The cipher knows I'm here. The Empire knows I'm here. I'm a threat to you. You'll die if I live._

He clenched the hilt even tighter, desperate to banish the last thought. He didn't care for them. How could he, after they still viewed him the way they did? But why would it matter how they viewed him? He was nothing, _he was nothing damn it_!

"It's better this way," he repeated, even quieter than before.

He wondered for a moment what would happen after he dug the blade into his chest. Would he see Master afterward? Would he see Padmé? Or would he just vanish into the nothingness from which he'd sprung? Would he feel emptier than he did now? Was that even possible?

It didn't matter anymore. He finally had a strong purpose, he finally knew what he needed to do, what he _wanted_ to do.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said so softly he almost didn't hear him. Maybe he actually hadn't; he could've sworn he heard it in his head. Somehow that Jedi had forged a bond with him, strong and filled with warmth and… he felt heat swim through his head, making him dizzy. His vision blurred. "Don't do this."

"Why." He said in a low tone. It wasn't even a question anymore. He didn't need an answer. He'd demanded one constantly in the past, not understanding what could possibly be motivating these people who were related to a woman he'd murdered, these people who were Jedi. He'd had to know what they were planning, what they were thinking. He'd had to know if Padmé was the only anomaly. He'd had to know if others saw what she saw. He'd had to know if it was true.

But now he didn't. The conclusion would be the same either way.

"Because you're family," Obi-Wan said. _Because we forgive you._

He stared at him, his breath stolen away. Immediately he glanced at Siri, looking for confirmation, gauging to see if she was watching her husband. Was she silently asking him if she should play along, silently demanding why he would say such a thing? But she wasn't looking at Obi-Wan. She was looking at him. They were both looking at him. The Force somehow warmed, stopping his shivering from the cool rain, filling him with something he'd never felt before.

The lie fell apart. The dragon roared. His ears rang. His head spun. His eyes stung. He trembled where he stood, the lightsaber hilt nearly slipping out of his slack grip.

_You can't love a tool. You can't love a means to an end._

"_I see a man who puts his heart and soul into everything he does. I see a man who wants to be loved, who wants to be _needed_, who feels so deeply he gets burned. I see a man who wants to share his life with someone and feel like he's worth something."_

_You can't care. You're Jedi._

"_We care because you deserve a better life than the one you've lived. You deserve to _live_."_

He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve anything. He was defective, he was a mess of half developed emotions that he wasn't even supposed to feel and wrongly placed trust in people who only hurt him.

They couldn't forgive him. They couldn't be right about this. They were lying. _They were lying!_ He would _never_ forgive the Jedi and the Alliance for killing Master, so how could they so easily say they forgave him for killing Padmé? Obi-Wan had clearly demonstrated he'd loved his sister. He had to be lying.

_They were lying!_

But they weren't. The Force sang with truth. He was deaf to everything but his own breathing, numb to everything but the heat emanating from the Jedi, blind to everything but the light radiating through the Force.

His eyes stung. His breathing quickened. This… was _this_ love?

But… but Master had…

Master had never loved him. Why would he use him as a comparative? Master had been devoid of such weaknesses, and he'd tried _so damn hard_ to be that way too.

But… how could they love him? They weren't idiots, they had to realize how vulnerable this made them, opening themselves up like this to someone who could easily kill them.

Was _this_ love? Strong, determined, stubborn beyond all reason?

_Unconditional?_

His eyes stung even more. He couldn't breathe anymore. He gasped. The blade deactivated, the hilt falling to the ground harmlessly. He gasped again. Something leaked out of his eyes, something overwhelmed his entire being more than he'd ever felt. He gasped again.

Siri and Obi-Wan's expressions changed. They were no longer watching him anxiously. Instead, some foreign look crossed their faces. Siri took a small step towards him before growing determined and running to him, grabbing him and pulling him to her. At her touch he fell apart, losing all sensation in his legs and collapsing to the ground. She held him firmly, softening the fall. He hiccupped, and a sound escaped his lips that he nearly didn't recognize: a sob. He was crying. _He was crying_ \- he'd never cried in his life.

Panic tried to settle in, but it didn't matter. He was already in pieces. He couldn't stop it anymore. He sobbed again. Obi-Wan was by his side a heartbeat later, holding him as well. The tiniest part of him screamed against all of it, tried to push them away, but his energy was gone. He was gone. The lightsaber sat uselessly on the ground, and he didn't bother reaching for it or Siri's.

One couldn't kill what was already dead.

Darth Vader finally let go, and nineteen years of anguish spilled out.

* * *

The curtains of rain saturated Firro all the way into the night. As the rain started to let up, two people half carried a young man to the dormitory residence provided to those seeking sanctuary on Ferrasco. No one noticed their approach since everyone had taken refuge indoors, and the hallway to their room was thankfully empty.

Obi-Wan and Siri guided Anakin into the dorm. The boy was still crying, though not to the degree he had been. Siri sat against the back wall, holding him and running her hand through his hair as Obi-Wan grabbed some towels. She hadn't let him go since first hugging him, since the Force had trembled and some instinct had kicked in as she saw him fall apart. Apparently it was the same instinct that had pushed Obi-Wan, the same instinct that would motivate any parent.

Eventually Obi-Wan returned with the towels and a change of clothes. Siri handed Anakin over to her husband so she could dry off first, and Obi-Wan wordlessly took her place. After both Jedi had changed clothes, they dried Anakin, who was unable to do much of anything apart from helplessly cry on Obi-Wan's shoulder. As Siri toweled his hair, she exchanged a glance with her husband, and the two silently decided that the bed would be the best place for him tonight.

After a minute or so they helped him stand, and Obi-Wan climbed in first before reaching over and pulling Anakin up to him. Siri followed, and the three settled under the blanket, Anakin snuggled between the couple, still hiccupping softly as the Force bled sadness and mild panic at being unable to stop himself. Siri draped her arm over the boy and reached for Obi-Wan, who also laid his arm over Anakin to hold his wife's forearm.

Siri squeezed Obi-Wan's arm, and the two both gently lulled the boy to sleep with the help of the Force. Then they looked into each other's eyes, not needing to say anything.

Their question from the morning had been answered.

* * *

**Yay packed chapter and not prattling on! Ah, finally, after 18 chapters of beating Anakin into the ground I grant him some comfort. :3  
**

**I'm terrible, I know. Anyway, let me know what you think! :)**


	49. Family

_The room was gloomy. The walls were black, the floor grey, and the air was cold. On the far wall there was a cluster of windows that were angular, small individually but creating an overall large pattern, though it was too cloudy outside to really let any light in. The room was deathly quiet as if the sound had been sucked out of it._

"_Keep it in the box," a voice whispered, breaking the deafening silence._

_Jumping, Obi-Wan turned and saw a familiar young Imperial. "Anakin!"_

_Anakin put a finger to his lips. "I said keep it in the box."_

"_What?"_

"_You're frightened. Don't be. That isn't your job."_

"_My job? What are you talking about?"_

"_You have to let go of everything, Obi-Wan. Your sole purpose is to serve the Jedi. You have no needs, no wants, nothing. You are nothing. Anything you feel, you eliminate. It all goes in the box."_

_Holding out his hand, Anakin showed a glowing blue cube, which hummed and floated centimeters above his hand. Obi-Wan was mesmerized by the sight of it; wasn't that a holocron? _

_Something caught his attention in his periphery, however, and he turned to see ghostly images wandering the large, cold room. One looked like Siri, another Padmé, yet another Qui-Gon, Al, Sola, Ryoo, Mother, Father… what was going on?_

_Anakin grabbed a lightsaber that had been dangling from his belt. Igniting it, the room was filled with crimson. The color seemed to bleed into the cube as well, steadily corrupting the bluish glow. The cube shuddered as if being crushed, and it changed shape into a pyramid. Anakin walked towards Padmé first. Obi-Wan felt his heart clench._

"_Anakin—" he started to say, but the young man was too fast, and in a heartbeat his blade tore through Padmé's ghostly image. She vanished into a misty cloud, and its essence was sucked into the pyramid. _

_Obi-Wan felt sick. "Anakin, stop this!"_

_Anakin glared at him, crimson reflecting from his eyes. "My name is Darth Vader."_

_Obi-Wan took a step forward and watched in horror as Anakin cut down his entire family. Just as with Padmé, they disappeared into a mist that was eventually swallowed up by the red pyramid in Anakin's hand._

"_If you cannot let go, then you are useless," Anakin remarked coldly. "Don't Jedi teach non-attachment?"_

"_Anakin, detachment is not the same as dehumanizing," Obi-Wan replied in a surprisingly calm voice despite the circumstances. "Letting go doesn't mean eliminating. What you speak of isn't even detachment—it's extreme _attachment_. Devotion to the Jedi shouldn't be blind, it shouldn't be at the expense of one's morals, at the expense of others' lives."_

_The man walked towards Obi-Wan, his blade dangling lazily to the side. "What do you choose, Kenobi? To live by the laws of the Jedi, or to let your emotions turn you into something pathetic?"_

"_I choose patience," Obi-Wan answered. "I choose to wait and listen. I choose to help you, and then see where we can go from there. Killing you is not the Jedi way, nor is blind loyalty. A person's path is not always clear, nor is it always orthodox."_

_Anakin smirked, and Obi-Wan was startled by the expression; it looked so foreign on the boy. He'd never seen him smile. "Mother and Father would be proud."_

_Before Obi-Wan could say anything, the red blade cut through him. Heat seared from his right shoulder diagonally through him to his left hip, and he gasped as everything faded. He practically saw his essence slowly get drawn into what was once the pyramid—though now it resembled a Jedi holocron once more—and his heart rose into his throat. _

_Darkness filled him, but he was no longer cold. He felt some pressure on his abdomen, but when he looked, nothing was there. He felt like he was floating in an ocean, but he heard the small scraping sound of a wooden cane tapping the ground, echoing all around him but growing ever louder as if it were approaching._

"_Mm, lost you are, yes?"_

_Obi-Wan jumped, but he couldn't find the source of the odd voice. "Who are you?"_

_The voice chuckled. "Important, that is not."_

_Sighing heavily, Obi-Wan coughed a little as the pressure on his abdomen increased. "I find it fairly important, actually… but you are right; I have no idea where I am."_

"_Where? Where you are, you say? Matters, that does not. Lost you are in other ways. Lost, many are."_

_Growing slightly annoyed, Obi-Wan again tried to find the source of the voice. "You could at least _try_ to make a little more sense, you know."_

"_Try! Try not. Do. Or do not. There is no try."_

"_So you're doing your absolute best to be as cryptic as possible, then?" Obi-Wan surmised, finally giving up in his endeavor. Then, he recognized the expression, and his eyebrows rose. "Wait—you're a Jedi?"_

_The person sighed, the sound filled with great weight and sadness, yet somehow hope as well. "Many Jedi there still are. Many more there may be. Uncertain the future is. Changed, the Force has. Fading, the darkness is, but eliminated, it is not."_

"_I'm not sure that helps _me_ in my current predicament," Obi-Wan noted somewhat irritably as it steadily became more difficult to breathe._

"_Mm, patience you must have, yes!"_

"_I—happen to be a bit—short on patience right now—" Obi-Wan gasped before squeezing his eyes shut as the pressure grew unbearable. He tried to take another breath, but nothing would fill his lungs, and in a panic—_

He opened his eyes, and found himself laying on his side. At first he saw nothing. The air was slightly cool, but his body felt perfectly warm. He also felt a little stiff, and whatever his head was resting on was damp. The scent of hair filled his nostrils, and his abdomen throbbed painfully as some pressure pushed against it. His arm felt unusually heavy, hanging strangely, and his fingers were brushing against cloth that seemed to be rising and falling rhythmically.

Cloth. Clothes. A tunic. Someone's back. His hand was against someone's back. His arm was draped over someone. The pressure on his gut was from a pair of strong knees pressing against him.

Bed. He was in bed. He was in the dorm.

Anakin.

Exhaling as he got his bearings, Obi-Wan looked down slightly to see the top of Anakin's head nestled under his chin. The boy's breath tickled his neck, and apparently Anakin had curled into a tight little ball at some point in the night. It was a wonder he hadn't pushed Siri to the edge of their small bed.

It was at that point that Obi-Wan registered Siri wasn't actually in bed. Inching away from Anakin so he could finally take a full breath, Obi-Wan glanced around the tiny square room and prodded the Force. His bond to Anakin came to mind first, fully open but devoid of any sensation apart from… haziness? The boy was obviously still fast asleep. His bond to Siri subtly became prominent next; he could tell she was nearby, and, in fact, returning to the room.

The door opened quietly, his wife peeking in; she must have sensed him waking up. Obi-Wan was surprised to see her carrying a bundle, and he recognized the baby Devaronian that she'd temporarily looked after two days ago.

Entering the room fully, Siri closed the door silently behind her and then smiled, whispering, "Our neighbor had to take a shower, so I offered to look after her siblings in the meantime."

"What time is it?" Obi-Wan asked softly, wondering how he'd somehow overslept when Siri was wide awake. Typically it was the other way around, though he suspected her morning sickness might have woken her.

"About 0800," she answered. "Poor girl couldn't sleep, her brother was being fussy. I was only up because of weird dreams and the usual issues."

"Weird dreams?"

"Yeah," Siri acknowledged uncertainly, leaning against the wall and glancing at the baby in her arms. "First I dreamt that Padmé was alive, and she and Anakin were partners under Palpatine's regime. They were the best Imperials; always got the job done, always obeyed Palpatine… always together."

She shuddered. Obi-Wan looked at Anakin's sleeping form automatically before returning his attention to his wife.

"Then I dreamt about us," she continued. "We… I'd given birth to our daughter. We were hidden away somewhere, far from where anyone could find us. We were… powerful. _Ridiculously_ powerful. Like the entire Jedi Council found us and fought us and we beat them."

"Why was the Council fighting us?" Obi-Wan asked, bewildered.

Siri shrugged. "Hell if I know. But that's not even the strangest part; we became emperor and empress."

Obi-Wan felt his eyebrows fly to his hairline. "What?"

Siri shook her head. "Hey, I told you it was weird. Anyway, I've been looking after the baby for almost an hour now; I think Isona wants to soak up as much hot water and alone time as possible."

Obi-Wan didn't comment, too befuddled by her dreams and too disoriented by his own.

"I wouldn't mind trading little ones with you, though," Siri eventually said with a sly smirk.

Obi-Wan couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips, and he pulled the covers a little more tightly around Anakin. "No, thank you. I'm quite content with my little one."

"Mine is far cuter, has less baggage in general, isn't stubborn or screwed up in any way… you'd be trading up."

"Mine doesn't require diaper changes." Obi-Wan countered knowingly.

Siri scowled. "Fine, you win. You'll eventually have to change diapers when our daughter's born, you know; I've been caring for her this entire time, so you're going to be picking up the slack."

"Well, then, I'll leave you to changing him," Obi-Wan motioned towards the baby in her arms. "It'll allow you to become an expert so you can demonstrate the proper technique for me when our daughter is born."

Siri snorted, slipping out of the room. Amusement trickled through Obi-Wan before he eventually gazed down at the sleeping boy once more, and his thoughts wandered to yesterday. He'd had plenty of terrifying moments in his life, but seeing Anakin finally at his wit's end holding a lightsaber in his hand had to be one of the worst. Obi-Wan hadn't known how to fix it, what to say, so he'd just said what came to mind first. He didn't bother trying to reassure the young man – he'd just said why he shouldn't end his life. It had been enough. It had always been enough. It had been the one thing the boy had needed to hear his entire life.

Someone loved him. He mattered.

Obi-Wan sighed heavily, sitting up so Anakin would have more room on the bed. When had his and Siri's feelings for Anakin changed so drastically? When they'd first met, Obi-Wan had been fearful of Anakin, distrustful… Siri had been downright hateful. Obi-Wan recalled on Naboo when Siri had called Anakin a monster, and Padmé had immediately snapped at her for it.

_Padmé._ Yesterday had been such a whirlwind, ranging from uncertainty to panic to comfort to peace. But the most freeing aspect of all was _forgiveness_; Obi-Wan and Siri had forgiven Anakin for what he'd done, and without even realizing he'd still been carrying the weight of his sister's death on his mind, Obi-Wan found himself lighter than ever. He knew Siri felt the same way. He hoped Anakin at least felt a glimmer of that, but he knew they had a long way to go with the boy.

How long had they been on Ferrasco by now? Three days? Four? How long could they stay in this residence area? How long would the Imperials have the planet on lockdown? How long would it be before they had to start worrying about the Alliance searching for them?

There had to be some way to ensure the Rebels didn't track them down without having to make enemies or raise suspicions. Perhaps he could contact Qui-Gon after the lockdown had lifted. Telling Al to leave them would cause the man to panic – he didn't exactly trust Anakin the way they did. He didn't _know_ Anakin the way they did by now.

Obi-Wan shook away the worry he had for the smuggler. Al had to be fine, and even if he wasn't… there was nothing Obi-Wan could do about it.

Sighing, the Jedi carefully crawled over Anakin and hopped off the slightly elevated bed. He turned around and rearranged the blanket so Anakin was well covered, and then he exited the room to wash up. Upon returning from the shared refresher, he ran into Siri, who had apparently been relieved of her bundle. "I see Isona finally got back."

"Yes," his wife smiled as the two entered the lounge to watch the sunrise. After the rain from yesterday, the sky was crystal clear with a creamy pink hue on the edge of the horizon. "So… any idea what we're going to do today?"

Obi-Wan took a deep breath and gave her a reassuring gentle smile. "Let's try to have some normalcy to our day; care to meditate?"

Siri chuckled. "I would've never guessed meditation would actually be something to look forward to."

Amusement leaked through their bond as the two sat on the sofa side by side, legs crossed, closing their eyes and bowing their heads. As soon as Obi-Wan actively opened himself up to the Force, he was nearly drowned in it, and a wave of drowsiness overcame him. He opened his eyes, startled, and Siri followed suit, albeit with less concern.

"Well that was odd," she remarked. "What was that?"

Obi-Wan furrowed his brow. "I'm not entirely sure, but…"

The room shifted, and awareness lit up in the back of Obi-Wan's mind. Anakin was awake. Immediately he felt confusion, apprehension, shame, and near panic cut into his mind like sharp ice, and Siri rubbed her temples.

"Sudden headache," she grumbled. "You figure Anakin's up?"

Obi-Wan stared at his wife, marveling at how he'd somehow made a deeper connection with Anakin than she had. "Yes. Yes, he's very much awake."

The couple quickly returned to the bedroom in time to almost run face first into Anakin as he attempted to hastily leave the area. All three jumped, startled by the near collision, and then Anakin took a hesitant step away from them. He watched them uncertainly, his head lowered.

"Good morning," Obi-Wan greeted. "How are you feeling?"

Anakin's gaze drifting to the floor.

Mild concern and bewilderment emanated from Siri. "Are you okay? You want breakfast?"

Anakin's gaze locked with hers, his expression some strange mixture of stubbornness and uncertainty. His eyebrows knitted together slightly, creasing the space between them, and his blue eyes were intense but didn't hold their usual sharpness.

Siri sighed, knowing what she'd done wrong. "Do you _need _breakfast?"

Anakin exhaled, relieved, and nodded.

"You know you can't avoid that subject forever," Siri remarked, turning to head towards the stairway.

Obi-Wan continued to watch Anakin carefully, searching for any sign of last night's desperation in him, but through both his physical findings and the Force he concluded that the boy had actually settled. He just wasn't quite sure how to proceed now. Eventually he smiled and motioned for Anakin to follow him and Siri. The couple went down the stairs to the level below and entered the small kitchen, but the Force warned Obi-Wan that Anakin had passed their floor entirely and was heading outside. Yesterday he'd been fine with Anakin wandering about, but after last night…

Following the boy outside, Obi-Wan called out to him mildly. "Anakin?"

Anakin paused, keeping his back to Obi-Wan. "I need to walk."

Walk? It hadn't brought him much comfort lately apart from when Obi-Wan had walked with him the other day. "Do you want me to come along?"

Anakin sighed heavily and said nothing. The Force suddenly ruffled with mild frustration, and it started building on itself. Obi-Wan ignored the steady pressure wrapping around him and walked towards Anakin, putting a hand on his shoulder. "If you think it would be best, I'll stay here. But eventually you'll have to figure out the difference between what you _need_ and what you _want_."

"I _need_ to walk."

"And my offer?"

"I… don't know."

"You don't know if you want me to walk with you?"

"Why is your hand on my shoulder?"

"Don't avoid the question."

Anakin turned sharply to face him, shoving his hand away. "I don't know!"

Obi-Wan watched him patiently. "Well, just think about it. Does the idea of me walking with you make you irritated or content? Does it even affect you at all?"

Anakin shook his head. _"I don't know_._"_

That explained the frustration, then. It had nothing to do with Obi-Wan and everything to do with the fact that Anakin couldn't even parse out his own thoughts or feelings. Obi-Wan bit back a sigh; as if Anakin's dilemma hadn't been apparent to him and Siri for at least a week by now.

A _week_. Surely it hadn't just been a week. No… closer to two weeks. Maybe even three. _Blast_. How could such a short span of time feel like a lifetime?

Then again, Padmé and Anakin had only been together a week and a half.

Brushing the musings aside, Obi-Wan asked, "Why do you need to walk?"

He already knew the answer, but he wasn't sure how Anakin reasoned it.

"Walking… reinforces what it must. It eliminates anything unnecessary."

Obi-Wan grew curious. "Unnecessary?"

Anakin stared at him. Obi-Wan waited for an elaboration when he abruptly remembered that Anakin didn't seem to understand that cue. Sighing, he asked, "What are you talking about?"

Anakin shifted uneasily, and Obi-Wan sensed his discomfort. He didn't want to talk about this. He didn't like talking about this. "It's… walking is necessary. I have to do it every day."

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said, his tone indicating that answer wouldn't cut it. Anakin didn't quite catch the tone, but he did clearly sense Obi-Wan's determination.

"E…" Anakin stammered, suddenly more reticent than ever. He looked down for a moment, shook his head, and then looked back at Obi-Wan. "E-emotions. I… I shouldn't have them. Walking gets rid of them."

Obi-Wan blinked, startled. It took a few seconds longer, but it was at this point that Obi-Wan nearly fainted at what he'd just heard as it _really_ sank in – _Anakin had admitted he had emotions_.

Obi-Wan had suspected last night was significant in many ways, but… he tried to hide his reaction as much as possible, realizing Anakin would likely not appreciate a huge fuss about the matter since he was already reluctant to speak about it. However, this brought up a new issue; Obi-Wan had thought walking was a means Anakin used to calm himself, not _purge_ himself. Maybe letting him take a stroll wasn't such a great idea. "You can't get rid of your emotions, Anakin."

Disgust emanated from Anakin, and he completely missed Obi-Wan's questioning glance. He balled his fists and clenched his jaw, his gaze growing distant.

"_You have _no_ passion. A Sith Lord uses his anger as a _weapon_. You almost act like a _Jedi_ in your manner of fighting."_

Obi-Wan let the voice of Palpatine echo in his mind, giving him chills for a second. He knew that had bled through the bond with Anakin. It was obviously what was bothering him now.

He had to admit, it was _extremely_ ironic that Palpatine of all people would make that observation about his son. He couldn't have been happy about that. And Anakin… couldn't have been pleased about it either. Obi-Wan sensed lingering pain at just the thought of it, and he knew his suspicion was right; Palpatine's remark had stung, and now it downright angered Anakin.

Obi-Wan had to ask. "Anakin, why would you hide your emotions when Palpatine wanted you to use them?"

The Force snapped, and Anakin immediately took a large step away, turning to leave. Obi-Wan stepped in his path. A part of him wanted to tap into their bond again, to figure out what was going on in Anakin's mind, but he'd learned from the other night not to do so; Anakin's near panic had indicated he did _not _appreciate anyone in his mind. Obi-Wan wondered if Palpatine had to do with that. It was likely. In either case, he knew he couldn't push Anakin too far; if he went after him relentlessly it might destroy all their progress. But there was still one question that had to be answered before Anakin could go anywhere, and the boy knew it.

Anakin took a deep breath, straightening and calming himself. "Go be productive."

Obi-Wan smirked. "That's not answering my question. Do you want me to walk with you?"

He shook his head, growing desperate. "I don't know."

Obi-Wan sighed. It was pointless to continue; they were hitting a duracrete wall. "Anakin… don't walk if you're just trying to suppress your feelings again. It won't do you any good."

"Nothing does me any good," Anakin muttered, his face darkening for a moment.

Obi-Wan took a step towards him. "Don't despair; just _let me help you_. I'm not accusing you of anything, I'm just trying to _help_."

Anakin's face softened. "I… I know. But I _must_ walk."

Obi-Wan watched him sadly. "Remember what I said, then."

Anakin nodded and left. Obi-Wan reluctantly returned to the kitchen, and Siri was by the window, having observed their conversation. She looked at him with concern. "Is he okay?"

Obi-Wan sighed heavily, sitting at the small table. "I… can't say. He's not in as bad a state as yesterday, at least."

"Shouldn't we go after him?"

He shook his head. "No. His nerves are frayed as it is. He needs time to recover, and I get the impression he can only do that by himself."

"Like the brilliant conclusion he came to yesterday?" Siri argued, taking a step towards him. "We can't let him hurt himself."

"I'm not," Obi-Wan stressed, looking her in the eye. "But harassing him won't help, either."

Siri blew out a breath, leaning against the table and looking away. "Obi, how do we know when to wait and when to pursue?"

Obi-Wan's gaze drifted to the window, and he saw Anakin's silhouette disappearing in the distance. "We have to trust the Force… we have to trust Anakin."

* * *

The flight in hyperspace was longer than Padmé had expected; according to Al it was because they had to avoid Imperials and the general insanity in the Seswenna Oversector. As Padmé heard the hyperdrive disengage, she wandered from the hidden upstairs quarters. She and Éothen had spent some time in the main cargo bay in silence before the soldier had apologized quietly and departed. He carried sorrow with him, but his temper had passed. Padmé felt terrible for him, and she didn't know what to do. She'd always been the one to offer solutions, but it was dawning on her that she apparently wasn't good at fixing anything.

Sighing, Padmé climbed down the ladder and entered the strangely quiet cockpit. There she found Al, Éothen, and a handful of his team staring out the viewport in silence. Slowly walking towards them, she was about to ask what was wrong when she saw it for herself.

Salkende was engulfed in a myriad of colors that she'd seen before on other worlds after a bombardment. Red and orange speckled its landmasses, indicating massive fires, and blackened earth remained of areas where the flames had died out. Small circular shapes showed massive bombing sites. She could tell Al had switched open communications but there was nothing but static.

"What… happened…?" one of the soldiers asked.

"Take us to Fjesky," Éothen ordered with a soft, hoarse voice.

Al complied wordlessly, and everyone held onto something as he flew the _Beauty_ into the atmosphere. Padmé couldn't see Fjesky as they approached the landing site; plumes of smoke immediately covered the viewport, and Al had to rely on his computers to ensure he didn't hit anything. She glanced at Éothen. His jaw was clenched, his eyes wide, and he was very still.

As soon as the ship touched ground, Éothen marched out of the cockpit. A good portion of his team followed while some still stared out at the smoke, shocked and dazed. Padmé took off after Éothen, and Al frantically started inputting new frequencies into his comlink, likely calling the Rebels.

Oh gods, the _Rebels_.

"Éothen," Padmé called before coughing harshly as soon as she ran down the ramp. Smoke filled her lungs, hiding everything from view until she saw the silhouettes of the soldiers in his team. Coughing once more, she tore after them and ran into a clearing where the wind had managed to eliminate some of the breathing hazards. She got a clearer view of the damage, and she realized they had landed in the outskirts of the city. Homes were in tatters, debris littering the streets alongside bodies. Padmé felt her stomach clench as she saw the corpses of a family that had been escaping their home.

"Padmé!"

Startled, Padmé whirled around and saw Al running towards her. He pointedly ignored the bodies. "The Rebels here were practically annihilated. A few of them escaped the bombardment in smaller ships, but the main frigates were destroyed. Qui-Gon led them out; they're at Ghanu'jivo. We have to rendezvous with them there."

Padmé didn't know what to say. She certainly couldn't just acknowledge his statement like she would in a typical situation. All she could do was look around at her surroundings once more, all she could smell was the scent of burnt flesh and acrid smoke. Eventually she stared at Al once more, her mouth hanging open from shock. "W-why…?"

"Why?" Al repeated before softening. "Padmé… I don't know. The Empire's just… I don't know. I don't know how they even found out. But we have to leave before they decide to come back, or if they've got troops sweeping for survivors."

"Survivors?" What did _that_ mean? Was Al implying that if there weren't stormtroopers in the city there were no survivors? This place wasn't just a tomb, was it? What about other parts of the planet?

"I told the other soldiers who were still on the _Beauty_," Al explained. "Padmé… we have to go."

"But…" Padmé looked around again, too stunned to even comprehend what he was saying, still trying to comprehend what had happened. She'd never seen this much devastation in one place.

"They're not all gone, Padmé," Al reassured her. "Qui-Gon said plenty of Salkendens escaped too. But…"

Padmé's eyes settled on the family once more. "Not all of them."

Al heaved a deep breath. "No. Not all of them. Come on. Don't do this to yourself. Don't go into the city."

Padmé shook her head, taking a step away from Al. When he called out to her, she shook her head again. "I… have to find Éothen."

"Look, I sent his soldiers to find him. Please, Padmé... we should go. I... neither of us wants nor needs to see this. It won't change anything and it won't help anyone. We have to _leave_."

She continued to swivel her head from side to side, stumbling away. Al took a few steps towards her as if to grab her, but she swatted his hand away. He stared at her worriedly but respected her wish, backing off.

"Find him and then get back here," he said, and then he rushed back to the ship to keep it prepped for immediate takeoff.

Padmé followed the soldiers, her mind barely registering the sights around her. After what felt like an eternity she saw a partially demolished tall wall-like structure with the outline of what was a building attached, as if the wall were originally part of some grand entranceway. The soldiers picked up their pace when they saw it, and she suspected this was where Éothen had gone. Running, she nearly twisted her ankle on the rubble, but she managed to keep moving and would occasionally pause when she stumbled upon another corpse. Judging from the amount of bodies, she had a very disturbing suspicion that no one got out alive from this structure. It was likely directly hit in the bombardment.

The soldiers seemed to spread out, searching the vicinity, but Padmé continued moving straight ahead, and eventually she saw the short montrals that she knew belonged to Éothen. She slowed her pace and approached him. He was sitting in the debris, his hand on the shoulder of a Togruta woman, his gaze on a Human male a few paces away from her. Both were cold and still.

Padmé watched the scene with dread before eventually whispering, "Éothen?"

"Salkende has no navy," Éothen said out of nowhere, his tone low. "We have a few fighters for bombardment within the atmosphere, but… nothing too advanced. Our war was always a ground war. We have a few turrets to ward off the occasional fighter, but… nothing like this. Nothing from orbit. Nothing like this."

Padmé's gaze moved from the bodies to the soldier, sensing a remorse she couldn't fathom.

Éothen's hand slowly slid from the woman's shoulder, and then he froze. "My clan is gone."

"Éothen…" What could she say? Condolences couldn't even begin to cover this.

"There's nothing for any of us here. Not right now." Éothen continued. Then he slowly stood and looked her in the eye with almost dead eyes, but something was quickly rising in them, and his body trembled. "My men told me about Ghanu'jivo. They also said there are a few salvageable ships. Your friend can go alone. You can go with him, if you so choose. Or you can stay with me. We will go to Ghanu'jivo, and I will find my people. We will rebuild. You… will you rebuild with me?"

She remained motionless. He was still in shock, but he was soldiering on. His family lay dead in front of him. He wasn't… well, perhaps he was _trying_ to think straight. But she also recognized the question he was truly asking. This wasn't just a simple _will you tag along_. This was a choice, the choice she had been dreading.

_Will you stay with me? Will you marry me? Will you rebuild with me? Or will you go with Almusian and remain with your Alliance?_

_Will you choose Darth Vader instead?_

Padmé swallowed. "Éothen…"

What could she say?! She'd never truly wanted to marry Éothen, but she was the one who had dragged him into this mess. _All_ of this was _her fault_. How could she abandon him now?!

But…

She couldn't decide this. Not now. Not now. "Éothen… I have to check on my family. Tarkin threatened them. I… have to make sure they're okay."

Éothen swallowed thickly. She wanted to smack herself, realizing a heartbeat after she'd spoken that she was talking about ensuring her family's safety while his lay dead on the floor. What was _wrong_ with her?! Éothen bit down on something and then cleared his throat, closing his eyes and nodding. He knew she was deflecting. "I'll see you on Ghanu'jivo."

She felt disgusted with herself, and she refused to step away. Instead she took a small step towards him. "Éothen…"

He shuffled back from her. "Go. I'll see you on Ghanu'jivo."

"Éothen, I'm… I'm _so sorry_…"

Éothen didn't speak. He just shook his head.

Padmé looked at his family once more and then locked eyes with him. "We will defeat the Empire. I promise."

Éothen nodded, his entire body bobbing with him. Padmé took another step towards him, and he backed away from her once more. She eventually took the hint and felt even worse for it, but she still walked away to find Al and inform him that the two of them would depart for Naboo alone before rendezvousing at Ghanu'jivo.

Once she was gone, Éothen slowly sat on the rubble once more, staring silently at his parents.

* * *

The early hour of the morning ensured that the kitchen area in the dormitory was relatively barren for the duration of Obi-Wan and Siri's breakfast, and so the couple decided to linger there and keep watch for Anakin. An hour later, Obi-Wan sensed his return, and the Force felt infinitely calmer, the bond between the two quiet. Anakin had used the walk as an opportunity to close off his mind to the Jedi. Obi-Wan couldn't say he was surprised; he couldn't expect too many miracles from last night.

Siri sat up a little straighter as she sensed him, and the two busied themselves in the kitchen before eventually settling at the table, waiting for the boy. Anakin soon came into view, his face neutral, his body more relaxed than it had been when he'd left. He seemed to notice their scrutiny, and after reentering the building, he sought them out in the kitchen. His eyes immediately fell to the only available seat at the table, where Obi-Wan and Siri had placed a plate full of food and a bowl of triple chocolate ice cream (Obi-Wan still wasn't convinced there was even such a flavor, but the red-headed merchant they'd run into the other day had insisted it was the best available and Siri had gone for it).

"How was your walk?" Obi-Wan asked.

Anakin took a seat and reached for the bowl of ice cream. Siri intercepted him. "Hey, _breakfast_ first."

The young man stared at Siri somewhat irritably for a moment before exhaling softly through his nose and reaching for the plate instead. He eyed the ice cream carefully, as if ascertaining whether it would melt within the amount of time it took him to eat the food they'd cooked.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat, getting Anakin's attention. _Well?_

"Productive," Anakin said and then began to eat quietly. The couple exchanged looks, not really wanting to leave him alone but also not wishing to awkwardly stare at him the entire time. Eventually, though, Anakin was the one to break the silence. "You don't have it."

Obi-Wan and Siri both stared at him in bewilderment. "Have what?"

"That weird non-crying touch."

Obi-Wan furrowed his brow, even more baffled. "What?"

"I said-"

"I mean what are you talking about?"

Anakin dropped his utensil on his plate determinedly, looking Obi-Wan in the eye as if he were an idiot for not knowing what he was saying. "When… when people cry, other people somehow stop them by touching them. It's like you intrinsically have non-crying powers. I don't get it. But you two were both… both… well it didn't work. I was still… and it was… it wouldn't stop, and… you don't have it. You're people, you're _supposed_ to have it, then I wouldn't have spent all night…"

Anakin shifted, flustered, looking down at his food. Obi-Wan and Siri glanced at each other. The expression on his wife's face resembled some mixture of amusement and confusion. Obi-Wan was inclined to feel the same way. What had brought _this_ on?

"It's a genotype thing, isn't it?" Anakin questioned, looking at them again.

Siri coughed harshly, trying her best to hide a laugh, and Obi-Wan bit his lip. "Anakin, there isn't a _non-crying gene_."

Anakin's brow lowered until he stared grumpily at Siri, sensing her amusement. "Well there _should_ be. I thought people were supposed to be good at that sort of thing."

Siri snorted. "Sweetheart, Obi-Wan's the _last_ person who's good at handling others' emotions."

Obi-Wan threw her an irritated glare. The last thing he needed was for Anakin to doubt his ability to help him.

"I'm not going to kill you."

Obi-Wan and Siri both stared at Anakin, startled by the sudden change in conversation. He watched them intently. When he said nothing to elaborate, apparently assuming they understood, Obi-Wan said, "We know that. What makes you think we were worried?"

"Your conversation yesterday."

Siri raised an eyebrow. "You only heard part of it and then took off with all the wrong ideas. I thought you were more logical than that."

Anakin blushed, and the bond between him and Obi-Wan trembled slightly. Perhaps she shouldn't have said that. Before Obi-Wan could speak, Siri took care of the matter, also sensing Anakin's discomfort. "It's okay; you haven't exactly been having a great time lately. You were under a lot of stress; that makes people do a lot of things they shouldn't."

"I'm not a p—" Anakin started to say before freezing. Obi-Wan and Siri watched him with bated breath, waiting to see if he would finish the statement.

Anakin swallowed and looked at his hands folded perfectly on his lap.

The Force practically glowed between the two Jedi. It really _was_ a miracle. Obi-Wan didn't know what to say or do next, though he could sense Siri had the inclination to drag Anakin into a Wookiee hug.

"Eat your ice cream, Anakin," Obi-Wan eventually said gently with a smile. Anakin seemed to sense the sentiment in the Force through their bond, and he looked at the couple with some softness in his eyes Obi-Wan had never witnessed. The young man took a deep breath, nodded, and ate quietly, the bond practically humming with contentment and warmth.

As he ate, Siri sighed and leaned back in her seat, her mood shifting as she thought about other matters, giving the young man a reprieve. "We need some new clothes. We've been in these for I don't even want to know how long."

"You are right," Obi-Wan agreed. "But we have very little money. It would be wiser to just see if we can wash these in the refresher."

Obi-Wan and Siri glanced at Anakin to see how he was doing when they noticed the bowl was already empty. Siri's eyebrows rose. "Good Force, you're not trying to inhale the stuff, are you?"

Anakin stared at her blankly. Siri sighed.

Obi-Wan rose, grabbing the dishes. "Well, in the meantime, I propose we meditate."

"We need to train." Anakin interjected, also standing.

"Meditation first, Anakin. We all have a lot to sort out."

"That's what _walking_ does." Anakin emphasized, crossing his arms stubbornly as his face grew stony. "You should do it too."

"Well, I _did_ offer to walk with you," Obi-Wan noted as he washed the dishes. Siri watched the interaction with interest. "You refused to have me."

"I didn't refuse."

"No, you just couldn't decide."

Anakin looked away.

"Let's try this," Siri piped in, catching the men's attention. "Anakin, do you want to meditate or train?"

"We need to train."

"No," Siri shook her head. "Do you _want_ to meditate or train?"

Anakin stared at her. His shoulders tightened as gaze lowered, and the Force moved like a lake disturbed by a pebble. The bond between Obi-Wan and Anakin was still closed, but Anakin couldn't entirely hide his struggle.

Obi-Wan tried to help him. "Typically the best way to know you want something is to listen to what you think of first, what seems to excite you more."

"Something that makes my vitals change is something I want?"

Siri sighed. "Yeah, sweetheart, something like that."

"Then I want Padmé." Anakin immediately said, his mental defenses crumbling as his emotions started to make him shake. "And I want Master back. And I want you two to be safe. And I want the Rebels and the Jedi and the governor to die. And I _never_ want last night to happen again."

A part of Obi-Wan riled against the statement about desiring the death of the Alliance, but he held his tongue. He sensed Siri's worry flare up as well, but she followed her husband's lead. Anakin had little to no control over his emotions, and his desire for the Rebels to die was just a response to losing someone he loved; Obi-Wan would be lying to himself if he denied wishing similar to the Empire the first few nights after Padmé's death. He would have never acted on it. Anakin's reaction didn't necessarily mean he was going to go after the Rebels and kill all of them… hopefully. Ideally they wouldn't be near the Alliance until Anakin had settled, anyway.

That aside, it was heartbreaking to hear him speak about Padmé… and Palpatine. Siri, on the other hand, focused on his other statement, and Obi-Wan sensed she was touched by the young man's words. He had to admit he was surprised by them, honestly, and he did feel a smile tug at his lips.

Eventually, Obi-Wan said, "We don't want last night to happen again, either. I never want you to be in a situation where you feel like you have to take your own life."

Anakin looked into Obi-Wan's eyes, his blue gaze soft and still like a lake. Obi-Wan felt him tug at their bond, but the boy still didn't open up his end. Obi-Wan's side of the bond had never really been shut; he didn't have enough training to know how, honestly, and it allowed him to be open for Anakin if the boy needed him. It was just a matter of Anakin trusting him enough to allow Obi-Wan into his own mind.

Anakin shifted. "Can we train now?"

Siri and Obi-Wan exchanged a glance, debating the matter, before they both smiled and motioned towards the exit. Training seemed to be a comfort for Anakin, and they'd let him voice some of his thoughts anyway. Anakin practically bounced out of the room. By the time the couple entered the staircase the boy was long gone.

Siri crossed her arms in exasperation. "You figure he went to the woods, where we trained two days ago?"

Obi-Wan nodded. "It's likely."

"What are we going to do with him, Obi?" she asked as they made their way to the unofficial training site. "I don't mean where are we going to take him, though that is a legitimate concern as well given the circumstances but just _how_ do we help him? Last night was too close; I don't want that happening again. I'm no psychiatrist, and he _obviously_ needs one."

"You expect him to actually attend therapy?" Obi-Wan nearly laughed at the thought of it. And then cringed. He wouldn't subject any psychiatrist to Anakin; the boy would either make them give up on him fairly quickly due to his sheer stubbornness or he'd flip on them in a heartbeat and lash out.

Siri seemed to share his sentiment. "Hell no. But that's just the thing—he _definitely_ needs something like that, and he won't cooperate with the professionals, and _we aren't_ professionals."

"Then I suppose we'll have to be," Obi-Wan shrugged; there wasn't much else they could do.

"So we just teach him how to have emotions."

"We teach him how to recognize them and control them. You were doing just fine in there."

Siri smirked. "As were you, oh mighty teacher. Should I call you Master Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.

"So what happens when they try to settle our paperwork issue?" Siri asked, her mind drifting to their predicament. "I can't forge documentation. We said we lost our things in the chaos, but that means we'll have to go through an actual official process, and if they do any kind of identification test on Anakin, let alone us—"

"I know," Obi-Wan sighed. "We can't stay here much longer. But we have no ship."

Siri paused. "Anakin likes flying. I know how to jump start a ship without the proper access codes. We could steal a ship, and he would be able to avoid the authorities as we make our escape."

"Oh yes, that will obviously be inconspicuous," Obi-Wan countered.

"He'd know Imperial protocol about that better than anybody."

"Siri, we can't do that."

"That's our only option out of here, Obi," Siri stressed. "People can come to Ferrasco in droves, but you don't see them _leaving_."

"Perhaps we can leave Firro," Obi-Wan suggested. "It would be easier to disappear in more rural areas, and it would likely be a better environment for Anakin anyway."

The two resumed their walk, spending the majority of it in contemplative silence before Siri said, "In either case, we're _definitely_ avoiding contact with the Alliance after his remark in the kitchen."

Obi-Wan didn't have time to comment before they happened upon Anakin, who looked rather impatient—or perhaps excited—as he paced in the woods.

"You're late," he said.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "I didn't realize we were on a schedule."

"We are now." Anakin replied firmly. His demeanor had changed once again, no longer emotionless but no longer unsteady and uncertain. It was also unlike how he'd been when he'd taken them training two days ago; then he'd been eager and a touch frantic as if he didn't have much time to teach them. Now he stood erect, his arms crossed, his face hard, his eyes boring into them, the Force feeling like molten rock, as if they were surrounded by stillness with heat simmering just underneath. "First we're doing a warm-up routine, then strength training, then lightsaber training. After that, we'll do some Force techniques and stretches."

"So we're on a full training regimen now?" Siri surmised, somewhat amused.

"Now that I—" Anakin bit his lip. Then he nodded.

Obi-Wan glanced at his wife before looking at Anakin once more. "Anakin, is there anything you want to talk about?"

Anakin shook his head, his eyebrows converging neatly as he practically glared in defiance and determination. "You have a lot to learn."

Obi-Wan sighed and steeled himself for the workout to come, and he felt Siri do similar, though she seemed far more eager than he. He had a feeling this would be a long day.

Their training started out well enough, with some brief stretches and then immediate strengthening exercises with far too many repetitions for Obi-Wan's liking. Both Jedi had worked up quite the sweat within five to ten minutes, and Anakin called for them to stop, which was a relief.

"Now we do the strength training," Anakin remarked.

Obi-Wan nearly gawked at him. "That was the _warm-up_?"

Anakin eyed him and then nodded. Obi-Wan groaned.

The next minute or so was spent holding a plank while Anakin literally leapt lightly onto their backs and walked on them like a bridge before hopping to the other side. Obi-Wan had to admit his patience was starting to wear thin, and he knew Siri was about to blow, but they both suffered the abuse as Anakin guided them through thirty minutes of brutal workouts before _finally_ granting them a reprieve and providing them with water.

"Is this how you always workout?" Siri asked as she drank.

Anakin nodded. "When I have the chance for a full workout. Otherwise I spar."

"Against who? Palpatine?"

"Sometimes. Other times it's kata practices, or working with training droids, or Jedi prisoners."

Obi-Wan and Siri sat up rod straight. "Jedi prisoners?!"

Anakin watched them, suddenly curious and uncertain at the same time, but the Force also dripped with a hint of mistrust. "Yes… that matters to you?"

"Anakin, _we're_—" Siri was about to start when Obi-Wan put a hand on her shoulder, sensing Anakin's unease. He wasn't sure what had the man acting out of sorts, but he suspected Anakin might think they have a conflict of interest between himself and the Jedi. Last night would have proven otherwise, but this new trust between the couple and the boy was still forming. They had to tread carefully. As Padmé had beautifully demonstrated when she was still alive, loving Anakin didn't always mean trusting him, and vice versa. They needed to change that.

"You trained with them on Imperial Center?" Obi-Wan asked carefully.

Anakin watched him, probing his mind. Obi-Wan left it carefully blank. Eventually the young man nodded.

Obi-Wan stroked his beard. "Interesting. Don't worry, Anakin; we're not going anywhere near Imperial Center."

Some of the tension in the boy's shoulders eased, and he took a step away from them, the rough currents in the Force smoothing out.

Anakin eventually changed the subject. "Now we spar. How familiar are you with different lightsaber styles? You seemed to only be fighting with Shii Cho."

"We know there are seven forms," Obi-Wan responded. "Shii Cho is the first, taught to all Jedi."

"Shii Cho is basic, simplistic. Its focus is to disarm without hurting. It's only useful for taking prisoners, which you wouldn't likely do in high volume, which means the form is essentially useless. It's only a stepping stone, and you two are more than ready to progress."

"We've only been learning it for about a month, Anakin," Obi-Wan stressed.

Anakin shook his head. "That's irrelevant. You don't need it to learn the other forms; you learned the basics of any lightsaber combat and you're already fighters. You'll learn faster than an initiate. It's time you understand what's actually important and learn what's practical."

"What style did you choose?" Siri asked, curious.

"My style depends purely on the situation," Anakin answered. "I've learned four of the forms, though my strengths in each vary."

"What do you mean?"

Anakin paused, apparently somewhat exasperated that they were asking about him. "I know Forms III, IV, V, and VI: Soresu, Ataru, Djem So, and Niman. I excel best at Djem So and Ataru. My Niman is slightly exceptional, and my Soresu is passable. What do you know of these forms?"

"Soresu is a defensive form," Obi-Wan immediately said. As soon as he'd heard Qui-Gon speak of the seven forms of lightsaber combat, he'd immediately been drawn to the third one. He liked the idea of using defense to tire one's opponent out, to turn their own strength against them. It was far more preferable to killing anyone or acting in aggression. Siri, on the other hand, had gravitated toward Ataru, a more acrobatic and feisty style, as was her wont. Both Jedi remembered the basic principles behind each style, and they indicated as such.

Anakin nodded as he listened. "These are the forms you must learn. The others are irrelevant."

"What makes you say that?"

"Makashi is purely for lightsaber combat. You have no need to focus on it; the majority of your fights will be against blasters. Someday that might change, but the other forms are more than capable of compensating."

_Someday that might change?_ Obi-Wan didn't like the sound of that.

"Juyo is… too erratic. It requires relying on emotion. It'll do you no good."

"Well, at least we can agree on that," Obi-Wan remarked, crossing his arms. He refrained from noting that Qui-Gon had said it was more of a Sith form than a Jedi's when used incorrectly.

"Soresu is a defensive form," Siri said. "Why would you use it?"

"Defense is a necessity when overwhelmed," Anakin noted somewhat reluctantly.

Obi-Wan didn't bother asking in what situations Anakin had been overwhelmed. The assault on the emperor's fleet was no doubt one of them; as powerful as Anakin was, Obi-Wan doubted he could best an entire shuttle of Jedi Masters. Apparently he'd been able to survive against them, though, which was quite the testament to his ability.

"I assume you've learned basic deflecting abilities against blasters?"

"You assume correctly," Siri answered.

"What about redirection?"

"No," Obi-Wan said, and he quickly added, "We need to learn that as soon as possible."

Anakin nodded in agreement. "Let's begin."

Pulling out a blaster, he motioned for them to stand. Obi-Wan and Siri stared at him confusedly.

"Where did you get a blaster?" Siri asked.

"That's irrelevant."

Both Jedi sighed heavily.

Obi-Wan didn't know how long they trained after that, only that Anakin wouldn't allow them a break until they'd successfully redirected enough bolts in a row to his satisfaction. By the time he nodded in approval, Obi-Wan felt both confident in his ability and completely exhausted. He was also starving, and he knew Siri was as well.

"We need to eat, Anakin," Obi-Wan pointed out. "That means you too."

"You'll have missions where you go for more than a day without food. The water is sufficient."

"This _isn't_ one of those missions, and _Siri_ needs nutrition," Obi-Wan argued, deactivating his blade.

Anakin glanced at Siri, who hadn't quite complained about her hunger but wasn't arguing against Obi-Wan, either. Instead, she sat, too tired for words, her hilt limply hanging in her grasp. Anakin furrowed his brow, and Obi-Wan could sense his befuddlement.

"She's feeding herself and the baby, Anakin, she _has_ to eat," Obi-Wan noted exasperatedly.

Anakin's mouth pulled to one side in annoyance, and then he motioned for them to follow him. The couple gratefully walked with the boy out of the woods and toward the edge of the city. It had grown distinctly darker, and as Obi-Wan looked at the horizon he noted it was dusk.

"I know you understand basic Force techniques," Anakin remarked, pausing. "But there are some that are more important than others, and you must learn them as soon as possible. Before you can eat, you have to demonstrate some proficiency in the Mind Trick technique."

"_Anakin."_

"It's simple, you'll learn it quickly," Anakin insisted. "Most are susceptible. All you have to do is focus on their mind and force your will upon them. The move requires finesse, but you'll learn the subtlety over time. Initially it might leave them addled rather than have them listen to your command, but that's expected. Start with that woman."

Obi-Wan reluctantly followed Anakin's pointer finger to an elderly woman who looked a little dazed and was shuffling slowly across the street by the use of her cane. He immediately grew uncomfortable and looked at the young man. "I'm not using the Force on her."

"Statistically, she's likely to have a more susceptible mind than most. It makes her an easy target."

"We're not _preying_ on the infirmed," Siri said firmly.

"Do you want to eat or not?" Anakin retorted stubbornly, crossing his arms and glaring at them.

"We don't need your _permission_ to eat," Siri noted, making her way to the nearest restaurant.

Anakin stepped in her way. "Shall I do it, then? I can influence her any way I want. I can have her drop her cane and continue to walk until she falls. I can have stand in the middle of the street so traffic can hit her."

"That's enough," Obi-Wan immediately told him firmly. "You will do no such thing."

"Then _finish the training_."

"What's this really about, Anakin? There's no need for this." Obi-Wan countered.

"This is about making sure you have the tools necessary to survive."

"We've survived without these tools for over two decades. We can survive a little longer." Siri remarked stubbornly.

Anakin bit his lip, his brow furrowing.

"Anakin, what are you expecting to happen?" Obi-Wan asked, sensing the boy's frustration.

"He's not expecting anything," Siri piped in, taking a step closer to Anakin. "He just doesn't like the fact that we're not obeying his orders."

"I neither like nor dislike anything," Anakin immediately said, the pitch of his voice deepening with annoyance. However, after a few seconds, the fight seemed to drain out of him, and he eventually sighed tiredly, looking away.

"You like ice cream," Siri said, smiling as she stepped away. "Scratch that—you kriffing love that stuff."

Anakin initially looked irritated at the remark, but then he grew confused. "You can't love an inanimate object… right?"

Siri's eyes glittered with mischief. "Of _course_ you can. In fact, did you know that there's an actual syndrome called _credit fever_ where people fall in love with money? It's catastrophic if left untreated."

Anakin's eyes widened in astonishment as Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "Is there a vaccine or something for that?"

Siri burst out laughing, annoying the young man.

"That wasn't funny," he grumbled, walking past her.

The trio made their way to the restaurant, and thankfully there was no wait. They sat cheerfully, Obi-Wan and Siri browsing the menus as Anakin looked at the first option and then sipped his water aimlessly, initially seeming bored before the Force grew still and calm, and he started to glance around the room.

"What are you getting?" Obi-Wan asked to keep the boy entertained.

Anakin pointed to the entrée. Obi-Wan read it and then asked, "Do you even know what that is?"

Anakin shrugged, his eyes piercing into every detail of their surroundings. His face was neutral, his body relaxed, his mind quiet.

"Anakin?" Obi-Wan prodded. The boy looked at him. "Are you alright?"

One of his eyebrows twitched, wondering why Obi-Wan was asking, but he didn't speak. He just nodded. That was his usual manner when he _was_ actually fine, so Obi-Wan didn't bother him after that, though the couple eventually turned their attention to him after their food arrived.

"Thank you for training us today," Siri said with a smile. "We appreciate it."

Anakin blinked. "It's necessary."

Obi-Wan knew where this was going. "Yes, Anakin, but you didn't have to teach us."

This baffled him even more.

"You're not _assigned_ to us; it isn't your duty," Obi-Wan explained, knowing why Anakin was confused; after all, the boy had indicated that everything one did was their duty, and that didn't require thanks.

"Yes it is."

"You're not our master, so it actually isn't."

"Yes it is."

Obi-Wan sighed, somewhat frustrated with Anakin's stubbornness.

"Why?" Siri asked.

Anakin suddenly was mute, but the Force churned uncomfortably. He didn't know how to say it. After a while, he said awkwardly, "Because it is."

"Your logic is astounding," Siri quipped with a raised eyebrow, taking another bite of her food.

The rest of dinner was spent silently eating before Obi-Wan and Siri began an animated discussion about the lackluster meals they'd had while in the service corps. Anakin was engrossed in his previous task of looking around the restaurant; apparently his default was to scan the vicinity for any threats. Eventually Obi-Wan stepped in, prodding the Force first to ensure his statement would be valid. "Anakin, relax. We're safe."

"You're never safe, not in unfamiliar territory."

"You slept well enough despite that," Siri remarked.

Anakin glanced around as if to ensure no one could hear them, and then he turned to her in an accusatory manner. "That's _your_ fault."

"Well, _you_ were the one who taught us how to calm someone with the Force." Siri pointed out with a smirk.

Anakin growled grumpily, picking at his food. A few seconds later he looked back up. "Why do people hug other people if it doesn't always stop others from crying?"

"It's a sign of comfort," Siri said softly, watching the boy with sad eyes.

"I heard it was a sign of affection."

"It can be that too. Hugging serves a lot of purposes."

"Hugging doesn't solve anything. And you didn't stop the tears last night," Anakin noted, crossing his arms and leaning back in his eat. "All it did serve to do was support me since apparently crying leaves you physically weak."

"You had a lot of tears to get out, sweetheart," Siri remarked knowingly. "That's why you were weak."

"Do they store up over time?" he asked, completely bemused by her statement.

Obi-Wan did his best to hide his amusement; he was certain the young man wouldn't appreciate it. "Emotion tends to build up when you don't have a release for it. You didn't have a release for nineteen years, Anakin. Last night was inevitable."

Anakin listened to his words closely and then gazed at his hands thoughtfully. "I… but I _do_ have means of releasing it…"

"You were lying to yourself about your own humanity, Anakin. You weren't releasing anything; just bottling it up."

"Well how are you supposed to release it? Surely you two do so, and I haven't seen _you_ cry."

"Obi bawls every night like a baby," Siri quipped with a mock sad shake of her head. Obi-Wan sighed heavily. Anakin stared at him in amazement, then suspicion.

"I didn't hear anything _last_ night. Or the night before." He noted, narrowing his eyes.

"She's _joking_, Anakin." Obi-Wan nearly rolled his eyes.

"Then how do you release your emotions?"

"I oftentimes talk them out, either internally or with Siri."

Anakin blinked. Then he leaned back in his seat as if increasing distance between them and himself would eliminate that idea from their heads. He obviously was suspecting they would push for him to do just that.

He wasn't wrong. Obi-Wan prompted, "Do you want to talk about last night?"

"No." Anakin immediately said.

"Anakin—"

"No."

Obi-Wan sighed, and Siri tried next. "It'll help. It always helps to talk about things. Maybe we'll have a perspective on it that could help you figure something out."

Anakin remained tight-lipped, staring at them defiantly.

The couple glanced at each other, silently asking how to proceed. Siri tried a different tactic. "Okay, fine, we won't talk about last night. Let's talk about the night before. You came in acting very strangely. What was up with that?"

Here Anakin shifted, and Obi-Wan sensed worry flitter through their bond before the boy clamped it shut. "Nothing."

"Anakin, how do you expect us to help you if you won't cooperate?" Obi-Wan finally asked.

The boy finally stared at the table, looking defeated. "Possessing emotions is a weakness in itself. You want me to _elaborate_ on that?"

"Why is it a weakness?"

"Because you don't _think_ properly when you're emotional. Because you can make mistakes, because you inevitably _will_ mess something up, because you can't serve anyone properly when your own feelings cloud your judgemnet."

Siri looked at Obi-Wan out of the corner of her eye. _If only the Jedi Council could hear this._

The irony of Anakin's words didn't escape Obi-Wan either, but he didn't comment on it. "Is that why you suppressed your emotions, despite your father's wishes?"

Anakin continued to stare at the table, unable to look them in the eye. "I… don't know. It's been too long."

"You don't know why you fabricated this lie about yourself?"

"It _made sense_." Anakin ground out, suddenly angry, glaring at his plate. "I… I…"

Anakin took a shaky breath, trying to spit the words out, but it was almost as if his own body were fighting against him. Obi-Wan and Siri didn't dare interrupt. Eventually, he said, "I knew that… that I… I loved Master. I knew that. I've always known that. He's… he's all I had. Him and the… I knew I loved him. And I knew Master thought love was a weakness. And it was the _only damn thing_ I felt. And it was wrong. Love is just so, _so_ wrong. And all he ever did was… he didn't love me… he couldn't, it was wrong, and he _wasn't_ wrong… so I told myself I wouldn't feel anything at all. I knew the only reason I was alive was because of my usefulness. So it made sense that I would be nothing more than whatever Master wanted; I mean, I _already was_ nothing more than what Master wanted. It was a logical conclusion, and… life made sense after that, at least until _Padmé_ came along, and then you two…"

"Love isn't wrong," Siri said softly but firmly.

Anakin watched them wearily. "Love is what made me kill Padmé. And it's what made me try _not_ to kill her."

Obi-Wan and Siri immediately leaned forward. "What do you mean?"

"I…" the Force became crushing, and Anakin grew even more anxious. "I… didn't… I didn't… I didn't want to kill her. I couldn't see her dead. So I didn't kill her immediately. I shot her in the abdomen so she wouldn't die before I had time to leave. It's one of the most painful deaths, prolonged for hours… she had at least three or four hours to bleed and suffer before they found her body. I couldn't watch her die because I loved her. _Love_ _did that_."

Obi-Wan and Siri were stunned silent, and before they could say anything, Anakin continued, looking them in the eye. "But you… you love me, right?"

Siri exhaled slowly, trying to push aside the emotions Anakin's conversation had dredged up. "Yes."

Anakin stared at them worriedly, and Obi-Wan managed to slip some humor in as he also tried to eliminate his initial reaction. "We don't plan on shooting you."

Anakin gave him a sour look.

"Anakin, what you knew of love was an abuse of it," Obi-Wan eventually explained, ignoring the image of Padmé slowly bleeding out, her face drawn in pain. "You used your love as an excuse to blindly obey Palpatine and to allow him to hurt you. Padmé used love and lust to initially fool you before she herself fell in love with you."

"She loved the Alliance first," Anakin sighed, resting his face in his hands. "She loved the Alliance first, and I loved Master first. Her death was inevitable."

Obi-Wan sighed as well. The man was partly correct. But it was time they stopped opening old wounds. Obi-Wan and Siri had long since started the process of moving on from her death. It was about time they helped Anakin start that process too.

"She may be gone, but her legacy lives on," Obi-Wan said. "And though we will always remember her, we cannot let her loss crush us. The same applies to your father, Anakin."

Anakin snapped upward, his eyes locking with Obi-Wan's.

"You can't keep holding on to the dead," Obi-Wan insisted as gently as he could, but with some urgency. "It will only drag you down until you reach last night's point once more. We must mind the living. And as I've said before, I'm not saying this because I don't care; I'm saying this because lingering on it will do you no good, nor anyone around you. You _know_ that."

"But you said you don't know if they care about what happens after they die," Anakin argued. "What if they _do_ care?"

"You think you can still do your father's bidding, even after he's dead?" Siri asked, a hint of disgust in her voice, though to her credit, she was trying to hold it back.

"It's why I listened to _you two_, initially. It's why I didn't hurt you. Because I knew Padmé wouldn't want that."

"That's good, Anakin, but—"

"But you said I should disregard what they would want."

Obi-Wan bit back another sigh. If he backed Anakin's claim, then that might get Anakin to let go, but honestly, he himself had initially been kind to Anakin because he knew it's what Padmé would have done. How could he make Anakin differentiate between doing what his loved ones wished and not obsessing over them? How could he say it was okay to believe that for Padmé but absolutely _not_ okay in concern to Palpatine? The only way he could do that would be to convince Anakin that Palpatine was wrong, and he didn't see that happening anytime soon. He and Siri had managed to crack Anakin's unshakable belief in his lack of personhood, but that was a lie Anakin himself had created, not one Palpatine had given him.

"Anakin… it's never easy to lose a loved one. I can't give you all the answers." Obi-Wan shook his head. "You can do what you might think is best, or what you suspect they think is best, but in the end it is _your_ life, _your will_, and not theirs."

"But my will doesn't matter—"

"Yes. It. Does." Siri interrupted, brooking no room for argument.

"But I don't even _know_ what I want!"

"You said it this morning. For heaven's sake, you said it just now when you were talking about Padmé!"

"I can't bring Padmé and Master back from the dead!"

"No," Obi-Wan immediately said. "But you _can_ help me and Siri, and you _can_ prevent yourself from ever again reaching such a low point as last night. As I said, you must concern yourself with the living."

Anakin sank in his chair, his eyes flitting back and forth between nothing in particular as he considered their words. The Force churned, pushing Obi-Wan and Siri back and forth in a strange battle with itself as Anakin apparently debated something.

"Nothing makes sense anymore," the young man eventually said. "Everything you say contradicts Master and the governor. _Everything_."

_Well we're right, they're wrong_, Obi-Wan heard Siri think, and he hid a smile. He knew she was smart enough not to voice such a blunt statement, anyway. "It's up to you to decide what is true and what isn't, but we can help you every step of the way."

Anakin glanced around, as if remembering he was in a public setting, and he sighed heavily, sitting up straight once more and continuing to eat in silence, his face slowly rearranging itself into a neutral façade as usual. The Force remained restless until the bill arrived, at which point Anakin waved a dismissive hand and said it was paid for. The waitress agreed, and the Force curled around her like an nexu's paw.

Obi-Wan sharply looked at the young man. "_Anakin. _You _can't_ do that."

Anakin either didn't hear him or ignored him, standing and leaving the restaurant. Obi-Wan and Siri debated chasing the waitress down to _actually_ pay for their dinner, but honestly, they were nearly broke at this point, and Siri eventually convinced a reluctant Obi-Wan to depart. When the couple returned to the dorm, they found Anakin waiting there, standing in the middle of the room facing the door.

Both Jedi paused side by side just inside the entrance, quietly asking if something was wrong.

Anakin took a slow, deep breath as if he wanted to say something, but then he bit his lip and looked down. The air was tight, the Force held still as the young man stood stiffly. Eventually he looked back up and took several slow steps towards them until he was less than an arm's reach away. His mouth opened slightly, either to speak or to catch his breath, and his deep blue eyes gazed into theirs, filled with uncertainty, but also with some realization that he couldn't verbalize. He took the final step towards them, and slowly reached his arms around both of them, hugging them. Obi-Wan and Siri stood there in shock for a moment before slowly returning the embrace and pulling him close.

After a few seconds, Obi-Wan heard Anakin whisper, "Thank you."


	50. Homecoming

**Hey all, thanks for your patience and heartfelt reviews! Hold on tight! ;)  
**

* * *

Tarkin hadn't slept all night. Initially he'd spent most of his time wondering how in the blazes he would stay a step ahead of the new Keeper, but eventually his thoughts had shifted to Vader. What condition was the boy in? His spy had given him little to nothing concerning Vader's health, just his location. Was he a complete wreck? It was likely; Palpatine had been his center of existence. Once again Tarkin wondered if he would even be getting the person he knew, whether it was worth the effort. Shaking his head with a scowl, he banished the thought from his mind. Even if Vader weren't useful anymore, there was no sense leaving him in the hands of the Jedi. They would just kill him anyway.

_Isn't that what you would do if he was useless?_

The emperor regent ignored _that_ thought entirely. Vader wouldn't be useless; he'd always managed to pick himself up.

_Like he did after he thought he'd killed Amidala? _

Blast it all, he needed to focus. Grabbing a data pad that had been delivered, he read the information about the latest update from Intelligence. A cipher had assassinated Grand Moff Rhaegon's mother and pinned the blame on the Alliance. Tarkin smiled, relieved at some good news; with that woman removed from play her son would quickly lose his way, unable to handle the pressure alone.

_Like Vader_, a voice whispered in the back of his mind and he quickly stood and paced the room, pointedly ignoring the voice and continuing to read the report. During the assassination, Rhaegon's wife was also killed, alongside two out of his three younglings; apparently his youngest had escaped. The girl was barely ten years old; she was the least of Tarkin's concerns at the moment, if she could even be considered a _concern_ in the first place.

Scrolling down, Tarkin next read that Salkende had been eliminated as a threat. Nothing stood between him and Ferrasco now, and half of the Rebel remnant was gone. However, the fleet fighting in Seswenna was still locked in combat. A little reinforcement would help push the battle in his favor.

Grabbing his comlink, Tarkin contacted the fleet that had attacked Salkende. It was in hyperspace headed back to Imperial Center. He divided the forces, sending the bulk of them to assist in retaking Seswenna—most especially Eriadu—and sent a lone star destroyer to Ferrasco alongside an attaché from Intelligence with a powerful sedative that would keep Vader out of commission for the trip to Imperial Center in case there were any complications. Tarkin had originally planned on sending more to retrieve Vader, but with the Rebels in his vicinity gone and only two Jedi students watching him, there was no need to send a task force to a refugee world with no ability to defend itself. He just needed to find Vader and eliminate the Jedi protecting him.

_Jedi_. Despite having to handle Kota a few months ago, he could still hardly believe he was fighting Jedi once more. It had been so many years since the purges, so many years since the remainder of that religion had supposedly been swept away. And to think the Jedi were _Rep. Naberrie_ _and his wife_. Were they Jedi when they were on Imperial Center, or had they started training after Amidala's supposed assassination?

It didn't matter. They would die either way.

* * *

The night air was fluid as an ocean breeze blew relatively cool air through the city of Firro. The leaves rustled, barely heard through the window in the small dormitory allotted to a young couple and their teenage companion. The two Jedi were fast asleep on the bed, unaware of anything around them, while the former Imperial was curled on the sleeping mat on the floor, which he'd arranged against the back wall so he could face the entranceway. The wind rustled the leaves again, and then the fabric of life itself rustled with it, making the young man flinch and awaken.

His gut felt uneasy. The change in the Force was subtle initially, making his skin crawl but not telling him if anything was actually wrong. He sat up slowly, listening to its pull and trying to find the source. Immediately he extended his senses across the room, prodding Obi-Wan and Siri. Both were well, though he could tell his own alertness was starting to seep into Obi-Wan's mind. He didn't bother sealing off the bond; Obi-Wan needed to wake up. Something wasn't right.

The shift in the Force increased, steadily growing from a ripple to a wave. His stomach lurched, his head pounded, and an image of a destroyer appeared in his mind.

_The Empire._ They were here, searching for him.

His eyes narrowed. The cipher. She'd apparently forced his hand. So much for time to consider her offer.

He highly doubted the destroyer was sent by a woman who held little to no actual rank in Intelligence anymore _without_ the governor's knowledge. The only way she could have sent it was if she told the man himself. He felt fire surge through his veins, and his brow furrowed even more deeply, his body shaking.

_Stop it. Focus._ He clenched his jaw and shook his head. He didn't know what was affecting him but it wasn't his normal state, and he _needed_ to be his normal state right now.

Eventually the large shift in the Force awoke Obi-Wan and Siri, who sat up abruptly, dazed and disoriented. He didn't wait for them to figure it out on their own. Leaping to his feet, he grabbed them each by the arm and dragged them off the bed, causing both spouses to gasp or snap at him in confusion.

"Anakin…?" Obi-Wan slurred blearily. "What's going on?"

"They're here," he said, grabbing their lightsabers and tossing them their way. Quickly slipping his feet into his boots, he opened the door and headed out, knowing they would follow. The destroyer had to be in orbit if he'd sensed it. Were they preparing to blockade the planet and create a search perimeter? There couldn't just be one capital ship if that were the case. Unless of course they were just going to tear through the city…

That was a likely possibility.

Feeling his heartrate quicken, he turned back to the couple as they exited the dorm, fully awake.

"How did they find us?" Siri whispered.

He shook his head. At the moment, that question was irrelevant. "We have to leave."

Expecting them to follow, he dashed down the stairs, sensing out any immediate threats in the vicinity. The Imperials hadn't reached them yet, so perhaps the cipher hadn't told them specifics about his location… apart from the city itself, obviously. His mind whirled, coming up with a handful of alternative escape plans, but each depended on the Empire's tactics. If they were doing a search grid, they could avoid them easily, but if the grid didn't yield results, they would increase the amount of troops on the surface. Eventually they would cover the entire planet.

Ferrasco was compromised. They could potentially hide in the country, but they would have to hope that the cipher presumed they'd left the planet. It was possible, but he didn't judge it to be an acceptable risk, and the last thing they needed to do was trap themselves to the point that an entire armada was over the planet's surface. Their best time to escape was now while the forces were minimal.

That decided that. Turning sharply as they neared the edge of the building, he said, "We have to get to another city and steal a ship."

Siri looked pointedly at Obi-Wan, though he wasn't sure why, and the man sighed. "Do you even know where the nearest city is?"

He had to admit, that hadn't been the first thing he'd checked, and he was berating himself for it now. He _would not_ fail them like he did Master. Why was he stupid enough to not plan ahead, then?

_Because you weren't thinking straight, fool._

He felt a growl bubble in his chest, and he choked it down, trying to fight whatever was raging through him. He felt his heartrate increase and his palms grew sweaty as he failed to eliminate the feeling, and he bit his tongue until he tasted blood. The pain snapped him back into focus; he had to ensure his idiotic mistake didn't cost them. Instead of answering the question, he ran to the nearest community terminal and immediately pulled up a map. He sensed Obi-Wan and Siri approaching him quickly, their senses on high alert. His eyes glossed over the different locations, all accessible by energy bridge, but none within any reasonable amount of walking distance. They would have to steal a speeder to get anywhere in time.

Finding the nearest energy bridge, he motioned for the two to follow him, running towards an alley. They needed to get an aerial appraisal of the situation, but he was reluctant to leave Obi-Wan and Siri alone in the alley. They were capable, but he didn't think they could eliminate any patrol without raising suspicion. He hadn't tested their ability to be stealthy, and therefore did not want to rely on an unknown factor. He opted for staying in the alleys as they made their way to the edge of the city, remaining on high alert in case any troops got too close, but their path was clear for the entire duration. Once he heard the ocean, he finally pointed to a building's fire escape ladder, leaping up almost to the top of it and knowing the couple would follow.

It only took a few seconds for him to reach the top and about half a minute for Obi-Wan and Siri to catch up. By the time they'd climbed onto the roof he was at the other side, scouting for a good spot to steal a speeder and the status of the energy bridges. What he saw wasn't promising; the energy bridge was off. In fact, wherever he looked along the beach and the perimeter of the city, he only saw city lights.

All of the energy bridges had been shut off.

His heartrate rose again, disproportionately. He crouched back, trying to catch his breath. Why was he acting so strangely?! Adrenaline would normally make his vitals heighten, but this was absurd. He was barely able to focus simply because their escape route had been cut off.

Obi-Wan put a hand on his shoulder. "Anakin."

Immediately his heartrate slowed. He stared at Obi-Wan in amazement. He _did_ have that weird calming touch. Why the hell hadn't he used it the other night?!

Shaking his head, he brushed off the man's hand since it had done its job. The energy bridges were out, making travel to another city infinitely harder. He wouldn't steal a boat; that would be too obvious. If the bridges were down any attempt to leave the city would immediately be noticed. That meant they had to leave Ferrasco directly from Firro. That… complicated matters.

There was no way they were leaving Firro without being noticed. There was no way they could steal a ship without fighters coming after them immediately, possibly even the destroyer itself. There was no way they could even get to a hangar without finding an army there.

There was no way to do this without a distraction.

He swallowed. _Prioritize_. Obi-Wan and Siri's well-being came first. They would die if the Empire caught up to them. They had to escape.

By the time he'd come to this realization, Obi-Wan and Siri began to discuss options. Siri blew out a hiss, looking at Obi-Wan. "The energy bridges are down; we're never going to get to another city unless we can activate them."

"I wouldn't even know where to start," Obi-Wan shook his head. "Where would the controls for the bridge be?"

"We can't do that," he interrupted them before they could make any plans. "If you activate the bridge that'll immediately attract attention."

"We can't get locked into this city," Siri argued.

"You won't. You're leaving."

He sensed what he assumed was alarm from the two. Their faces seemed to indicate it, and it matched with other startled responses he'd seen over the years. "What do you mean _you_? Don't you mean _we're_ leaving?"

"You'll have to steal a shuttle from one of the hangars in this city," he explained. "I'll draw the troops away from the hangars and cause some destruction. You need to make sure you can get to a hangar and leave before you're caught in the fight."

Siri immediately glared at him. "Are you out of your mind? We're_ not_ letting you face down heaven knows what, and _we're not leaving you behind_."

He paused, unable to speak for a moment. Something gripped his throat, something made him dizzy and active all at once, and he looked down, trying to shake it off. Her words made him feel… he didn't know. It wasn't a bad feeling, he guessed, but he couldn't afford to feel _anything_ right now.

_You're a weapon. You can't feel anything. You must achieve your objective._

He felt sick. No. Not that. He was done with that. Find something else.

_Obi-Wan and Siri must live_.

He looked Siri in the eye. "You aren't equipped to handle the amount of Imperials that I might run into. I've been fighting far longer than either of you, and I know their tactics better than you. You will go to the spaceport and steal a ship before I destroy it."

"_Destroy_ it?" Obi-Wan repeated.

Why did he do that? Why did people _always_ do that? Did he not understand what he was saying, for Force's sake?

Before he could repeat himself or ensure Obi-Wan was intelligent enough to know what the words _destroy it_ meant, the man seemed to comprehend his meaning and said, "You're going to _destroy_ the spaceport?"

He stared at Obi-Wan. Did he really have to elaborate? What part of _go to the spaceport and steal a ship before I destroy it_ was difficult to understand? He had to destroy the port; if the ships were eliminated it would make the Empire less likely to assume they escaped via shuttle. It would also prevent reinforcements from landing in the city. Obi-Wan and Siri could easily fly to another city and depart from there without attracting any attention so long as he kept the Imperial forces preoccupied.

"Do as I say," he ordered instead of explaining himself. Surely Siri could explain to her husband what he was saying. "I'll keep them busy."

"Anakin, just because it's some ungodly hour of the morning doesn't mean there aren't people in those ports," Obi-Wan pointed out.

What was his point? He stared at the man. Siri put her hand on her husband's shoulder and nodded to him, and he sighed, looking away.

"You seem to be forgetting the part where I said we weren't leaving you behind." She then said, glaring at him.

"If I don't distract them, we'll all die!" The words escaped his lips with a hiss, his face warm, his blood pumping quickly through his body. "Your youngling will die. Now _go_!"

The two were quiet for a moment, making him feel even more off from usual. Why the hell weren't they moving?! The couple exchanged glances, the Force twisting between them as they silently communicated through their shared bond. He was deaf to the conversation, and he shifted, filled with energy and eager to push them on their way.

"You're right," Siri eventually said, calming herself. "The baby will die if we all try to fight their stormtroopers. So _I'll_ steal the ship while Obi-Wan helps you. I'll retrieve both of you."

Were they even thinking at all? "If you fly a shuttle into the city to pick us up amidst a battle against Imperials, that _completely_ eliminates the point."

"For heaven's sake, Anakin, you're not just some throwaway asset we can use to get out of here!" Siri snapped.

"We're not leaving without you," Obi-Wan reiterated. "Don't bother making any plans that don't include that possibility. There has to be another way."

They were _wasting time_. He could sense danger approaching, and he knew they would as well within a minute or so. His vitals grew all the more unsteady, and the thought of shoving them off the roof came to mind, though he had no idea why; it wasn't like that would stop them.

Blast it all, he wasn't used to keeping people alive, and these two were adamant about _dying_, apparently. Why were they getting on _his_ case the other night? He wasn't used to people not obeying his orders. He didn't know how to get them to actually _use their brains_ and realize that this was their only option.

"This entire effort will be pointless if you retrieve me," he tried to explain, though he'd thought they would realize this. Apparently they weren't as smart as he'd believed. "The Empire will follow you, and you won't be able to escape them."

"I thought you had faith in your piloting abilities," Siri remarked, crossing her arms. "We do."

Something about that made him retort, "I can pilot just _fine_."

"But you're suggesting you can't escape the Imperials," Obi-Wan noted, taking a similar posture to his wife.

He looked between the two of them. "What—I didn't—this has nothing to do with me!"

"If I pick you up, then you can hop into the pilot's seat and get us out of there," Siri explained.

He ran the scenario through his mind for a moment and then shook his head. "They'll still have a visual on the shuttle. They can send that information to any Imperial controlled facility or planet in the galaxy. We'll be arrested as soon as we land anywhere."

"Anywhere heavily controlled by the Empire, you mean," Obi-Wan amended.

He opened his mouth to argue, but it was actually true – he'd heard bits and pieces about how there was in-fighting between officials in the Empire, dividing its forces. Its grip on the galaxy wouldn't be as strong. Anything that wasn't united was always weak. "Where do you suggest we go?"

"We'll sort that out later," Obi-Wan said, making him stare at the Jedi; sort it out _later_? They didn't have _time_ to sort it out later!

Then again, they didn't have time to sort it out now, either. He could hear the stormtroopers. Obi-Wan and Siri could as well. Waving a dismissive hand, he said, "Fine, but you two are staying together. You'll have a better chance of surviving that way."

"And how do you expect us to find you?"

"You'll know," he said, being brief so he could get them out of there quickly. They _would_ know, after all; all they had to do was follow the path of destruction. He wasn't intending on being quiet in eliminating the threats. That was the entire blasted point. "Go!"

Obi-Wan and Siri watched him for a moment longer—why the blazes weren't they hauling their asteroids out of there?!—and then peered over the roof to see where the patrols were. He did as well, and then he motioned for them to wait until he'd started his work.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and counted the enemies. A patrol was passing just below: six stormtroopers. Down the street was another one: twelve stormtroopers. Off in the distance, towards one of the city's many plazas, he heard the whirring of something large and mechanical, walking with two feet: AT-ST. There were likely more. He wasn't sure what would be the safest path for Obi-Wan and Siri, but the two would have to figure that out on their own.

He took another deep breath. He focused on the hostiles around him. He focused on his objective. He erased any thought of Obi-Wan and Siri from his mind.

"Anakin."

_Blast it all, I'm trying to _focus_ here_. He looked at them, his eyes narrowing.

"You'll need this," Siri said, holding out her lightsaber. "I'll use a blaster. Be careful and avoid the civilians."

He didn't bother replying. Their safety was in their hands now, and he would do what he must. Taking the lightsaber, he nodded and resumed his vigil for a heartbeat longer before he found his opening. His world grew quiet, and the only thing he could hear was the heartbeats of the six men below. He leapt from the roof, activating Siri's blade, feeling its life pulse in his hands, not registering the breeze as he landed, catching the attention of the troopers. The soldiers turned towards him, time slowing as they did so, and he cut the first two down before they could face him, killed the next two as they raised their blasters, and deflected fired shots back at the remaining two.

Other patrol next. Turning, he rushed down a side street that connected to the one where six more stormtroopers were walking. He rushed in front of them, slicing one in half and using the Force to throw another across the street while he killed the remaining four. This would give the survivor time to call for reinforcements.

As if on cue, the stormtrooper grabbed his comlink. "We need reinforcements! It's the Jedi!"

_Jedi?!_ He immediately thrust his hand out, grasping with the Force. The stormtrooper gasped, grabbing his neck helplessly as he started to float in the air, held there by an invisible hand. He felt the trooper's life presence fade, but it wasn't enough to stop the loud pulsing in his ears, so he tossed the body into the plaza where the AT-ST was walking.

He stood still for a moment, catching his breath. _Stop it. It's a good thing they think you're the Jedi. It means they'll be less likely to assume Obi-Wan and Siri are escaping._

He nodded to himself and then rushed into the plaza to see the AT-ST repositioning itself so it could face him fully. He immediately ran as fast as he could towards its legs as it fired a barrage of superheated plasma his way, tearing into the stone mosaic on the ground. Angling the blade parallel to the ground, he slammed it into the walker's leg, which immediately slowed his pace as the lightsaber took its time heating the metal and then melting it. Directly underneath the walker's body, he was out of its line of site and therefore safe, but he knew they were likely calling for more reinforcements, just as the trooper had.

The lightsaber cut cleanly through the leg, and the AT-ST wobbled precariously for a moment before falling on its side. He ran to the top of the walker's head and opened the hatch with a flick of his wrist, thrusting his blade in to stab one operator in the head and slice through the other.

He heard more troops coming, as well as the low hum of a hover tank. Sensing the danger, he turned in time to see the tank fire directly at him. He leapt into the air, deflecting blaster bolts from the troops while twisting in the air to land neatly on top of the fallen AT-ST's head. He deflected most of the bolts back at the stormtroopers, but by now more were flooding the plaza and beginning to surround him, and he couldn't deflect the tank's fire. He jumped off the head so it was between him and the tank and turned his attention to the other stormtroopers, granting him enough time to throw the saber and use the Force to direct it as it flew in a semicircular shape, eviscerating the troops in its path before returning to his hand just as the hover tank made it round the AT-ST's head. He leapt to avoid its fire and landed on the tank itself, crouching just below its barrel before climbing to the top and letting himself in. He quickly dispatched the two men inside, tossing their bodies out as he operated the tank, aiming its primary cannon at incoming reinforcements. Glancing at the troops, he then pulled the turret upward to aim at the building above them. He fired.

The building stood strong despite the hit, but debris sprayed in all directions from the corner that had been struck, falling on the troops and blocking that entranceway. He shot at it several more times until the infrastructure had been compromised enough to take the entire building down, destroying another one and blocking three more streets. The Force was deafening by now, filled with so many lives and deaths, and he closed himself off to all of it but the danger.

Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention just as the Force cried out in warning. He turned the tank in time to see two more walkers, both of which individually had more firepower than his hover tank. He quickly leapt out of it as their fire shredded its armor, making it explode.

He was backing himself into a corner now. He could probably take out one of the walkers but the other would get a good shot at him while he did so. Also he still had to start destroying the spaceports, and Firro had three, two of which were close to each other since they were dedicated solely to the refugees. Those two would be his first targets, and they were in the northern part of the city, whereas he was currently close to the eastern border. The other spaceport was in the center of the city, far closer to him, but also far closer to Obi-Wan and Siri. He would save that one for last.

Using the Force to augment his speed, he ran from the two walkers as they fired upon him. He leapt over the debris piled in one of the streets and killed the two soldiers who were trying to climb over on the other side. The rest of the area was deserted, allowing him time to run without anything to hinder his way. Eventually, however, he heard more troops calling out to each other and heading in his general direction. He jumped, pushing off against a wall on his left and then landing on a wall to his right, leaping back and forth between the two until he cleared the tall buildings and landed on the roof. Examining the situation, he saw three more tanks and at least twenty stormtroopers. He'd gotten their attention.

The tanks would be useful for destroying the spaceports. He would have to commandeer one and avoid any walkers until he'd finished his objective. The tanks were narrow enough to fit through most streets, but the walkers were mostly confined to main throughways and plazas. He could avoid them easily.

Maneuvering between the buildings, he landed directly on top of a tank and appropriated it, killing the surrounding troops and heading towards the spaceports. He listened in on the transmissions between the different forces in the city and heard them coordinating a way to cut him off. They were speaking in code, under the assumption that the Jedi wouldn't know Imperial code. He avoided most of their attempts to cut him off as a result and quickly made it to the spaceports.

He immediately opened fire on the structures, aiming for weak spots and explosive areas. However, there was a massive plaza just outside the spaceports, and there were about four or five AT-STs making their way towards him. He also overheard transmissions from incoming ships that were going to land directly in the plaza, and one was bearing a full sized AT-AT. He had to find a way to fill the plaza with debris in order to prevent any ships from landing there. He supposed eliminating the AT-STs would fulfill that requirement, but he had to find a way to dismantle five walkers without being pulverized.

Threats were coming from all around him now. The large open area around the spaceports was a death trap, but it was the only place he could properly eliminate the ports themselves. One of the spaceports was engulfed in flames now, and its blaze would spread through its hangars and reach fuel cells, causing a massive explosion. That would likely take care of some of the open air around him and might just damage the neighboring spaceport. In the meantime, he had to evacuate his tank as two walkers fired on it, and he climbed a building to navigate the rooftops. The walkers were just a fraction of a second behind him, shredding through multiple buildings as he leapt from roof to roof and causing one to collapse entirely before he could get to it. He fell through its sunken roof and bruised himself on the sharp debris below. The wall facing the plaza was still intact, however, so he wasn't in direct sight of the walkers, though they quickly tore through the wall with their firepower, causing more rock and duracrete to land on him as the durasteel skeleton of the building curled inward and the ground shook.

A deafening explosion made his heart skip a beat as he felt the pressure wave toss him into the air, through a hole in the floor, and down to the next level of the now dilapidated building. He heard a walker or two get knocked over by the blast wave. The fire must have hit the fuel cells in the spaceport.

Catching his breath, he blinked dust out of his eyes and looked around. He was on the bottom floor of the building now, and a large hole in the wall showed him very little since mostly smoke was billowing through. Getting up, he coughed a little and stumbled through the debris, blinking blood out of his eyes, and peered through the hole, using the Force to aid his survey of the damage.

The second spaceport had indeed caught fire, as he'd suspected it might. Two of the walkers were downed, another stumbling to maintain its balance, and the remaining two were unharmed. All the stormtroopers were dead, one of the tanks was buried in rubble, the other damaged but still operational. About a third of the plaza was a torn up mess, but there was still enough room to land more ships in the remaining area, though the ability to land an AT-AT was compromised.

His examination ended when one of the AT-STs spotted him and opened fire. He managed to dodge its attack and disappeared in the smoke, making his way towards it. The walker's scanners would pick up on him quickly, but it gave him just enough time to send a massive Force push its way, causing it to careen backwards into a building while its companion nearly landed a hit on him. He gasped, getting tossed into the air as the wind was knocked out of him, but he managed to land on his feet in order to avoid being torn into pieces by its next attack.

This was starting to become problematic.

The second spaceport was already engulfed in flames, so it would inevitably reach the fuel cells and finish his objective here. This open space was too dangerous to remain any longer. Coughing the smoke out of his lungs, he stumbled towards a street only to find it blocked by ten stormtroopers and two tanks. He took the rooftops once again to avoid their fire, but the walkers were training their sites on him, firing rapidly. His mobility was in his favor, however, and he quickly cleared enough buildings to get a fair amount of distance between himself and what was left of the plaza.

And then he heard it: the scream of twin ion engines tearing through the sky. They were sending in air support.

Perhaps he'd gotten them a little too agitated – he didn't need TIE fighters in the vicinity when Obi-Wan and Siri escaped. Turning, he saw a bomber and a two-fighter escort flanking it heading his way. He crouched, heading for shorter buildings, hiding from the fighters, which had to stay high enough to avoid the skyscrapers spread throughout the heart of the city. Eliminating all other distractions from his mind, he focused solely on one of the fighters, waiting as it approached his area, and then at the opportune moment leapt up to a tall building and reached out both hands, feeling like his mind was being torn as he snatched the fighter in mid-flight. The Force obeyed his call, though the fighter's engines fought as hard as they could. His focus was absolute, but his body was starting to take a toll, and he trembled with the effort it took to keep the fighter in place as it went full throttle to escape his grasp.

He clenched his teeth, and he slowly pulled his arms back towards himself so they were slightly bent, though still in front of his body. His outstretched hands started to curl inward, and he twisted his arms as if he were wringing a cloth. The fighter's metal shrieked, and then the flat parallel wings of the fighter were sheared off in the same twisting manner. The cockpit plummeted to the ground below with a fiery crash, and the two wings remained floating in the air, held by his grasp in the Force. The bomber and other fighter had noticed the phenomenon by now and were turning around, preparing to make a pass and fire upon him. He remained motionless for a moment before eying the incoming targets, and then he exhaled, facing them as and making a throwing motion with one hand. The first fighter wing flew straight into the other TIE fighter, one of its sharp corners impaling the pilot and causing the fighter to spin out of control, slamming into a structure below. He then threw the other wing into the bomber and achieved a similar result.

Panting for air, he scanned the ground for any walkers, tanks, troops, speeders, or any other threats. His mind was numb, the world around him muted as he tried to regain the energy he'd lost in that maneuver. The Force was sluggish to his call, but he didn't see any immediate threat below.

An echo caught his attention. Was that from the downed fighters? He turned just as the Force finally seemed to return to him, right on time to see a fighter open fire on him. He gasped, his eyes widening, and he leapt backwards, not really able to jump from the building, but he at least dodged the actual plasma, though their impact into the roof sent him flying. He twisted in the air, scanning to see where he could land, and he tried to aim his feet towards the ground and prepare for a hard landing when he instead slammed right into the wall of a neighboring building. His skull made hard contact with a window, cracking the glass, and his world spun. Everything stopped for a moment as if he were floating in midair, but then he registered wind blowing by him quickly and he realized he was falling. He tried to land on his feet, and though he managed to do so, his ankle slipped on the terrain and he fell to the ground, yelling out in pain. His world was spinning, and his body was sprawled over stone, steel, and twisted pieces of TIE fighters. He tried to sit up and was hit with a wave of dizziness and nausea, and he slumped back to the ground, steadily losing consciousness.

Four blocks away in the central spaceport, Obi-Wan and Siri paused immediately after Siri stunned the last guard in one of the hangars.

"Do you sense that?" she whispered, dread in her tone.

Obi-Wan nodded. It was hard to ignore the pain that had shot through his body moments ago, followed by a dulling sensation in his bond with Anakin. "Get the ship. I'll find him."

Siri nodded and rushed ahead. Grabbing his lightsaber, Obi-Wan tapped into the Force to search for Anakin, ignoring the sound of the fire alarm he and Siri had activated to evacuate any people in the area. He hoped he could find Anakin in this chaos. The insanity of what was happening all around him made his search akin to looking for a small object with the use of a foggy lens, but he did eventually sense a glimmer of familiarity in one direction.

Obi-Wan ran out of the hangar, thanking everything sacred that Anakin's distraction had indeed moved any threat far away from the central spaceport. He ran through empty streets and saw smoke in the distance, and his stomach lurched as he started to see the damage to the city. He ignored any thought regarding the body count that was no doubt steadily climbing; it was late enough in the night that barely anyone was on the streets, and one could only hope that Anakin had directed Imperial attention away from any residential area. Siri had reminded him that the refugees had probably been blocked from entering as soon as the destroyer had appeared, so the spaceports would be mostly deserted, and Anakin's destruction would catch people's attention and cause them to evacuate anyway. If he could have he would've argued with Anakin more about his plan, but they'd had no time and the young man would not take no for an answer. Obi-Wan felt distinctly guilty for all the destruction, and though he knew he wasn't directly responsible for anyone's deaths, he also knew that his presence had caused more fatalities than he could probably even count. It left him feeling nauseous.

He shook his head, focusing on the moment. He would only be added to that death toll if he didn't, and he was not going to let Anakin join that number, either. After passing through several streets he started having to climb over debris. Jumping from roof to roof would allow for faster travel, but it would also expose him, so he settled for being hindered by all the collateral damage Anakin had caused.

Eventually he started to sense danger ahead, but he also sensed Anakin. Obi-Wan quickened his pace and finally caught sight of the boy.

Anakin was limp on the ground, sprawled over some debris, his left leg bent over a large chunk of duracrete, his left arm draped over his stomach, his right arm lying outward from his torso, his head turned to the side, and his body covered in dust and blood. His life presence wasn't faint, which was a relief, and Obi-Wan quickly fell to his knees beside the young man, giving him a shake. Anakin stirred slightly, his brow furrowing, but Obi-Wan had no time to do anything else since he sensed danger swiftly approaching.

Grabbing his lightsaber, Obi-Wan activated it, angling it in a defensive position as he stood between Anakin and the oncoming threat. Three stormtrooper silhouettes appeared in the smoke, and they opened fire on Obi-Wan, able to see clearly through their helmets. The Force guided his own sight, and he deflected their blaster bolts with relative ease, sending one successfully back to its owner and causing the other two to dodge as their fire peppered into the wall around them. They quickly resumed fire and Obi-Wan remained a steady wall between them and Anakin, who was slowly regaining consciousness.

Two more stormtroopers arrived to help the two survivors, and Obi-Wan gritted his teeth slightly, letting one bolt past him and into the debris. He focused all the more, letting the Force flow through him as Qui-Gon had instructed, releasing his worries and his exhaustion. His hands moved faster than he himself could follow, and his lightsaber was a blur of light, occasionally jerking too hard in one direction or the other as he was still a relative novice, but still ensuring that nothing reached himself or Anakin. He took out another stormtrooper after a few seconds, and one of the others ran out of ammunition. Anakin, who had finally fully awoken, tried to take advantage of this by throwing some heavy piece of metal at the soldier as he reloaded his weapon, but apparently Anakin's grasp on the Force was no longer firm enough to do so. He groaned, lowering his arm and laying on the ground once more, his eyes squeezed closed. Obi-Wan finally finished off the remaining two troopers and returned his attention to the young man.

"Anakin, where does it hurt?" he asked, crouching down and angling his lightsaber away. He searched briefly for Siri's and sensed a faint lingering of her presence underneath a rock, where her lightsaber lay intact.

Anakin grimaced, sitting up and grabbing the hilt before Obi-Wan could reach it. "Head, ankle… I'll be fine. Why are you here?"

Obi-Wan didn't bother answering the query. It didn't need answering at this point, and they both knew it. Anakin's question was more of an automatic demand than anything else.

"Siri's on her way," he told the boy. "You think you can hold out until she gets here?"

He nodded firmly, the Force swirling around him like a storm, but it was just out of his reach. Obi-Wan put a steadying hand on his shoulder, and the touch opened their bond slightly, sending a massive headache straight into Obi-Wan's skull.

Obi-Wan winced, pulling away. "You call _that_ fine?"

"It's acceptable." He said dismissively before his eyes fell upon something behind Obi-Wan, and the Force warned the Jedi Padawan an instant later of the danger.

Obi-Wan turned and saw more stormtroopers and blew out a breath of frustration as he raised his blade once more. _Hurry up, Siri._

Anakin tried to assist Obi-Wan, but every time he attempted to stand, he nearly collapsed again. He lifted a shaky hand to his head, blinking profusely. Obi-Wan's attention then shifted to deflecting blaster bolts again, and this time he deflected them back more quickly. He heard a hum off in the distance of some sort of repulsorlift, and he took a hesitant step forward, keeping his blade in a guard position.

"Tanks," Anakin said from where he sat. "Don't go out there."

"Staying in here is a death trap," Obi-Wan remarked slightly nervously, deactivating his blade to make himself less visible in the dust and smoke.

A hover tank materialized amidst the smoke, its cannon aimed directly at them. Obi-Wan felt his heart stop, and he leapt down, slamming Anakin to the ground as its massive laser blast flew over them and into a pile of debris behind them. Anakin grunted at the hit, and Obi-Wan scrambled to drag the boy behind some rubble in order to have a buffer between them and the tank that now had them cornered.

Something warm and familiar filled his mind, however, just as he heard an engine roar overhead. _Siri_. How were they going to get aboard the ship with that tank holding them down? The ship Siri and Obi-Wan had been eying had been a civilian shuttle, nothing that could—

Deafening thunder emitted from the engine overhead, and bright lights came as lasers melted the tank's outer shell, and it hit the ground and slid about a meter away. More smoke filled the area, causing both Obi-Wan and Anakin to cough harshly, but the ship's engines blew a lot of it away, nearly knocking Obi-Wan and Anakin back a few meters as well. A landing ramp lowered as the shuttle hovered just outside the narrow street.

Gasping for air, Obi-Wan shot to his feet and grabbed Anakin under the arm. Anakin winced at the sudden motion, but he did everything in his power to run alongside Obi-Wan and not be a burden. The Jedi paused at the ramp, knowing it would be too much of a jump without the assistance of the Force. He glanced at Anakin, wondering if the boy would make it. Anakin seemed to notice his scrutiny and nodded as if to say he would be fine, but Obi-Wan had known him long enough to realize he tended to exaggerate his ability to handle himself. Grasping the Force to help augment his strength, Obi-Wan pulled Anakin into his arms, much to the boy's chagrin and protest, and leapt up to the ramp, barely making it. He wobbled a little, fighting to maintain his balance, and Anakin yanked himself in one direction, causing Obi-Wan to fall on top of him and remain firmly on the landing ramp as it was raised. The two slid into the shuttle, landing in a pile on the floor as the ramp closed and the ship shot forward and upward.

"Blast it, Anakin, you could _warn_ me," Obi-Wan grumbled as he tried to crawl out of the way and off of the poor boy. When he glanced at Anakin to see his reply, he noted that the boy was unconscious once more. Growing slightly worried, he reached for him but was thrown to the other side of the entranceway when Siri jerked the ship to the left.

"Guys, get up here!" she shouted from the cockpit.

Obi-Wan grabbed the wall and looked at Anakin once more, and it was at this point that he recognized the angular design of the ship. They were aboard an _Imperial_ shuttle.

"Siri, what in the blazes did you do?!" he yelled as he tried to reach for Anakin.

"I knew we'd need a ship with firepower and this was the only one, now get up here!"

Obi-Wan was about to retort when his stomach did somersaults as she flung him and Anakin to the other side of the area. He grew dizzy, shaking his head and cursing under his breath. If there was one thing that could get under his skin fairly quickly, it was being stuck in a ship whilst being _shot at_.

Anakin groaned, flinching. His eyes fluttered open as the engines roared, and he seemed to immediately recognize where he was. He shot to his feet and then wobbled unsteadily. Obi-Wan grabbed him and shoved him against the wall as he felt the ship lurch once more.

"_Obi!"_ Siri called.

Anakin wiggled out of Obi-Wan's grip and ran to the cockpit, and the Jedi yelled after him as he chased him down the hallway. As soon as Anakin reached the cockpit he nearly shoved Siri out of the pilot's seat and let her take the co-pilot's spot. He pushed forward on the steering yoke, making the ship go into a heart stopping dive. Obi-Wan stumbled and fell on his backside, sliding into the cockpit with another yell.

"_Anakin!"_ he shouted.

Siri reached her hand out to her husband, who gratefully took it and climbed into a seat behind the pilot's and co-pilot's chairs. He strapped in as quickly as possible, but it was a little difficult when his stomach was in his throat. He saw the ground growing steadily closer, and Siri's knuckles grew white as she gripped a console.

"Pull up, Anakin!" Obi-Wan advised frantically. "Pull up!"

The boy didn't even flinch. He continued the dive, eyes narrowed, brow furrowed, and sweat glistening on his forehead. Just as Obi-Wan was about to say something, he yanked the yoke back and Obi-Wan and Siri were crushed into their seats.

"We're going to stall!" Obi-Wan yelled.

"No, we're—"

"Anakin, the roof!" Siri pointed to a skyscraper's lightning rod that they were about to crash into.

Obi-Wan tried to shout the young man's name, but when the boy noticed the rod he twisted the ship off to the right, and Obi-Wan's cry morphed into, "Anakiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin!"

"We're losing altitude!" Siri noted.

Anakin shook his head, blinking multiple times, before pulling the yoke up steadily. Siri glanced at her console. "No sign of pursuit."

"The console," Anakin said with a slight slur. Both Jedi looked at him confusedly. He pointed to a console before his arm steadily fell to his side.

"Anakin, what's wrong?" Siri asked as Obi-Wan quickly unstrapped from his seat.

"Take over," he told her just as a heaviness in the Force overcame his bond with Anakin, indicating that the boy was about to pass out again. Siri sensed the event as well and quickly took Anakin's place, grabbing the steering yoke, as Obi-Wan pulled him out of the chair.

"What's wrong with him?" she asked again as she made the ship climb higher in the atmosphere.

"Head injury of some sort," Obi-Wan answered, looking the boy over. Anakin still shifted in his arms, not quite completely unconscious, but not lucid enough to react.

"Well what did he mean by the console?"

"I don't know."

Siri blew out a breath as the shuttle finally escape the atmosphere. There were no other ships in sight. "We cleared the orbital station and the destroyer; they're both on the other side. All we have to do now is input coordinates."

Here she paused, and then twisted her torso to look at Obi-Wan. "I still don't like this plan."

Obi-Wan sighed. They'd discussed it on the way to the spaceport. He'd suggested they go to Naboo. Its one distinction in the Empire had been that it had spawned Palpatine, but with the emperor dead the Mid Rim world would no doubt fall into obscurity, making it ideal in that it would be little to no interest to the Empire and it was the most familiar planet they knew. It was their home territory. Siri had protested vehemently, but Obi-Wan had said they had facilities there they could hide in without anyone ever knowing, including Varykino. It was winter on that half of Naboo now, and the vacation home would be deserted. Most importantly, it was the _last_ place anyone would think to look for them.

"We didn't have time to ascertain any other location that was devoid of Imperial and Rebel forces," he reminded her. "It's the one place we know like the back of our hands. It's safer to be in familiar territory where we're in control."

"Fine," she reluctantly agreed, inputting coordinates to Naboo. "But we're not getting anywhere near your family."

Obi-Wan had to bark a laugh at that. "I don't disagree with you – it would be interesting explaining our predicament and our new companion."

Siri shuddered at the thought and used the Force to pull a lever near the co-pilot's spot, activating the hyperdrive. The stars stretched as they increased speed and then shot into hyperspace.

"We can get medical attention for Anakin too, if he needs it," Siri admitted.

Obi-Wan nodded, looking down at Anakin, who had finally settled. The boy was sweating, but he didn't seem too pale, though it was difficult to tell since he was so filthy, coated in dust and blood. Obi-Wan inhaled slowly, gathering the Force for strength, and picked him up, carrying him to the small medical bay that was standard in every Imperial shuttle. Siri followed him and searched the area for a medical droid, which was normally supplied on every shuttle. She found one deactivated in a storage closet and dragged it out, turning it on. The droid's photoreceptors blinked on and it glanced around.

"How may I be of service?" the droid asked.

Siri gave it a vexed look and pointed to the bed. "Maybe you could look after the person lying on your patient bed?"

The droid turned and walked over to Anakin, grabbing a scanner. Obi-Wan and Siri both exchanged slightly exasperated looks. _Droids._

"His vitals are stable, but he has sustained slight damage to his ribs, ankle, and skull," the droid said as it glanced at the information on the scanner. "He appears to have a concussion, cracked rib, and sprained ankle. I recommend strict bed rest. I will write up a rehabilitation and recovery plan. I recommend he see a physician for proper pain management."

"Physician? What the blazes are you here for?" Siri asked.

"I can do basic treatment and stabilization procedures," the droid informed her dutifully. "However, I cannot prescribe medications."

"The recovery plan will have to do for now," Obi-Wan said, grabbing the straps on the bed and securing Anakin so he wouldn't slide around when they exited hyperspace. "At least he's stable."

Siri agreed and deactivated the droid after taking the recovery instructions from it, and then she dragged it back into the storage closet before pausing. "You don't think it alerted anyone, right?"

"The droid?" Obi-Wan looked at it. "I doubt it. There would be no reason to."

His wife nodded, closing the closet door and glancing at Anakin once more. "This is insane. Naboo is…"

"The last place anyone would think we would go," Obi-Wan finished for her.

Siri groaned. "Yeah, I know, but for _good reason_. You know we're more recognizable there. Or, I should say, _you're_ more recognizable. I'm just a handmaiden."

Obi-Wan stroked his beard with a smile. "Oh I don't think they'll recognize me with this."

Siri rolled her eyes. "Oh yes, a beard. You're a master of disguise now."

"All I need now is a poncho and I'll be unrecognizable."

Siri laughed.

"We just need to avoid the heavily populated areas," Obi-Wan advised.

"Well we can't land an Imperial shuttle in a village," Siri pointed out, leaning against Anakin's bed and crossing her arms. "Most villages don't have any place for shuttles and ships. Small towns have tiny shuttle ports and lots of gossip."

"The swamps," Obi-Wan suggested.

Siri raised an eyebrow. "And what about Anakin's concussion, cracked rib, and sprained ankle? We'd have to walk to the nearest settlement."

"We don't have much of a choice." Obi-Wan said, though he too was concerned about Anakin's condition.

"What's near the swamps?" Siri wondered aloud. "We have no clout with the Gungans, particularly since the Empire's practically banished them from any city outside their turf. There's some farmland nearby, but that doesn't do us any good…"

Obi-Wan sighed. "The closest city to any of the swamps is Theed."

Siri stood straight. "We're _not_ going to Theed, Obi, that's _too obvious_."

"It depends on when we arrive, but it won't be a pleasant walk in either case," Obi-Wan noted, strolling to a console and typing an inquiry. He pulled up the local times on all of Naboo and focused on Theed Time. "It'll be early morning when we land in the swamps. Depending on how quickly we wish to proceed… well, we can ensure we arrive at Theed late at night."

"What are we going to do when we get there?" Siri asked, spreading her hands. "Hope there's a dealer open so we can barter for a half decayed speeder? We have no money."

"Siri, we have a refugee population in Theed itself—"

"Which is run by people we all know," she reminded him.

"Yes, _run_ by them, but that doesn't mean they're there for the day-to-day work," Obi-Wan said. "Most of the people we worked with have moved on to other things or moved up in rank. It'll be teenagers maintaining supplies and checking people in."

"They don't let people in after midnight. They come in groups."

"We can stay at a homeless shelter the night and sneak in the next day. We _do_ have a few tricks up our sleeve, you know."

"This is taking an awful lot of risks, Obi, especially for you," Siri shook her head.

"I'm aware of that," he conceded. "But any other plan would have even more risk. We don't know of any other planet that's inconspicuous to both the Empire and the Alliance that we're familiar with enough to blend in with a stolen ship."

"Nar Shaddaa?" Siri suggested, having mentioned it before. "It's a _neutral moon_ for heaven's sake."

"And full of criminals who would turn us in the moment they found out who we are and who _he_ is," Obi-Wan said pointedly. "We don't have Al to guide us around the moon and since we have no money we're especially at a disadvantage there."

"But criminals aren't _looking_ for us, they won't _recognize_ us. That's an advantage!"

"Again, _we have no money_. We wouldn't even be able to afford landing in one of their spaceports, and considering the moon is one big city, that makes things a tad difficult."

Siri sighed, frustrated. "I still don't like this."

"I didn't expect you to. To be honest, I don't feel entirely comfortable with it, either," Obi-Wan admitted. After all, it wasn't going to be easy avoiding familiar faces in Theed, and the swamps were a good two hundred kilometers away from the city, but if they could just survive that first part, they would be safer than anywhere else in the galaxy. Outside of the major cities, Naboo was as harmless as possible. "But it is our best option."

The hyperspace trip would last about two hours, and those two hours seemed to take days to pass. Obi-Wan and Siri were both anxious about what was to come, and they spent their time prepping travel packs, meditating or, when Siri's nerves were too frayed to sit still, sparring. Anakin slept the entire trip, and Obi-Wan was both grateful and worried for it; sleep was what he needed, but it was concerning that he didn't awaken at all considering the circumstances.

When the hyperdrive disengaged, Obi-Wan sat in the co-pilot's seat, gazing out of the viewport. Naboo looked just as beautiful as he remembered. The last time he'd been here was for Padmé's funeral. It felt like a different lifetime altogether now. He'd been Obi-Wan Naberrie, grieving brother and representative of Naboo. Now he was coming as a foreigner, and it was a strange feeling, even unsettling. He felt the old anxiety that used to plague him on so many missions returning, thoughts buzzing in his mind asking if they could get through this without being discovered, but he took a deep breath and let it go. They would be cautious, and whatever happened was whatever happened. They couldn't control anything beyond that.

Rising, Obi-Wan left the landing procedure to Siri, who entered the atmosphere smoothly and aimed for the center of the largest swamp on the planet. He instead walked to the medical bay, turning his attention to Anakin, who was still fast asleep. Reluctantly, Obi-Wan unstrapped the boy and gave him a gentle nudge.

Anakin sniffled, squeezing his eyes shut and turning his head to the side. He started to relax again before Obi-Wan gave him another nudge. "Anakin."

Anakin grunted, sluggishly trying to swat Obi-Wan away. This wasn't like him at all, and it made Obi-Wan worry all the more, but eventually the bond lit up with awareness and he opened his eyes.

"How long…?" he slurred.

"Two hours," Obi-Wan answered, understanding the question. "We're landing now."

"Console?"

Obi-Wan furrowed his brow. "What about it, Anakin? You passed out before you could tell us what was wrong."

Anakin slowly sat up, shrugging off Obi-Wan's attempt to help. He got to his feet, swaying a little and testing his balance and body. When he seemed satisfied with his own internal scan, he limped towards the hallway.

"Anakin, just tell me and I'll handle it. You need to stay off that ankle as long as possible – we have a very long walk ahead of us," Obi-Wan said.

The boy sighed, pausing. "We're on an Imperial shuttle. Every shuttle has its own code that it transmits. They may not immediately know which ship we've stolen, but once they do, all they have to do is trace that signal. The console is the way to turn it off or alter it."

Alarm lit up in Obi-Wan's mind. "Which console?"

Anakin shook his head, not bothering to explain. Instead he picked up his pace, making it to the cockpit. Obi-Wan didn't bother stopping him; this was something they had to handle quickly, and arguing with Anakin would only delay matters.

Siri turned, sensing their approach. "How are you feeling?"

Anakin walked past her and started fiddling with the console, and Obi-Wan quickly explained the situation before she could grow exasperated from being ignored. As soon as he'd finished telling her, Anakin sat in the co-pilot's seat, his hands resting on his lap.

"Did you fix it?" Siri asked.

The young man nodded, and then he looked out the viewport. "Where are we?"

Obi-Wan gazed outside as well and saw the gnarly trees and hanging vines that populated the swamplands of Naboo. He could see mist everywhere, and the humidity began to fog the viewport itself.

"We're on Naboo," Siri answered. "I landed at the edge of the water, so we need to get out pretty quickly; the swamp will swallow this ship right up."

Obi-Wan nodded and grabbed the travel packs that would get them through their long journey. With Theed about two hundred kilometers away, Obi-Wan had estimated it would take them about half a week to reach the city. He hoped Anakin was up for it. He and Siri had at least scrounged up everything they could to help themselves and the boy – the travel packs contained a tent, sleeping bags, heaters, enough water to supply them for practically a month, as well as a filter that could clean the surrounding water if need be, Siri's vitamins (which she had thankfully had the wherewithal to grab before they'd fled their dormitory), ration packs, and crutches for Anakin. They didn't have a change of clothes, but they did manage to find soap… nevertheless, Obi-Wan knew they'd be beyond filthy by the time they reached Theed. He supposed that would be in their favor; they would certainly blend in with refugees and the destitute, even if the idea of being covered in swamp muck made him shudder.

Obi-Wan and Siri handed the crutches to Anakin, who initially had been reticent to use them until the couple had informed him just how arduous this walk would be. After disembarking the shuttle, Obi-Wan inhaled the thick air and glanced around. It was relatively chilly, made even more so by the intense humidity. Insects immediately swarmed around them, buzzing irritatingly, but apart from that the area was deserted. Turning around, Obi-Wan watched the shuttle slowly descend into the water, which gurgled as it swallowed its latest addition to its collection of lost treasures.

"Welcome home," Siri muttered, also looking at the shuttle disappear.

"Let's go," Anakin said. "Which direction are we heading?"

Obi-Wan glanced at the holo-map he'd created and pointed north. "This way."

The trio began their journey and barely spoke after that point. Obi-Wan spent his time musing how they would get through this scenario without being discovered while occasionally glancing at Siri and Anakin to ensure they were fine. Siri's eyes were clouded, plagued with similar thoughts, and Anakin spent his time concentrating on not slipping through the mud; the crutches seemed almost a hindrance given the terrain, but Obi-Wan and Siri had little else to offer the poor man. Obi-Wan had been concerned they would be slowed down by Anakin's injuries, but they managed to walk at a surprisingly steady clip, and they didn't stop until midday when the air, having warmed up from the sun, wrapped around them like a blanket, and Obi-Wan found himself covered in so much sweat it looked like he'd been swimming in the water all around them.

Letting his travel pack slide from his back, Obi-Wan pulled out the first ration pack of the day and gazed forlornly at the small cylindrical bar that would serve as his lunch. Blast, he'd forgotten how wretched these things were; he'd been forced to eat them during some of his missions in the service corps when they went to particularly bad assignments.

Siri popped a vitamin into her mouth with a swig of water and leaned against a tree while Anakin slowly sat on a large root that happened to be above ground.

"You know, if there was one thing I _didn't_ miss about Naboo, it was this place," Siri grumbled as she pulled out a similar looking bar.

"I confess I prefer mountains," Obi-Wan smiled tiredly.

Anakin didn't comment, but neither Jedi expected him to. Instead, Obi-Wan asked him, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," he answered, his gaze unfocused as he stared at the ground.

Siri glanced at Obi-Wan worriedly. _He's got a concussion, Obi. We shouldn't overwork him._

Obi-Wan silently agreed, but he knew Anakin would not allow them to take a particularly long respite for his sake, so he distracted him. "Well, while we wait, is there any Force technique you would like to teach us?"

Anakin glanced at Obi-Wan blankly for a few seconds before closing his eyes and nodding. "We don't have to practice it though. You're already in the process of doing it."

"Doing what?"

"Using the Force for stamina. It comes in handy. You can go a few days without sleep that way."

Obi-Wan furrowed his brow. "I haven't been using the Force."

"It's automatic," Anakin explained. "At least partially. I suppose you didn't notice, but you would naturally have more energy than most, naturally do better despite not eating or sleeping. If you focus on using the Force to help you push through, you can last even longer."

"Where there's a will, there's a way," Siri remarked before rising and stretching. "I don't know about you, but I could use a nap."

Anakin looked at her, baffled. "We've only been walking six hours."

"I'm pregnant," Siri said matter-of-factly. "I need rest."

Anakin looked between the two Jedi and then his eyes steadily narrowed in suspicion. "You're not tired."

Siri crossed her arms. "You want to argue with the pregnant woman now?"

Obi-Wan cleared his throat loudly. "Anakin, _don't_ argue with the pregnant woman."

The young man still seemed to be debating the matter before he eventually settled, his body relaxing. "Fine, but only for half an hour."

"Full hour."

"We can't sit still that long," Anakin emphasized, growing agitated.

"It'll be the only break we take all day," Siri pointed out. "We won't stop until sunset."

Anakin watched her shrewdly. "It's winter. The sun sets sooner. That's cheating."

Obi-Wan saw Siri bite back a laugh at his remark. "Well how long do you suggest?"

"We'll have to make up for your _hour long nap_—"

"2300," Obi-Wan interrupted. "We get up at 0600 to eat and head out at 0700. That should give us plenty of time."

"Midnight."

"_Anakin_, we need _sleep_."

"I _just told you _how we can do this _without_ sleep."

Obi-Wan sighed. "Fine. Midnight. But we still don't head out until seven."

Anakin huffed lightly, shifting his good leg. Obi-Wan and Siri glanced at each other when the boy wasn't looking and smiled. At least they'd managed to give him an hour break for now.

Siri sat once more and leaned against the tree, bending her right leg and stretching her left out in front of her while propping her right arm on her bent knee. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, taking a calming breath. Obi-Wan could sense she really wasn't that tired, but she knew she had to put up a show for Anakin. Judging by the boy's lack of concern over her, he obviously was too battered to tell she wasn't in need of a nap. However, despite knowing they would be lounging for an hour, he refused to sleep, slumped on his perch and staring blankly at the mud, the crutches forgotten at his sides.

Obi-Wan slowly walked over to him and sat beside him on the root, glancing around. Some small amphibians were croaking, and a lazy breeze rustled the leaves in the canopy above, but neither man felt it far below the tree line. The mist still hung heavy in the air, and each breath Obi-Wan took was saturated with water. Obi-Wan took some comfort in knowing that it would get colder and crisper the closer they got to Theed.

"I told you not to join the fighting back on Ferrasco," Anakin eventually said softly, still gazing at the ground, snapping Obi-Wan out of his musings.

The Jedi Padawan glanced at the young man and smiled gently. "Yes, well, it was a valiant effort, but I chose not to listen."

Anakin scowled in his general direction.

"Come now, Anakin," Obi-Wan chided him. "Do you think so little of us that you still don't realize we would never willingly let you get hurt?"

Anakin closed his eyes, the Force warming. "I'm still getting used to it."

Obi-Wan put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Get some rest while you can."

Opening his eyes, Anakin gave him a bewildered look. "Why is your hand on my shoulder? You did that before too, but it only works on my vitals sometimes. I think your calming abilities are faulty."

Obi-Wan sighed heavily, removing it. "It's a gesture of concern, Anakin."

Anakin blinked, somehow even more confused. _But I can sense your concern. Why bother touching me?_

"Not everyone can use the Force," Obi-Wan reminded him, not even noticing that the boy hadn't actually spoken. "This is how they show they care without saying anything."

"But it's so… random."

Siri snored loudly, her bond to Obi-Wan bubbling with amusement. Obi-Wan felt his exasperation steadily growing, so he shook his head and looked away. "Yes, well, people can be random at times."

Anakin made no comment, and Obi-Wan had little else to say on the matter, so the pair sat in comfortable silence for a time. After a while, Obi-Wan settled into light meditation, enjoying the openness of the Force around him. Ever since Palpatine's death a heavy shroud of darkness had been lifted, but more recently, after Anakin had finally opened up to the couple, it was as if the river of life, no longer polluted, was also no longer _stagnant_. Anakin still sealed his mind off from the world, but he didn't cling to the Force and freeze it.

Obi-Wan sensed Siri also meditating, and their minds intertwined, sharing thoughts and worries, but unable to really communicate. Qui-Gon had said that with time some bonds allowed for entire telepathic conversations; Obi-Wan wondered when he and Siri would reach that point. In the meantime, the two tossed images back and forth, imagining Ghanu'jivo, Nar Shaddaa, Ferrasco, essentially anywhere but Naboo.

Harsh coughing snapped both Jedi out of their meditation. Obi-Wan jumped, startled, and looked at Anakin, who was sitting rod straight, his left arm guarding his side.

"What's wrong?" Siri asked before Obi-Wan could speak.

"I'm fine," Anakin immediately said. "Since you're awake, let's continue."

"No. Not until you tell us what's wrong." Siri said firmly, watching him stubbornly.

Anakin remained silent, his face growing steadily darker as the seconds ticked by. Obi-Wan sensed mounting frustration in the young man, and it was slowly growing. Anakin still didn't know how to control his emotions, so anything could evolve into an emotional outburst, especially with as stressed and tired as he was. The Jedi opted for soothing both parties, standing slowly. "Anakin said he's fine. Let's go."

Siri looked at him incredulously, but he nodded at her before she could open her mouth. _We'll walk slowly._

Biting her lip, his wife started to lead the way. Anakin slowly pulled himself into a standing position by use of his crutches and followed her, with Obi-Wan trailing in the rear, keeping a careful eye on the boy.

After a few tense minutes of silence, Siri asked, "Tell me, Anakin, how is it you always seem to be getting hurt? You were hurt when you were captured, sick in the cell, injured when you snapped at Obi-Wan, and now this."

"Because he throws himself into danger with reckless abandon," Obi-Wan answered for the boy.

Anakin huffed, now too tired to get truly angry. "I don't _throw_ myself. Everything I do is calculated."

"Ah, yes, and did you _calculate_ that one man against a star destroyer's worth of troops and weaponry might not end well?" Obi-Wan quipped.

"I can handle myself," Anakin said flatly.

"I saw that."

Anakin grew quiet, and Obi-Wan at first that he'd managed to make his point. After some consideration, however, it occurred to the Jedi Padawan that Anakin might _actually_ believe Obi-Wan expected him to be able to handle such a situation without getting hurt, and this chastisement was completely serious. Sighing, he said, "Anakin, you know I don't expect you to survive against a destroyer. All I'm saying is everyone has their _limits_. I thought you would be able to understand that and not exceed them."

"Limits are only self-imposed barriers."

"Within _reason_, Anakin."

"There is no reason to it. Stating you cannot do something means you won't do it."

Siri threw a glance back at her husband. _He's got a point._

Obi-Wan frowned. _Don't encourage him_. "There are some things that are physically impossible. For instance, you cannot survive in space."

"You can with a spacesuit."

"_Anakin."_

The young man stopped walking, turning and looking at Obi-Wan calmly. A few seconds later Obi-Wan registered it was simply because he'd said his name; he hadn't caught the meaning. Obi-Wan sighed heavily. "Nothing. Let's keep moving."

The trio continued their trek. Seconds crawled by agonizingly slowly. Minutes eventually turned to hours, but the scenery didn't change. Obi-Wan felt his mind going numb with the repetition, and his feet ached from walking for an entire day. No one bothered to have a conversation at this point, legitimately exhausted, but Obi-Wan occasionally had to send a nudge through his bond to Siri to speed up or slow down as he watched Anakin. Everyone was growing impatient with their seeming lack of progress, and they spent the evening and early night nearly sprinting as a result, though nightfall's darkness slowed their progress despite the headlights they wore around their foreheads. Obi-Wan started to check his chronometer continuously as it grew steadily gloomier, and insects became all the more annoying as they landed on his face or buzzed around him.

Several hours later, Siri stopped the entourage once more in order to eat briefly, and Anakin was all the more agitated by it. When Obi-Wan tried to get him to calm down, he said, "This isn't training or us biding our time in hiding. This is an _objective. _The longer you drag your feet, the longer it'll take to get to Theed."

"The more you push yourself, the more likely you won't even _make it_ to Theed," Siri noted.

"I'll make it."

"Yes, you will," Obi-Wan affirmed. "Because we'll make sure you don't kill yourself."

Anakin suddenly became confused. "I… I wasn't going to."

Siri groaned. "Come on."

The last two hours were spent in silence, and Obi-Wan grew steadily dizzier from hunger, though he did try to push forward with the help of the Force. As soon as the second hand ticked to midnight, Obi-Wan called for them to stop. Siri gratefully listened and started to poke around for a firm, dry spot to place the tent. Obi-Wan shivered slightly in the damp; the temperature shift was fairly extreme right now, from steamy hot middays to teeth chattering chilly nights.

It didn't help that they weren't dressed for this weather – after they'd arrived at Ferrasco they'd shed their heavy coats from Hoth and had been running around in simple tunics or sleeveless shirts with heavy winter boots and thick pants. It had been an odd combination, but the breezy weather of Firro had made it manageable. Now they were overheated from the waist down during the day and freezing from the waist up at night. Anakin, meanwhile, was still dressed in the same dark attire he'd worn eons ago when he'd been captured, and they were beginning to get ragged from use and hand washing in the shared 'fresher back on Ferrasco.

Sighing, Obi-Wan pulled out one of the small heaters they'd packed. Anakin looked between the two Jedi, likely wondering how he should contribute, but Obi-Wan gave him a stern look and ordered him to sit down. For once, the boy didn't argue, and that was telling enough.

Siri called out to her husband to indicate she'd found a suitable location for their tent, and Obi-Wan helped her set it up. It was barely large enough to fit three Human adults, but it was still roomier than the dorm bed they'd shared. After the tent was pitched, Siri laid out the sleeping bags while Obi-Wan set up a lamp and the heater, and then took out two more ration bars. When this was all finished, Siri painfully removed her boots, hissing as she did so.

"I don't even want to know how many blisters I have," she grumbled.

Obi-Wan was fairly certain his own feet were covered in them. The biggest issue, though, was getting Anakin's sprained ankle out of his boot. As the couple carefully put their shoes outside the tent to prevent mud from getting inside, a dull pain spiked across Obi-Wan's bond with Anakin, and he looked at the boy to see him already barefoot, pale, and leaning against a tree, breathing shallower than normal.

Obi-Wan was going to chide him and say he should have waited for help, but it was a moot point now and Anakin would likely claim he could handle it on his own. Eventually he would have to rid the boy of that particular stubbornness – he understood that Anakin was ingrained with the idea of never showing weakness, but he'd started breaking that barrier, at least emotionally, so surely he could do so physically as well. Hiding his injuries or pretending to be fine would only make things worse. Instead of saying anything, Obi-Wan motioned for Anakin to come to the tent. The boy limped over, eventually regaining some color, and as soon as he was within arm's reach, Siri snatched him by the arm, throwing him off balance. His injured foot, the right one, automatically reached out to steady himself, and Obi-Wan hastily stepped forward to stop him from doing so. Before he could, Siri wrapped her left arm around Anakin's back and her right arm under his knees, hauling him up to her chest. Anakin protested vehemently, and Siri said, "Don't even start, sweetheart. You've been walking eighteen hours too long."

Obi-Wan watched with amusement as his wife carried Anakin into the tent and gently plopped him on his sleeping bag, which was placed purposefully between theirs so if he moved it would wake either or both Jedi. Anakin gazed at her sourly, his pride deeply wounded, and he refused to eat when offered a ration bar. Sighing, Obi-Wan didn't bother fighting, knowing that after Siri's stunt it would take a miracle to convince the boy to do anything.

Giving up on the venture, he ate his own ration bar peacefully, enjoying the sustenance despite his earlier grumpiness concerning the taste. He also set an alarm on his chronometer (at Anakin's insisting, of course) so they would wake up promptly at 0600. The thought itself was exhausting. As he finished his bar, Siri closed the tent and snuggled into her sleeping bag.

"Good night," she mumbled tiredly.

"Night," Obi-Wan acknowledged.

Anakin stared at them. "Why do people say that?"

"Say what?"

"Good night. It's like an announcement or something, if one can even assume what a good night is. You can clearly tell if the night is good or bad, depending on your circumstances and the weather conditions and the like, so why are you announcing it before going to sleep?"

Siri groaned into her pillow. _Put him to bed before I kill him, Obi._

Obi-Wan disguised a laugh for a cough. _You're going to be such a wonderful mother, dear._ "It's a shortening of 'have a good night,' Anakin. It's well wishing."

"But stating that doesn't change whether you'll actually have a—"

"Go. To. Sleep." Siri interrupted, her voice muffled through her pillow.

Anakin glanced at her and started to slowly slide into his sleeping bag. Obi-Wan felt a little guilty, but Anakin certainly didn't look bothered by the interruption. Nevertheless, the Jedi sighed and smiled at the young man… and he just couldn't resist. "Good night, Anakin."

_Blast it Obi!_

Anakin looked at Obi-Wan as if he'd lost his mind. "I just said—"

"SLEEP. NOW."

Obi-Wan poked Siri through the Force. _Sleep well, dearest._

A low growl emitted from Siri's pillow.

Shaking his head with a chuckle, Obi-Wan turned off the lamp. He also deleted the alarm Anakin had watched him set on his chronometer; whether the boy wanted to admit it or not, no amount of the Force would keep him going without rest. Besides, it seemed that his head injury had impacted his ability to use the Force anyway; it certainly made him more sluggish in general. With that thought in mind, Obi-Wan settled in for the night. The silence in the tent allowed the local fauna to finally come out, and Obi-Wan listened as small insects chirped and whistled, nighttime birds sang back and forth, and the water splashed as small animals leapt in and out of it. Eventually the sound of the swamp, alongside the soothing peaceful sensation rolling over from his wife and Anakin, lulled him to sleep.

High overhead, engines could be heard in the distance as _The Invariant Beauty_ flew over the swamp undetected. The ship wasn't on any search list by Intelligence, at least not anymore, and so Al flew it into Theed directly with access codes from Padmé that indicated they were coming from Nimo'alke, another world in the same sector.

As Al piloted the ship, Padmé sat on the bunk in the upper quarters, braiding her wet hair after a shower. Her mind had been fairly numb after departing Salkende, and she felt generally drained. She didn't even know how long it had been since her rescue. A few days, at least, though it was hard to tell since she'd spent most of her time in a spaceship.

Her rescue. By a man who had lost his team to find her. By a man who had lost his _world_ to help her. By a man she'd just left behind.

She shook her head. She was too tired to beat herself up about it anymore. She just wanted to know her own family was okay. After watching the cold, blank stares on Éothen's parents' faces…

Padmé let the braid slip out of her fingers, incomplete. She leaned forward, burying her face in one of her hands. Things only seemed to get worse these days.

Blast, she wished Obi-Wan was here.

The _Beauty_ shuddered as it landed in the spaceport. Padmé slowly rose, grabbing a hold of her resolve. Her family was fine. They _had_ to be fine. She would make sure of it. Grabbing a hair tie she secured the half-finished braid, not caring that it looked haphazard, and headed for the ladder, lifting her long servant dress that she hadn't been able to change out of this entire time. Thankfully the dress would keep her fairly warm since it had been winter at the estate, just as it was winter here, though Theed's weather was milder than the forested mountains of Tarkin's home.

As she entered the lounge, Padmé saw Al exit the cockpit. He had put a jacket on and was holding a thick, white one for her. It didn't look like one of his since it was too narrow.

"This should help keep you warm," Al offered the jacket to her.

"You carry women's clothes now?" Padmé asked with a tired smile.

Al huffed a small laugh. "It's Siri's."

Padmé paused and looked at the coat once more. Siri had worn this? Reaching almost reverently, she slowly took it from Al's hands. It was somehow mind blowing that Siri had been in this ship recently and had left one of her belongings here as if it were normal, as if she were expecting to come back. As if she weren't going to be stranded on a world that would be locked down by the Empire, far beyond Padmé's reach just when she would _finally_ be able to see her again. Padmé's heart ached at the thought of it.

Al watched her sympathetically, silently waiting for her. She let out a shaky laugh and put the coat on before looking at Al and motioning towards the ramp. "Shall we?"

Al nodded with a smile and walked over to the ramp with her, pressing the button to lower it. Both watched its slow descent to the ground, and after it had opened fully, they stood there. Padmé knew Al was waiting for her, but she didn't know why she was hesitating. Was it fear? Was she afraid she would see here what she saw in Fjesky? Or was she just unsure what she would do when she saw her family alive and well? Was she bringing harm to them by just doing this? But she _had_ to do this. She couldn't stand the uncertainty anymore, not after Salkende.

Al looked at her again and slowly held his left hand out to the side for her to take. Padmé glanced at it and then looked at him, and he smiled gently. Feeling her eyes sting with tears, she smiled in return and took the offered hand, and the two raised their hoods and gradually disembarked the ship.

Theed was beautiful in its stillness. It was roughly an hour past midnight, so the streets were essentially abandoned. A light snowfall was coming down, muffling everything and speckling the surroundings. The lapping of the fountains in the city seemed milder, and the street lights emitted soft halos that glowed gently in the dark. Padmé's and Al's footsteps were silenced by the snow that was already on the cobblestone, turning shuffles and clicks into small creaks as the snow was compressed beneath their feet.

The journey home seemed an interminable one. Winding streets went on for what felt like hours, and her stomach cramped more and more the closer she got to that familiar neighborhood. She knew Al was armed, and she had taken a snub blaster as well (having forgotten until just before landing that Éothen still had the shoto), so that brought her some comfort, but it also made her jumpy. The silence made her senses heighten, and the constant movement of the snowflakes made her feel like she was being followed, but Al seemed to have a calmer head on his shoulders and he wasn't reacting to any sort of threat. When they finally arrived at their destination Padmé froze in place.

The Naberrie home was tucked away in a side street, covered in ivy and accessible by a small flight of stone steps. Nothing looked out of place, and there were no guards or Imperials of any sort in sight. It looked just like it had when she'd last seen it. Padmé hadn't been here since she'd become senator almost three years ago, before all of the chaos erupted. She recalled her parents' worry, particularly her mother. She recalled Sola's questions about a life of her own, however selfish that sounded. She recalled their tearful farewell, how they told her constantly that they loved her so much, that they were so proud of her and just wanted her to be safe and happy.

Padmé choked down a sob. Al squeezed her hand.

After a minute or so she eventually regained her composure and grabbed hold of her resolve. Taking a step forward, she headed for the stairs purposefully. When the two reached the landing, Al released her hand and stepped back, and Padmé raised a tentative hand and knocked. They stood there in silence, Padmé's anxiety steadily growing as the seconds ticked by, not necessarily because something might be wrong (it was past midnight, so it was only natural they wouldn't immediately answer their door) but because she didn't know how they would react even if everything _was_ alright.

She knocked again, and she heard the lock click as someone prepared to open the door. Padmé lowered her head so the hood would hide her face, suddenly nervous. She pressed her arm to her side, feeling the snub blaster in her sleeve. Al stiffened.

The door opened, and Padmé saw her father. He stood a good pace away from the door, his body tense. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, you can," Al said before Padmé could, catching her off guard. "Please, we need to speak inside. Is it safe?"

"Safe? What are you talking about?" Ruwee Naberrie asked, his voice lowering. "If you're some kind of fugitive—"

"We're refugees," Padmé said, adding an accent to her voice so her father wouldn't recognize her immediately. She didn't want to make a scene outdoors. He probably couldn't tell it was her even without an accent since her voice was trembling so much.

"There's a refugee center on the other side of town. I can tell you how to find it."

"Can we get some water first?" Padmé asked.

Her father sighed, stepping back. "Of course."

Padmé and Al followed him indoors, and she saw Darred, her brother-in-law, standing off in the distance, a foreboding silhouette in the dark, likely there to ensure nothing was wrong. It was strange that he would be home; Sola and Darred didn't live with her parents. Either they were visiting or something was off.

Al watched Darred carefully. "We're here to speak to the Naberrie family."

Her father paused. "…Who are you?"

Al removed his hood, still eying Darred while giving some of his attention to Ruwee. "My name's Brek. I work with Obi-Wan and Siri."

Darred stepped forward into the foyer, turning the light on. Padmé finally got a good look at the two men, and she was horrified to see how gaunt her father was. What was once a stocky, tall man with chocolate brown hair and laugh lines now looked infinitely skinnier as if he'd lost a lot of weight over a short amount of time, careworn and grey. Darred still looked muscular and healthy, but his bright brown eyes and exuberant demeanor seemed diminished, and he looked suspicious.

"Obi-Wan?" Ruwee repeated, suddenly looking scared. "What's happened to him? Are you… are you with the Rebels?"

"Yes," Al nodded, and he asked, "Is it safe here?"

"Of course," Ruwee immediately said. "Is he with you?"

Padmé took this as her opportunity.

"Obi-Wan's not here. But… I am." She said shakily in her normal voice, finally lowering her hood.

Ruwee and Darred stared at her, their mouths slowly dropping. The color drained from her father's face, and Darred furrowed his brow in astonishment. Her brother-in-law recovered first.

"Are you some sort of decoy?" he asked hesitantly. "What's the Alliance up to?"

Padmé was going to answer, but the look on her father's face sealed her lips. He gazed at her in wonder, shock, and hope. Tears glittered in his eyes, and he took a shuffling step towards her, his arms half stretched outward. Padmé didn't have to explain anything; her father knew it was her.

"Padmé…" he whispered brokenly, and his voice brought tears to her eyes.

Padmé tried to fight against the emotion choking her up, but seeing her father in such a state was too much. The tears started to pour down her face, and she felt her chin tremble. "It's me, Dad. I'm okay. I'm okay."

Her father's lips trembled, his eyebrows curled upward and came together, and he smiled, his mouth still wide open. He pulled her too him, and they held each other so tightly neither could breathe comfortably, though they didn't care. Padmé melted in her father's arms, crying freely. Al backed into the corner, and Darred left the room, turning on every light on his way to the bedrooms.

Padmé remained safe in her father's embrace, sobbing and not even bothering to speak, when she heard multiple footsteps running from the hallway. She heard her mother's voice next. "Padmé? Padmé! Oh gods! Oh gods, Padmé!"

She felt her mother wrap her arms around her from the side, sobbing uncontrollably. Sola stood in the entranceway, her hands over her mouth, tears leaking from her eyes, her husband's hands on her arms as the two watched with wide eyes. A moment later Sola ran to Padmé's other side and held her tightly. Padmé could barely breathe in her family's embrace, but she didn't dare let go. She didn't want to let go. Her family was safe. She was with them, and they were safe. _They were safe_.

An eternity passed, filled with sobs and exclamations and the tightest hug she'd ever received in her life, and then slowly, the pressure eased off. Her family refused to let go just yet, only pulling away slightly to look at her. She smiled at them with teary eyes, crying and laughing at the same time.

"How…?" her father asked.

"I was kidnapped," Padmé explained, and as the words flowed out of her mouth, she finally started to get a hold of herself. The statement also sobered her family, who released her—except for her mother, who held her arm tightly and dragged her from the foyer into the living room. Al went completely unnoticed.

"Kidnapped?" her mother repeated, pulling her to sit on the couch and taking her place beside her. "What happened?"

"Someone was sent to kill me," Padmé said, purposely avoiding mentioning Vader altogether. That was another problem for another day. "They shot me. But I was taken prisoner instead of killed, and Cordé… Cordé was killed in my stead. It was because of a power play – it was Tarkin."

"Tarkin?" Darred exclaimed. "The emperor regent took you prisoner? Why would they make it seem like you died, then?"

"Because Palpatine wanted me dead, but Tarkin did not," Padmé answered. "I was held prisoner on Eriadu until a couple of days or so ago. Tarkin kept telling me he would kill all of you if I tried anything."

Her family stared at her, apparently still too overwhelmed to comprehend everything she had just said. She didn't fault them for it; she couldn't imagine what they'd gone through when they'd thought she was dead. Just looking at how aged and stressed they appeared was indication enough. Her mother looked even more careworn than her father, lines all over her face and dark circles under her eyes. Sola seemed haggard as well.

"I don't think we're going to find any Imperials here, Padmé," Al eventually said from the entrance to the living room, making her family jump in fright. Her mother gasped loudly, and Sola put a hand to her heart, pressing her back against her husband's chest.

"Who are you?" her mother asked with a breathy voice.

"Almusian Brek, ma'am," Al introduced himself with a bow. Before he could do anything else, however, Ruwee dragged him into a hug, making Al himself gasp.

"Thank you for bringing her back to us," he said thickly.

"Bringing her…?" her mother repeated, looking between Al and Padmé.

Padmé smiled, putting a hand on her mother's lap. "Al helped rescue me. He's with the Alliance."

"The Alliance?" Sola said. "Did… did they know about your imprisonment?"

"No," Padmé answered, shaking her head. "They still don't, actually. It's a long story, but Al's the only Rebel who knows."

Her father released Al, who gave a slightly awkward smile and shuffled into the corner before Padmé called attention to him again. "Why do you say you don't think the Imperials are watching this place?"

"It would attract too much attention without needing to," Al shrugged. "Think about it: Tarkin held you prisoner unlawfully, so he wouldn't want anyone knowing about it, which means he wouldn't want the manpower to watch this place or take your family prisoner. It would bring way too many questions. Besides, once he became emperor regent all he'd have to do is order them killed and no one would think twice about it, whether they were prisoners or not."

Everyone stared at him in horror, and he hastily held up his hands, adding, "Not that they're going to be doing that anytime soon, of course! Tarkin's got his hands full with Rhaegon."

This seemed to allay their fright, and Ruwee faced Padmé once more, walking to her other side and sitting beside her. He placed his hand on her shoulder. "Padmé… what _happened_? Why would Palpatine order your death? Why did Tarkin take you prisoner?"

Well _that_ was a long story. Padmé bit her lip, debating how much she should tell. A part of her instinctively didn't want to say anything that would worry them, but truthfully, after they'd thought they'd lost her for over a month, there probably wasn't much more damage she could do in being honest with them. With that thought in mind, she told her tale, starting with the Alliance's desperate need for supplies to Siri finding a contact, Kuna, to Kuna's death and beyond. Her family listened with rapt attention, her parents lingering close to her, her sister sitting across from her alongside Darred. Al remained quiet in the corner. Padmé hesitated at Varykino, and she could tell her family was hurt that she didn't see them when she'd gone to Naboo, but she could also tell they understood why – how _could_ she have visited them with Vader hovering at her side back then? But then that brought up the issue of Darth Vader, who she'd mentioned up to that point had been watching her as a means of intimidation.

"You spent the entire recess with him?" her mother asked worriedly.

Padmé nodded, still unsure how to proceed, but she figured she would continue being honest. "It was… stressful at first. But as time progressed and I got to know him better, I started to realize he was in far worse shape than me. He… he was brainwashed by Palpatine, raised to believe that he was nothing more than a means to an end. He didn't know anything about being a person, about living a normal life. I'd do something as simple as go swimming and he'd be completely baffled by it. So I… I started to help him. I…"

She paused again, shifting, staring at her hands which were clasped tightly on her lap.

She didn't have to say anything. Although her parents were still trying to keep up with everything, Sola seemed to figure it out. "You fell for him."

Padmé's shoulders sagged as she exhaled. "Yes… I did. And he fell for me."

"_Darth Vader_ fell in love with you?" her father repeated, stunned.

Padmé nodded, biting her lip and looking at him. The words tasted bitter in her mouth, they resounded harshly in her ears. She didn't want to continue the story. It should have just remained as it was on Naboo. But eventually she resumed her tale, recounting how everything had fallen apart after the recess had ended and they'd returned to Imperial Center. She spoke of Bail, Éothen, Qui-Gon, the engagement… and then that fateful night.

"I was waiting for Qui-Gon's return when… when I heard a speeder coming. I thought it might be him, but I wasn't sure. I went to the veranda, and… and Vader was there."

Sola's jaw dropped. "_Vader_? _Vader_ was the one who shot you?"

Padmé swallowed. "Yes. He… he did. He shot me. He…"

Her voice trembled, and her eyes filled with tears again as her stomach clenched. She hadn't said it aloud before, and speaking those words unlocked all the pain she felt about it. She hiccupped, trying to regain control, but when her father and mother both held her, she fell apart again. Eventually, though, she managed to say, "He… he told me he loved me. He looked like he wanted to shoot himself for it."

"Why would he do that, then?" her father demanded.

"Because he's sick," Al intoned lowly, garnering everyone's attention. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. "As in literally mentally unwell. He loves Palpatine. Practically worships the guy. He shot her because Palpatine told him to."

Padmé nodded shakily. "He's right. Vader said as much that night."

After taking a moment to catch her breath as her family reeled from all the information, she eventually said, "I passed out. Thought I was going to die… but then I woke up in a strange room with a medical droid over me, and I found out that Tarkin had taken me prisoner, despite Palpatine's wishes. He'd done it so he could control Vader – he wanted me to talk to Vader and convince him to follow Tarkin's orders. He seemed to think it would actually work."

"Wait, Vader didn't know you were alive?" Sola interrupted.

Al blew out a breath. "No, he still thinks she's dead. It nearly tore him apart. Losing Palpatine finished that."

"How do you know?" her father asked.

"Because we captured him," Al answered. "While Padmé was being held prisoner, we found and killed Palpatine—which you probably already know from the news—and we took Vader prisoner."

Darred huffed. "No wonder Tarkin says he's _indisposed_."

Al grunted in acknowledgement. "Obi-Wan interrogated him after everyone found out Vader listened to him. Started to build a rapport, found out that he was the one who shot Padmé, found out about… everything, really."

Her mother stood. "Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan's alright?"

Al looked away uncertainly. "Eh… sort of, yeah."

Her father stood next, and then Sola. "What do you mean sort of?"

"Well, he and Siri are stuck with Vader right now, and they're stranded on a planet that's on Imperial lockdown."

Padmé's mother put a hand over her mouth and slowly sat on the couch once more.

"We're going to get them out of there," Padmé said firmly.

"Yeah, once we get enough help to do so," Al sighed. "Until then they're… stranded."

Sola looked at the ground, tears in her eyes. Padmé tried to reassure them. "It's going to be okay. Vader's on our side now."

"After he shot you?" her father looked at her incredulously.

"He did it because—"

"It doesn't matter why he did, the fact is that he did it!" Ruwee continued. "If he's sick, then you can't just assume he's thinking straight now."

"He saved our lives," Al said, shocking the family once more. "The Empire attacked our base, and he protected us from them. He's… he was never loyal to the Empire, just Palpatine. With the emperor gone, he's kind of drifting. I think he's gotten attached to Obi-Wan instead."

Jobal burst into tears, startling Padmé, and she hastily put her hand on her mother's shoulder. "Mom, they're Jedi and he's on their side, they'll be fine until we can get to them."

"Jedi?" Ruwee repeated.

Padmé stared at him, confused. "Y-yes… didn't they tell you? They started training just after I was shot, they found out about their sensitivity before that… they didn't say anything to you before they left?"

"We… never had time to talk," Sola admitted, crying silently.

Padmé looked from her mother, who was weeping, to her sister's quiet tears, to her brother-in-law's drawn face, to her father's worried expression. "What happened?"

Ruwee slowly, heavily, sat on the sofa once more, his eyes distant and filled with sadness. "After your funeral, we… had an argument. We were all grief stricken, and we let it out on each other. Obi-Wan and Siri left, and we never heard from them again. I tried to contact Obi, but I never could reach him. We prayed they were safe with the Alliance."

"Our argument will be the last words we ever s-say to him!" Jobal sobbed.

"It's my fault," Sola said with a trembling tone. "Siri made a stupid remark and I just bit her head off for it. It only made things worse. We were all too upset to stop it."

"But how are they _Jedi_?" Darred asked.

Ruwee sighed. "Obi-Wan was a Jedi initiate when the purges happened. We found him on Nimo'alke, having been smuggled there. We took him in, promised to keep him safe, to never let the Empire find him. I didn't know Siri was Force sensitive. When did he learn about his abilities?"

"When he went to Salkende," Padmé explained. "He said the warlord was the woman who smuggled him to Nimo'alke in the first place."

"Adelig," Ruwee recalled. "Strange how people meet again under such different circumstances."

Padmé bit her tongue, looking at her lap once more as her mother tried to stop crying. Adelig. She was gone now.

The Naberrie family was silent for a long time. Jobal never quite stopped crying, sniffling occasionally, but Sola had managed to compose herself. Darred eventually stood. "Your room is still available, Padmé. It's four in the morning. We should all get some rest."

"Rest?" Ruwee repeated. "We should _celebrate_ is what we should do!"

Darred smiled. "Perhaps _after_ we sleep, Father. Mother doesn't need to set the house on fire falling asleep over cooking food."

"You t-think I can sleep?" Jobal hiccupped. "Obi-Wan's out t-there, and P-Padmé's a-alive… I…"

"We all need a good night's rest to sort this out," Darred insisted. "And I'm sure Padmé and Mr. Brek are exhausted."

Admittedly, Padmé was indeed completely drained. It had been a very long day, though she wasn't sure how well she would sleep with the images of Fjesky burned into her mind.

Al looked conflicted. "Yeah, I am pretty tired, but I don't want to impose."

"You saved our daughter. You are _always_ welcome in our home." Ruwee said firmly. "It isn't imposing at all."

Al smiled, though it was somewhat strained, and nodded. "Thank you."

"Thank _you_." Ruwee emphasized. "We can never thank you enough."

Darred motioned towards the hallway with a smile, and Al reluctantly followed him. In the moment Padmé watched him leaving, her mother hugged her again. "Oh, Padmé… I'm… I'm _so glad_ you're alright…"

Padmé returned the hug wholeheartedly. "I'm sorry I worried you."

After her mother released her, Padmé stood and hugged Sola and Ruwee. Only after that did she start to head for her bedroom, her family hovering just behind her. She grew steadily more tired the closer she got to her room, but when she opened it she felt like she'd never been there before. The last time she'd been in her room she had been a different person. More naïve, less scarred, filled with hope and determination, surrounded by her family… she trembled just staring at her own bed.

"Are you going to be okay?" Sola asked softly as her parents watched worriedly.

Padmé smiled. "I… I will be."

Everyone hugged her once more and bade her to sleep well with more kisses and expressions of love than she'd ever received at once. She returned it in full and then, close to a half hour later, finally collapsed in bed, too exhausted to ponder anything else

* * *

**I know, I know, the moment you've all been waiting for wasn't in this chapter, but I felt like there was already enough going on in this chapter, so adding everything else that I'd already written would make it twice as long and generally exhausting to read. Sorry! If it's any consolation, the next chapter is called "Reunion," and you all know what that means. ;)  
**


	51. Reunion

**Hey guys, sorry for the wait, my summer has been crazier than expected. Apologies for any typos, I try to edit these chapters but inevitably with their length errors will fall through the cracks.  
**

* * *

The air was chilly, but Siri woke up sweaty. Her stomach churned uncomfortably, and she bit back a moan of exasperation. She'd been nauseous for a good part of the day yesterday, and she'd hoped sleep would eliminate it, but apparently that wasn't the case. Blasted morning sickness.

Sighing, she sat up, letting the thick cool air cling to her bare arms. The heater made it uncomfortably warm in the tent, and so she quickly slipped out of her sleeping bag and headed for the exit. She glanced at Obi-Wan and Anakin for a brief moment and saw that both men were fast asleep, and she smiled a little before leaving.

Slipping on her boots outside, Siri stretched and tried to ignore her nausea as she glanced around the vicinity. A flock of nunas were picking around the area, eating some local plant life, but they all stood straight when they saw her. The wingless birds watched her carefully and when they realized she wasn't approaching, they steadily returned to their task. Apart from them there really wasn't much else going on, though the sound of multiple animals and insects was so loud Siri was surprised it hadn't woken the boys up.

Siri sat on the ground, ignoring the dampness of the dirt beneath her, and leaned against a rock, letting the cold seep into her bones and push her discomfort away. Eventually her nausea dissipated uneventfully, much to her relief, and it was at that point that she started wondering what time it was – Obi-Wan had set an alarm, after all, and he still wasn't awake.

Rising, Siri reentered the tent and carefully poked Obi-Wan, watching Anakin to ensure she didn't wake him accidentally. Her husband stirred sluggishly and then slowly opened his eyes with a sniffle. He was going to speak when Siri put a finger to his mouth and motioned to Anakin. Then she pointed to her wrist. _What time is it?_

Obi-Wan rubbed his eyes and slipped out of the tent with her, putting on his boots before referencing his chronometer. "A little after eight."

"Well, Anakin won't like that," Siri remarked with little concern as she smiled at her husband. They all needed the sleep, so she was grateful Obi-Wan had thought to turn his alarm off. "Since we have some time, then, care to clean up?"

Obi-Wan looked around him and shuddered. "Bathing in swamp water doesn't sound pleasant."

"We'll filter it and just sponge bathe," Siri shrugged. "Come on."

"Siri, it's _cold_."

"Oh stop complaining," she laughed, grabbing her husband's hand.

The couple decided it was prudent to remain partly decent in case anything happened or Anakin awoke, but they still removed their tops. As they cleaned up, Obi-Wan asked, "Do you feel… different today?"

Siri paused, glancing at him. "Different how?"

"I don't know," Obi-Wan shook his head. "When you woke me up, it felt like there was… something else in my mind. Like some void had been filled, like some headache I didn't even know I had was gone."

"Obi, we've had a lot of crazy things going on," Siri offered uncertainly. "I mean, when Anakin finally broke down the Force suddenly started feeling really different, and I could actually kind of sense how he felt. Maybe what you're feeling today is just because he's hurt."

"You mean you don't sense anything at all?"

Siri paused, prodding the Force. Now that he mentioned it, something did feel different, but not necessarily _new_. It was as if something she'd stopped noticing had left and then returned. "Well… something does feel… odd. But… whatever it is, it isn't threatening. I wouldn't worry too much about it."

Obi-Wan sighed and then a shiver ran through his body as he squeezed some more water from the sponge over his shoulders. Siri sat beside him and hugged him, offering warmth, and he leaned into the embrace.

"Give it time. Someday we'll find a massive hot spa to share." Siri said with a wink and a quick kiss on the lips.

"We could go to the spas at Thecine," Obi-Wan remarked. "If we're planning on going to the Lake Country to hide."

Siri laughed. "You're getting bold."

"I'm freezing."

The Force flared up with awareness, but Siri missed it for a moment, though Obi-Wan turned, suddenly looking flustered as a voice said, "Your alarm didn't go off."

Siri yelped, covering her chest with her arms. "What the _hell_ are you doing, Anakin?!"

Anakin blinked. "I'm… standing…?"

Siri groaned, wrestling down her annoyance. Getting pissed at him wouldn't do any good since he _obviously_ was completely clueless about common courtesy. "Gods above… go back in the tent so I can put a _shirt_ on."

Anakin grumpily limped back into the tent. Obi-Wan and Siri both sighed.

"One of these days, I'm not going to be able to stay the perfect calm Jedi and I'm going to kill him." She grumbled.

Amusement fluttered through her bond with her husband. "When, pray tell, did you become the perfect calm Jedi?"

Siri shoved her husband away. "Keep an eye out so I can finish bathing, you shaak."

Obi-Wan complied with a cheeky smile and stood guard. When Siri was finished cleaning herself up entirely, she scrubbed some of her clothes clean and then reluctantly put them on while they were still damp (Force knew Anakin wouldn't wait for them to dry and Siri had no intention of sitting around _naked_ waiting for the boy to come out of the tent and complain about her taking too long). When she was done she let Obi-Wan do the same thing and she reentered the tent only to find Anakin wasn't there.

Startled, Siri ran back out to her husband. "Obi, Anakin's gone."

Obi-Wan nodded. "I know. He left while I was keeping watch."

"Where did he go?" Siri asked, feeling irritated. What was that idiot thinking, wandering off with the injuries he had?

"I assume he went walking."

"Like we're not going to be doing that _all day_? Why didn't you stop him?"

"Because no amount of arguing will stop him," Obi-Wan answered as he finished up. "Walking is a daily ritual for him, and it's what keeps him stable."

Siri ran a hand through her damp hair, feeling out for the boy through the Force. He hadn't gotten far. "You'd think he'd let it go when he's got a sprained ankle and has to walk across part of a continent. He'd better head back pretty soon, he needs to bathe and then we can head out."

As if on cue, Anakin did reappear shortly after, aware that he couldn't walk as far and had little time to do so. He'd thankfully taken his crutches for the walk, and he looked a little less irritable upon his return. Obi-Wan and Siri convinced him to clean up before they headed out, and he agreed on the condition that they didn't stop for breakfast, lunch, or dinner – they would eat on the move. The Jedi reluctantly acquiesced.

Siri packed up the tent as Anakin headed off to bathe, and she glanced at Obi-Wan. _Go with him. He's still hurt._

Her husband nodded and followed Anakin, who sensed him and looked his way. "Help Siri break everything down. Then we can leave sooner."

"Siri can take care of it on her own, Anakin, you know that," Obi-Wan reminded him, crossing his arms. "I'm just keeping watch."

Anakin looked like he wanted to argue, as if he knew Obi-Wan was only there to babysit him, but he couldn't counter the logic that keeping one's guard up was essential. The young man reluctantly looked away, and he slowly removed his belt and dark brown tabard, pausing briefly while doing so, and Obi-Wan felt the Force pinch slightly with pain. Walking over, he helped Anakin remove the cloth, garnering an exasperated look from the young man.

"I'm fine," Anakin said pointedly.

"Yes, you're always fine," Obi-Wan quipped before reaching for Anakin's black tunic next. "How's your head?"

"It's fine."

Obi-Wan gave the boy a hard look, his eyes examining the blood stains on Anakin's forehead. "And what exactly would you define as _not fine_?"

"If I were unable to function it would be problematic, but that isn't the case."

Obi-Wan sighed. Anakin's definitions were difficult to understand sometimes, but he supposed he'd have to figure them out. Apparently the boy only considered something trouble when he was completely compromised. That line of logic would get him killed fast. How had he survived up to this point without Obi-Wan or Siri?

"It's a miracle you haven't gotten yourself killed," he voiced aloud.

Anakin didn't comment. Obi-Wan looked at the young man's bare chest and grimaced when he saw a massive purple and black bruise that was spread across a fair amount of Anakin's left side. That must have been where he cracked his rib. "Can you breathe well enough?"

The young man paused and nodded. After watching Anakin for a few minutes, Obi-Wan decided to leave him be, knowing he'd get less of a fuss out of Anakin that way, though he did help the boy get his clothes back on when he was finished, and he nearly hissed when he saw how swollen Anakin's right ankle was.

"You won't be able to get that back in your boot," Obi-Wan said, trying not to stare too long at the ankle. Just _looking_ at it set his teeth on edge.

Anakin tipped his head in agreement and only shoed one foot before hobbling to a tree stump and sitting down. Using the Force, he summoned one of the pillows from the tent before Siri could put it away and wrapped it around his ankle. Obi-Wan quickly caught on to what he was doing and provided a tie that they'd used to help roll up the sleeping bag, and in a minute Anakin had splinted the limb. Then he rose and grabbed the crutches. Without any prompting, Obi-Wan referenced his map (and was briefly surprised at how much ground they'd covered yesterday) and then led the trio on their long journey for the day as Siri handed out ration bars.

* * *

Having gone to bed close to five in the morning—and probably having not been able to fall asleep for a few hours after that—the Naberrie family spent most of the next day in bed. The only exception to this was Darred, who had awoken when his three-year-old daughter had run around the house wondering why everyone was still asleep and why Aunt Padmé was there when everyone said she would _never ever_ be visiting again.

Al had been sadly amused by the little girl's confusion, but he'd slipped out of the house shortly after Darred had risen. He hadn't slept all that well and didn't feel comfortable resting in the family's guest quarters. While he'd said that it was unlikely Imperials would be watching them, he didn't want to take any chances, and it had been incredibly awkward standing around while the Naberries had their tearful reunion. Al sighed, leaning against a railing on one of the city's bridges over the river.

Theed was beautiful in the snow. The sun shone brightly, and the snow that blanketed the architecture sparkled in its light. Pedestrians walked to and fro, busy with their own lives and burdens. Children tossed snowballs back and forth with cheers and screams. Best of all, there were no stormtroopers in sight.

Al had actually located an Imperial squad, but it was based at the palace. He'd scouted the area long enough to learn that they'd been stationed there prior to Palpatine's death and had just been patrolling without any direct orders apart from maintaining order. They'd likely been put there by Vader himself after he'd eliminated the Rebel agents on Naboo so long ago.

That in itself was bizarre to consider.

As the sun steadily set, Al made his way back to the Naberrie home to see if everyone was finally awake. He didn't want to interrupt Padmé's time with her family, but they really needed to leave soon. He wanted to get to Ghanu'jivo as quickly as possible and regroup, and then he wanted to get Obi-Wan and Siri out of Ferrasco. It was his own blasted fault they were stuck there, after all. It seemed he was responsible for most of the Naberrie family's separations lately.

When Al finally reached their house, he saw Padmé outside with her sister, Sola, and her niece, Ryoo. Al lingered in the archway leading up to the house, not wanting to interrupt the precious little time Padmé had. However, she seemed to notice him and said something to Sola, who took Ryoo and went inside. Padmé then approached Al.

"Thank you," she said sincerely when she reached him. "Thank you for bringing me home."

Al felt his heart clench and he strained to smile. "No problem."

"I was wondering if you could help me with something," Padmé continued uncertainly.

"What is it?"

"It's about my handmaiden, Cordé," she sighed. "I wanted to pay my respects. Would you accompany me? My parents will have a heart attack if I go alone. I'm humoring them."

Al shifted. They didn't have time to run every errand possible while they were here, but he knew that Cordé had been the one to die in Padmé's stead, so he didn't argue. "Sure. Where are we going?"

"It's on the edge of the city, a bridge between the Funeral Temple and the Livet Tower. They would have cast her ashes into the river."

Al nodded. "Okay. Let's go."

The two walked in silence, their faces hidden in shadow as the orange sunset shone on their hoods. The walk wasn't too long, thankfully, and the view from the aforementioned bridge was breathtaking. Padmé walked to the edge, staring out at the river and ensuing waterfall. Al remained towards the entrance to the Funeral Temple, watching her and keeping a careful eye out, allowing her the time she needed. After a few minutes, however, she started to shed tears and hiccup softly, and Al couldn't stand just watching someone he cared about cry.

Sighing, he walked over to Padmé and put a hand on her shoulder, and at the touch she turned to him and hugged him. Al held her tightly, letting her get it out of her system.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Don't be," Al immediately said. "You've had a lot to endure and lost a lot."

"Cordé, Sabé, Salkende… everyone's gone… I… I know I should be grateful; I have my family… but…"

"Hey, it makes sense to be upset," Al reasoned. "Cordé and Sabé were your friends. Salkende lost a lot of innocent people. Obi-Wan and Siri are still in danger. There's a lot to be scared about. But I know you'll be fine. You're brave. You're braver than I could ever be."

Padmé laughed shakily, pulling away. "How is that the case? Don't tell me you think you're a coward."

Al smiled, looking away from Padmé, out into the scenery beyond the city. "I may not be a coward, but I'm close. I didn't join the fight against the Alliance immediately; I was only dragged in when Kuna called me to bring supplies for him. You, on the other hand, dove right in full throttle. And on top of that, you… you did something I never could."

Padmé watched him curiously and confusedly. "What do you mean?"

Al sighed, leaning against the rail and turning further away from her. "You went home. You went home after they thought you'd died. You were brave enough to give them hope, even if something might happen in the future. I can't do that."

Padmé furrowed her brow, and she took a step towards him, putting her hand on his arm. "Al… what happened with your family?"

He wasn't sure he really wanted to talk about it, but he himself had brought it up. He didn't realize Padmé hadn't known – Siri and Obi-Wan were aware of the situation, but he supposed they never really had time nor reason to tell Padmé. "Eleven years ago, I was adamant about going to college. I tried everything in my power, but the Empire had laws in place by then that prevented it because I wasn't Human. So I tried to go around the laws with loopholes, I even tried lying about my species and hiding my cranial horns, but it didn't work. The more I tried, the more I saw the disparities and the more I realized college admission was the _least_ of any non-Human's concerns. So I tried to help non-Humans in general, tried to do anything I could to get us some blasted rights. But after a while of hitting a duracrete wall, I just… got sick of it. I was disgusted with society in general. Nobody was doing anything to stop the injustice. They were just living with it, complacent. So I started stealing, breaking things, basically rebelling in my own teenage way.

"Eventually I met a bonafide criminal, and she took me to Nar Shaddaa and got me introduced to all sorts of crime lords and syndicates and insanity. I got into smuggling, and I made my way from there. But when I left my homeworld, I never told my family; I didn't want them to know I'd become a criminal. I kind of hoped they would just assume I'd died somehow, move on and not worry about me anymore. It was childish, but it's allowed me to do some good now, I guess. In either case… my family still doesn't know, and it's been a decade.

"I just… I can't go home. For one thing, now more than ever I would bring trouble to them. I mean, I'm working with the Alliance; it would be careless to make contact with them. But more importantly, it's been _ten years_… to do this to them now, especially with the possibility of dying still pretty high… I don't know. I'm too scared to do it."

"Al. Look at me."

Almusian reluctantly turned to face Padmé, who was watching him firmly. He'd seen that look on HoloNet when she was about to make a passionate speech. It would have been funny if he weren't feeling so wretched.

"You are one of the bravest men I know," she said. "You've been indispensable to the Alliance, you've helped me and my family so many times, _saved_ us so many times. You're a blasted hero, Al, and don't you _ever_ think otherwise."

Her words touched more deeply than he'd expected, and he almost choked up a little. Blushing, Al took a step away from her. "T-thank you, Padmé."

Padmé smiled at him and pulled him into a hug. "Thank _you_, Al."

The two stood there for a while, Al silently struggling against the tears that were threatening to sting in his eyes. In the underworld crying was akin to signing a death warrant; it was a sign of frailty, weakness, inability to handle a situation. He'd never been particularly sensitive, but he wasn't averse to tears when he'd started out as a criminal, and he'd learned quickly. Now it was automatic to vehemently fight any attempt at emotionalism that didn't include swearing, threatening, shooting, or (in his case where the Empire was concerned) panicking. He wasn't sure whether it would be prudent to let it out here, but eventually he decided it wasn't, so he pulled away from the hug, grateful but eager to get away from the source of the tears. Al blew out a quick breath and cleared his throat. "So. About your family… I don't want to be the bearer of bad news, but we can't stay here much longer."

Padmé nodded. "I know. They're preparing this massive dinner right now to celebrate, so I was hoping to bring up the idea of going into hiding while we were all together at the table. Maybe… maybe we could take them to the base."

Al glanced around, but the bridge was deserted, as well as its conjoining towers. "The base? You want to uproot them like that?"

"If it's a choice between temporarily being uprooted and being killed, then _yes_, Al, I think it's prudent."

Al laughed. "Fair enough. Well, you can bring it up at dinner, I guess. I'll be at the _Beauty_ making sure everything's still fine."

"Al. You _have_ to be there for dinner," Padmé said. "My family will track you down if you're not."

The idea of the Naberrie clan hunting for him was both amusing and unnerving. Al shrugged. "This is a celebration for _you_, Padmé… a family celebration. It'd be weird if I was there."

"You saved me. As far as we're concerned, you're _part_ of the family." Padmé told him with a gentle smile.

Al looked at her, stunned, and he blew out yet another breath to hastily swat the tears away. "Well… okay. I guess we should go, then."

Padmé held out an inviting arm, her face beaming. "Yeah, we should. Come on. Oh, by the way, there's another celebratory note: apparently Sola's pregnant."

Al smiled as he took her arm and they entered the Funeral Temple. "That's great! Siri's kid will have a cousin her age."

Padmé froze, startling Al. "Do you… do you think they know Siri's pregnant, considering what they said about Obi and Siri leaving?"

Al bit his lip. "Eh… probably not." The two stared at each other, and Al added, "Well, this dinner just got a whole lot more interesting."

Padmé laughed, and the two cheerfully made their way to the house.

* * *

Obi-Wan gasped at how cold it had gotten. He was hugging himself as he walked, his teeth chattering. The swamp had been thinning out for the past hour or so, and he was certain they were close to the edge. Surprisingly close, actually – he'd estimated it would take them roughly three days to get to Theed, but at this rate, they would arrive tonight, albeit very late.

He glanced up ahead. They'd taken their previous arrangement from yesterday where Siri, having been given directions, led the group while Obi-Wan brought up the rear, keeping a careful eye on Anakin. The young man had been doing well today, maintaining a steady, brisk clip. The sleep had done him some good, though he was growing steadily paler as the day progressed. Obi-Wan was considering setting up camp once they reached the edge of the swampland. They had a few kilometers of rolling plains beyond that before they finally reached Theed, and after all the rough terrain they'd crossed it might be too much for him in one day.

"I see the edge!" Siri called from ahead, running forward. Anakin and Obi-Wan maintained their pace, reaching her a minute or so later.

Obi-Wan blinked profusely as he was immediately blinded by the bright orange sun kissing the horizon, already partly hidden by the hills. The ground was muddy, speckled with pale green and yellow patches of grass wherever the snow had managed to liquefy, though certain parts of the plains were covered in almost a third of a meter of snow since the shade prevented the sun from ever melting it. This was going to be a slippery walk to say the least, but they were finally out of that wretched swamp. Obi-Wan could handle climbing hills if it meant he didn't have to worry about dense humidity and insects biting him at every other turn.

"We're not far," Obi-Wan commented. "But this might be a good stopping point."

Siri glanced at Obi-Wan, catching his reasoning, and looked at Anakin, but the man would have none of it.

"If we're almost there, we must continue. This place is too exposed to camp for the night," he stated.

The two Jedi debated the matter silently. Although eager to reach their destination, neither was particularly thrilled with continuing today. They knew both Siri and Anakin needed more rest than they'd gotten. But Anakin did bring up a fair point, one Obi-Wan was remiss to ignore; they were very exposed out here, and though there really was no one nearby, it left him feeling vulnerable. They would blend in far better when they reached shelter. Eventually they decided to press onward, though at a slower clip.

The sun steadily set as they continued, and Siri tossed ration bars to the other two. They spent their time as they'd spent most of the day: walking without speaking. Words required too much energy at this point, though Obi-Wan and Siri would toss the occasional remark back and forth. By nightfall the swamps were barely in sight, and Obi-Wan felt like he was lost in a vast sea of grass, snow, and mud. He referenced his map a million times, growing steadily more dismayed at seeing nothing but plains. Somehow the swamp was less unsettling.

Siri eventually turned her head over her shoulder. "We _are_ going the right way, correct?"

"Yes," Obi-Wan answered automatically, having just checked that for himself.

"Any idea what our ETA will be?"

"At this pace, probably another six or seven hours."

Siri bit back a groan, simply nodding and marching ahead. They'd already been walking for eight hours, after all.

As time passed, the cold started to numb Obi-Wan's nose, ears, and fingers. His feet had long since stopped feeling anything apart from throbbing, and his knees ached. The occasional shiver would rage through his body and he would hiss, frost emitting from his mouth and nose. Siri remained fairly stalwart, hugging herself but not making a sound as she walked. Anakin was similar. The good news was that with several moons out, they didn't need to use head lights to find their way; the snow glowed, illuminating everything.

Obi-Wan eventually looked at his chronometer just as he felt like the cold had finally seeped into his bones. It was one hour to midnight. They'd been out of the swamp for about five hours. They'd been walking for thirteen. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, trying to focus on the Force, willing it to give him the strength to continue. As he did so, he felt his wife's determination glowing ahead of him, and he felt that odd sensation he'd noticed in the morning, but he was far too tired to worry about it at this point. His connection to Anakin was automatic now, so he didn't bother prodding the young man, but instead immediately sensed heaviness and some pain. Opening his eyes, he gasped as he nearly collided with Anakin, who had abruptly stopped. Having sensed the commotion, Siri also stopped and turned.

Anakin was standing at the top of one of the many hills in the grasslands, his head lowered, his eyes closed, and his body about to collapse under its own weight. The only thing holding him at this point were the crutches. Obi-Wan didn't sense any activity in the Force; the boy was too tired to even manage that at this point. He was just standing there, breathing calmly, trying to regain his energy without attracting attention.

_We should have just camped for the night,_ Obi-Wan thought worriedly; they would have had more cover at the edge of the swamp than out here in the middle where there were no trees, no structures, nothing to hide them. They couldn't stop here. Perhaps they could just take a break.

Siri walked back to the two men. "Anakin?"

Anakin didn't speak and didn't move. Obi-Wan sensed the boy feebly attempt to latch onto the Force, possibly to get some strength back, but it failed miserably. Obi-Wan glanced at his wife to see her looking haggard, her cheeks, ears, and nose flushed, her lips slightly blue, her fingers swollen, and bags under her blue eyes. He figured he probably looked similar.

Anakin's state might have worried Obi-Wan more if he weren't so blasted exhausted. As it was, he was barely able to concentrate. They had to stop. "We… can't camp here for the night… but we can t-take a respite."

Siri agreed with a nod, stepping towards Anakin as Obi-Wan did so as well. Anakin's head shot up so he could watch them under a determined furrowed brow, which was probably the only form of protest they would get out of him, and he tensed slightly as they replaced his crutches with themselves, slinging his arms over their shoulders and slowly helping him sit. The ground was frozen, and Obi-Wan moaned as the damp cold settled into his trousers while Siri gritted her teeth.

The air was still, and the trio nearly fell asleep where they sat before Obi-Wan's chronometer beeped obnoxiously, having been set to do so ten minutes later. Too tired to even complain, they stood and continued their journey for another half hour before Anakin stopped again. Siri looked desperately at Obi-Wan, unable to think straight, and so Obi-Wan paused and gave himself a minute to get his bearings before walking over to Anakin. "Anakin… it's time to rest."

Anakin exhaled shakily, twitching his head from side to side in refusal. Obi-Wan would have marveled at his stubbornness if he were actually thinking straight. "Don't argue. You can't go any farther."

"We can't camp," Anakin slowly whispered.

"I know," he agreed, prompting Anakin to look at him confusedly. The Force rippled around them, and Obi-Wan took another deep breath, pushing himself even harder, forcing himself to handle what was to come. He had to for his family. Slowly reaching forward, he wrapped one arm around Anakin's back, just under his arms, and bent down and wrapped the other under his knees. Anakin recognized the maneuver from last night and tried to move, but only stumbled. Siri approached as well, having gathered enough strength to put her hand on Anakin's forehead and put him to sleep in a heartbeat. Anakin's body relaxed, and he grew heavier, but Obi-Wan was prepared, quickly hoisting him into his arms as Siri grabbed the crutches and broke them down, putting them on her back.

Grabbing the map from one of the pouches on Obi-Wan's belt, Siri examined it to figure out where they were. Obi-Wan watched her with some hope, but mostly dread; he was certain she would say they were still hours away, and he wasn't sure he wanted to hear that right now.

The glowing smile on her face wasn't what he expected. "We're three kilometers away. I bet we'll be able to see Theed soon."

Obi-Wan couldn't believe it. Were they truly that close? He looked around wildly as if Theed would already be in sight; based on what Siri had said, it wasn't too far-fetched to hope.

And off in the distance… he _did_. He _did _see a faint glow indicating a city. They were almost there.

"Thank the Force," he muttered.

With newfound stamina, the couple walked briskly despite their burdens, and soon enough Obi-Wan saw the distant outline of the buildings, heard the roaring of the waterfall.

After one hundred ninety kilometers and thirty hours of walking, they had finally reached Theed.

Neither Jedi said a word as they approached the city entrance, having no energy left to expound upon it, but they could still sense each other's relief and excitement. They entered the city almost reverently before rushing to the nearest homeless shelter available. As they walked through the streets, their energy dwindled dramatically, relief slowing their muscles since they knew they were on the home stretch. Anakin became infinitely heavier than Obi-Wan could handle, but he held onto the boy nonetheless. Siri eventually found the shelter first, knocking almost frantically.

The droid on duty approached the transparent entrance at a painfully slow rate, but as soon as it saw Obi-Wan was carrying someone, it hastened its steps slightly. Opening the door, it immediately asked, "Do you want me to call the medics? Do you need to go to the hospital?"

"No, thank you," Siri answered, her voice rough. "We just need to rest."

The droid nodded. "Very well. The bunk rooms are upstairs. Men's is the first door on the left, women's is the second. If you want a family room, we have those on the right. If the door's open, then the room's available. Breakfast is served from seven to nine, and you must vacate the premises by ten. You may return for dinner and bedtime once more, but bear in mind that you must register in the morning—"

"Yep, we get it, _thanks_," Siri interrupted, her patience in tatters. The droid stepped aside.

The Jedi entered, and Siri climbed the stairs slowly, constantly looking back at Obi-Wan as he juggled balancing on the steps with carrying Anakin. They eventually made it to the top as the droid locked up behind them. Siri turned right at the top of the stairs, heading towards the family rooms, and Obi-Wan gratefully followed; the more isolated they were from everyone else, the better, after all. She found a room and flicked on the light to reveal two bunk beds flanking the walls.

Obi-Wan entered and Siri closed the door behind him before climbing to the top bunk on the left set, not even bothering to remove her boots, passing out about a second later. Obi-Wan slowly lowered Anakin onto the bed beneath her, removing his one shoe and covering him with the supplied blanket. Then he walked over to the doorway, turned the lights off, and stumbled to the opposite end of the room, asleep before his head even hit the pillow.

* * *

Noise. There was noise. What was that?

Padmé jumped, startled, and she opened her eyes blearily. It was still fairly dark outside, the winter sun late to rise, but she heard something beeping incessantly down the hall. Was that a comlink call?

She automatically rose to answer it and froze halfway down the hall as she remembered that she was still officially _dead_ and wouldn't be able to answer a comlink. Peeking into the living room, she wondered if anyone else was there and saw her father, so she quickly backed into the shadows so the holographic projector wouldn't pick her up in the background.

Her father pressed a button and a large hologram of an unfamiliar woman appeared. He furrowed his brow, sleepy and confused. "Ría? It's good to see you, but it's awfully early for a call."

The name sounded somewhat familiar, but Padmé couldn't pinpoint how. Ría was probably a coworker of some sort.

The woman looked somewhat anxious, and she immediately explained her reason for calling. "Ruwee, I… I had to call. You know how I run the shelter? Well I came in today because of the fundraiser and was listening to the night droid give its report to the day crew when it mentioned it let a family in around one in the morning. I thought nothing of it, but the droid said one of them was carrying an adult male, and I thought maybe he was hurt. I checked the security feed with the day team so we could identify them when they got up, and… Ruwee, I saw _Siri_. _Siri_ is asleep in my shelter. Why is she in my shelter? I couldn't even recognize the people she was with, but it was two men."

Padmé's mouth dropped open. _What?_ Was this woman out of her mind, or just imagining things? Obi-Wan and Siri were on Ferrasco with Vader!

"Are you sure it's Siri?" Ruwee asked, probably thinking the exact same thing.

"I know that face, those eyes; I was one of the supervisors for most of the service corps trips she and Obi-Wan went on," Ría affirmed. "It's her. Ruwee, she looks terrible, what happened? Why is she in my shelter? Where's Obi-Wan?"

Ruwee stumbled for the right words. "We had a falling out, but I didn't expect her to take it so far. Is she still there?"

"Yes, she's still there; most of the residents are still asleep. I called as soon as I saw her."

"Thank you," Ruwee said before the woman could ask any more questions. "I'll be over there immediately."

Her father ended the call and stared at the space where the hologram had been, looking confused and concerned. Padmé stepped out of the shadows. "How can Siri be on Naboo?"

"I don't know." Ruwee shook his head, somehow not startled by her intrusion. He must have heard her walking down the hall. "The other two men… Obi-Wan must be one of them. How could Ría not recognize Obi-Wan? What must he look like for that to happen? And the other one…"

Padmé felt her heart skip a beat. _Vader_.

Oh gods. She wasn't ready for this. She wasn't sure she'd _ever_ be ready for this.

Why were they on Naboo? What had happened on Ferrasco? Did they not know about the rendezvous point? Had they gone to Salkende first? Had she just barely missed them? Did they know she was alive? No, they couldn't know; they would never have gone to a homeless shelter for the night if that were the case.

Good gods. They didn't know.

Padmé and her father stood in silence, lost in their own thoughts and worries, until Ruwee finally spoke up. "Tell everyone else what's happening. I'm going."

Padmé watched her father uncertainly. What would he do about Vader? Was he going to be safe? "Dad…"

"I'm bringing them home, Padmé," Ruwee said determinedly. "If they're hiding in plain sight like this, that means they have to have Vader under control somehow."

He did have a point, but Padmé was slightly more concerned what her father would do to _Vader_ rather than the other way around. Still, she didn't have the resolve to face the man herself, and she couldn't really interact with people in broad daylight, so she just nodded and headed back towards the bedrooms as her father grabbed a cloak and boots. Padmé reached her parents' bedroom and paused to catch her breath. As soon as she told her mother she would have to dedicate all her energy to comforting the poor woman; her mother had been devastated by Obi-Wan's departure, and this new revelation would set her into a concerned, relieved, and panicked frenzy.

Meanwhile, Ruwee was trying to catch his breath as his heartrate skyrocketed. He headed out into the streets, locking up behind him, and rushed to his speeder. The homeless shelter was within walking distance, but Ruwee would spare no time; gods forbid he miss them. If Obi-Wan and Siri were at the shelter they were trying to avoid notice, which meant they would leave Theed as quickly as possible. He wouldn't let that happen. He wouldn't lose his son. Not again.

Ruwee remembered when he had met Adelig on Nimo'alke. Obi-Wan had been so small, so frail looking, so terrified. Jobal had held him for hours, rocking him and comforting him. Ruwee had put enough paperwork together to indicate Obi-Wan had been a native to Nimo'alke and his family and all record of his existence had been destroyed in the Imperial attack. They had taken him in as their own, and they would never let any harm come to him.

He tasted bitterness in his mouth as he thought about their parting words to each other the day of Padmé's funeral (_gods above_ it was the most beautiful miracle in the galaxy that Padmé was actually _alive_). They had been spoken in anguish, anger, and haste, and no one had meant what they'd said, but the words had cut into all of them. Ruwee recalled that when they returned home after the walk that Darred (smart man that he was) had recommended, they had waited for four hours in the living room, wondering when Obi-Wan and Siri would come home, hoping they could apologize and say they all needed to be in this together. Jobal had started to call Obi-Wan's comlink incessantly to no avail, but they refused to move, refused to believe that Obi-Wan and Siri would just _disappear_ like that. But they had. Jobal had cried for the next two weeks. Sola had slipped into a mild depression, not motivated to do much of anything. Ruwee himself had continued to call Obi-Wan every day for three weeks. Eventually they'd all given up hope; Obi-Wan was never coming home again. They'd lost two children in one fell blow.

But they'd gotten one _back_, and Ruwee would be _damned_ if he didn't get the other one too.

The homeless shelter quickly came into view (blast, how fast had he been driving?) and Ruwee parked right in front of the entrance. He hastened indoors, entering a small foyer that led into the dining room. Beyond the dining room was the back area of the building, which was likely where Obi-Wan and Siri had entered since it led directly to the stairway where the dormitories were. Ruwee stepped quickly, ready to rush through the dining area (it wouldn't be crowded – breakfast had just started), when he froze in place.

Siri was in the dining room.

Ruwee had always known Siri to be a vibrant, beautiful, strong woman. Her physique had always been muscular, her angular face beaming with energy and love, her sharp blue eyes intense. Now her shoulder length blonde hair was in tatters, dried to the point of brittleness, her face looked pale, and she was shivering from head to toe. She wore a grey sleeveless undershirt that was stained with mud and blood, along with thick white trousers that were fraying at some parts of the seams, and durable, scuffed white boots. She stood in line, waiting to pick up some food. Ruwee's eyes fell to her abdomen, but it looked as flat as usual; she was very early in her pregnancy. _Pregnancy_. She was _pregnant_.

Ruwee walked towards her slowly just as she got food and requested some more for her family. As she pulled away with a tray, she paused, standing in profile to him, and he saw her entire body go rigid. A moment later, she started to walk briskly towards the exit, vanishing in the small crowd that had gathered in the dining area. Ruwee inhaled sharply and rushed ahead, not entirely certain why she was suddenly in a hurry. Had she noticed him? Was she really trying to run from him?

As he reached the exit he saw the stairway that led to the dorms. Siri was at the top step.

"Siri!" he called to her.

Siri froze. She didn't turn around. A few seconds passed, and Ruwee started to climb the stairs when she spoken roughly.

"Go home," she said, still not facing him.

Ruwee couldn't tell if she was actually still hurt by their argument or if she was trying to keep Vader away from him. In either case, he could allay both concerns. "Siri… I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything we said. We were all hurting that day, but… but something _wonderful_ has happened, and you must come home. I… I already know who your companions are."

Siri whirled on him, her face devoid of any color. "You _what_?"

"I know everything." Ruwee said sincerely, trying to convince her he wasn't there to cause harm. "A friend of yours stopped by, and… and you have to come home."

"A friend?" Siri repeated, her eyes narrowing, her foot lingering on the last step.

"Yes, a friend," Ruwee nodded, wondering what could have caused his daughter-in-law to be so distrustful of him.

Siri's expression eventually lost some of its edge, and she went from guarded to worry. "You know who my companions are? Both of them?"

"Both of them."

Siri came to some sort of decision, biting her lip. "Go home."

"Siri," Ruwee implored, taking a step towards her. "Please. It's… it's safe. Come home."

"You don't understand," Siri shook her head, her voice trembling slightly. "Nowhere is safe. Not now."

What was wrong? How could he convince her? He walked up the stairs so they were standing a breath away from each other, but even here he didn't dare mention Padmé. Instead, he tried their companion. "It's _Almusian_."

Siri's mouth opened to speak, her eyes widening, but nothing came out. Eventually, she hoarsely whispered, "What is he doing here?"

"That's what I want to tell you about, but… not here."

His daughter-in-law examined his face, searching for something, her brow still furrowed in concern. "He told you everything?"

"Everything." Ruwee confirmed quietly. "It's… fine. You'll be safe. All… all of you."

Those words were the key. Immeasurable relief washed over Siri's face, and she smiled, tears glistening in her eyes. Without another word, she turned and headed towards the dorms, and Ruwee followed her. He felt almost insincere in saying all of them would be safe, but he had no way of hurting a man like Darth Vader anyway, so it wasn't really a lie. He just couldn't exactly guarantee that Vader would be all that _welcome_. Nevertheless, seeing the amount of concern Siri had for the man was uncharacteristic – there was more to this story than what Almusian and Padmé had let on.

The two entered the small dormitory silently. Ruwee immediately could tell the other two occupants were still asleep before seeing them simply because Siri was being as quiet as possible. She placed the tray of food on a nightstand between the two bunk beds and then took a step back, knowing that Ruwee would want to go to his son.

Ruwee looked at the left lower bunk first and caught sight of a pale young man with wavy dark blonde hair that reached his shoulders, stubble growing over his gaunt face, and a skinny, tall build. He wore dark clothes that looked like they were once a well-groomed outfit but had since been torn and tattered from excessive use in unforgiving environments. This had to be Darth Vader. This was the man who had shot his daughter, who was apparently mentally unstable, who had saved his son's and daughter-in-law's lives. He didn't know what to make of him, but he certainly didn't want to get near him. Ruwee swallowed and turned his attention to the other bunk.

There was Obi-Wan. He looked much older and more haggard than Ruwee ever remembered seeing him, with his auburn hair also shoulder length and a full moustache and beard covering most of his scratched up face, but he was still unmistakably his Obi-Wan.

Ruwee approached his son slowly, reaching a hand out to brush some hair from the man's closed eyes. Gods it was amazing to see him again. Ruwee never thought he would have that chance.

The touch seemed enough to rouse his son, who jumped slightly and pulled away, opening his eyes. It took him a moment, but his expression quickly changed from bewilderment to astonishment. His eyes locked with something behind Ruwee, and he assumed Obi-Wan was glancing at Siri. The two had some sort of quiet dialogue, which Ruwee had grown accustomed to seeing over the years (and now that he knew that Siri herself was also a Force user, it made a whole lot of sense), and eventually Obi-Wan came to some sort of understanding and looked at his father once more, smiling almost timidly. "Dad."

Ruwee mirrored his son's smile in full force, sitting on the bed and putting his hand on his son's cheek. "Hello, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan glanced behind his father once more and then looked him in the eye. "How did you find us?"

"Ría runs this shelter," Ruwee explained quietly. "She saw Siri on the security feed."

Siri hissed a curse under her breath, shifting. Ruwee looked between the two, suddenly worried they were still upset over his appearance. "It's all right. You're safe."

"Perhaps, but you might not be if you stay near us." Obi-Wan remarked surprisingly calmly. The young man had always been more even tempered than anyone in the family, but this behavior was almost unnatural, and it made Ruwee nervous. "It would be in your best interest if you went home."

"Al apparently stopped by," Siri said, catching both men's attention.

Obi-Wan immediately sat up, looking concerned. "Al? For what purpose? Is he still here?"

"Yes, he's still here," Ruwee answered as Obi-Wan and Siri seemed to be debating something. "Come home and we can talk."

Obi-Wan's eyes immediately fell upon the other occupant in the room. Ruwee glanced in the man's direction and saw that Darth Vader was still fast asleep. From this angle the man looked… unnervingly young. That aside, Ruwee surmised why Obi-Wan was suddenly interested in him. "He'll be safe too."

Ruwee's guess was correct. Obi-Wan looked at his father in astonishment. "You know who he is?"

"Al told him everything," Siri explained.

Again, Obi-Wan looked utterly confused. "…Why?"

Ruwee was beginning to grow both frantic and frustrated. They were digging their heels into the ground despite Ruwee's promise that they would be fine. Why were they acting like this? He could understand some of their hesitancy – perhaps they thought Vader would be a danger to the family. But then why were they traveling with him in plain sight? From what Ruwee could see Vader didn't have any sort of handcuffs or restraints of any sort.

Ruwee put his hand on his son's shoulder. "Obi-Wan. Come home and I can tell you everything – it'll practically explain itself. But you… you have to _trust_ me."

A part of him couldn't even believe he had to tell Obi-Wan that, but he supposed after everything his son had gone through since he'd last seen him, it was understandable. Even if it did _hurt._

Obi-Wan took a deep breath. "…Very well. Go home and we'll follow you."

"Obi, I thought I'd lost you – I'm not letting you out of my sight." Ruwee said firmly.

Rustling was heard on the other side of the room, and Ruwee jumped, looking at the other bunk. Vader was shifting, his eyes squeezed shut, moaning softly. Siri slowly walked to his bed and sat on it, putting her hand on his shoulder, and he relaxed. The sight reminded Ruwee strikingly of Jobal comforting one of the younglings, and it left him slightly uneasy.

"At least wait downstairs so we can handle matters with him," Obi-Wan said, catching his father's attention.

Ruwee hesitated, but he eventually nodded, heading back towards his speeder.

Siri immediately stood. "This has to be a trap."

"The Empire doesn't know about Al, certainly not by name," Obi-Wan noted, stroking his beard. It made no sense for Al to be on Naboo. _None_. So what in the blazes was he doing here? How would he even know where to find Obi-Wan's family, and why would he speak to them? The last time they'd seen Al had been on _Ferrasco_ for heaven's sake.

"Al said he had a tail way back when we were still operating on Imperial Center," Siri remarked knowingly, crossing her arms. "They could have caught wind of the name and planted it on an agent. It's not like your family would know the difference."

"If that's the case, then how did they find _us_?"

"He just said it was because of Ría."

"But why plant an agent with my family? We made it fairly clear we were never returning. Something must have tipped them off that we were heading to Naboo."

"The shuttle?" Siri offered.

Obi-Wan also stood, shaking his head. "Anakin shut the tracking signal off."

"Yeah, but that was two hours after we stole it."

Obi-Wan bit his lip. Siri was right. The odds were small, but it wasn't completely improbable that the Empire somehow tracked them here. But if they were using his family as bait… what were they going to do? If they fought the Imperials to save his family they would attract more attention. If they didn't fight them, his family could die. And how many agents were around, anyway? Were they already closing in on the shelter? The Force didn't indicate there was any danger, and that was the most unnerving aspect of it all.

"We both knew that something felt off yesterday," Siri sighed. "I guess this was it."

_Off_. That's right. Something _had_ felt off… it still did. But it wasn't a threat. So what was it? Closing his eyes, Obi-Wan focused on it, now having enough energy and impetus to do so. Instantly his body was flooded with warmth, he smelled roses and felt the most gut wrenching sense of déjà vu.

_Padmé._ This had something to do with _Padmé_.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes. What the blazes did Padmé have to do with anything anymore? Naturally the family would still be upset, but why would the Force indicate it too? Was he just catching glimpses of what his father was thinking about? But that didn't make sense – he and Siri had both noticed the difference in the swamp yesterday.

"I can't believe he knows about _Anakin_," Siri said, snapping Obi-Wan out of his musings. "None of this makes sense."

"We might be able to convince him to go home alone," Obi-Wan tried to say, but Siri shook her head.

"Are you kidding me? With the way he was looking at you? You're lucky he left the room."

Obi-Wan sighed. "I suppose we shall have to improvise, then."

"Terrific," Siri muttered. "Never get a day's rest. We should have never come to Naboo."

"No, perhaps not," Obi-Wan agreed a little guiltily. He'd hoped they wouldn't run into this problem. He supposed it was foolish to think so. Walking over to Anakin he nudged the young man gently, and Anakin slowly woke up. His eyes settled on Obi-Wan's face first, and he seemed to quickly notice the tension in the room. He sat up, looking between the two questioningly, probing the Force automatically, but Obi-Wan still felt a fog clouding the boy's mind. His concussion still prevented him from sensing much.

His _concussion_. He was still injured. They couldn't be taking him into a threatening situation…

Not that they had much of a choice.

"Obi-Wan's family found us," Siri stated.

Anakin's brow twitched. "I thought we were to remain undetected."

"That was the plan, yes," Obi-Wan said regretfully.

"What's our escape route?"

"Escape route?" Siri repeated with a laugh. "Sweetheart, even if we escape that won't stop him from looking for us, and we believe he might be in danger."

Anakin caught her meaning. "You think the Empire's watching him."

"It's likely," Obi-Wan answered for his wife. "We're not entirely sure what's going on."

"We're going to go to the house with him," Siri explained. "But we need to be prepared for anything. They could be holding everyone hostage, and they might have an ambush waiting for us."

"_If_ that is the case, there are to be _no non-combatant casualties_, is that understood?" Obi-Wan added firmly.

Anakin nodded, swinging his feet over. His ankle looked a little better than it did yesterday, but it was still very swollen. Then again, the young man looked far more alert and prepared than yesterday – his ankle wouldn't slow him down in a fight. The real concern was whether he could use the Force, given his head wound.

Siri blew out a breath, grabbing Anakin's crutches and handing them to him. "Let's go."

Anakin shook his head, rising and heading for the door.

"Anakin, what are you doing?" Obi-Wan asked, rushing over to the young and stopping him. "You need to use the crutches."

Bewilderment crossed the man's face, as if Obi-Wan were missing something obvious. "Why?"

"Oh, I don't know, possibly because your ankle's a disaster?" Siri rolled her eyes. "What are you thinking?"

"It's foolish to show weakness to the enemy," Anakin stated. "I will not show my injury."

"You don't even have a boot for that foot," Obi-Wan pointed out with some exasperation. "Your injury will be obvious, anyway."

"Besides," Siri continued. "If you use the crutches unnecessarily, they will assume you're weaker than you really are, which means you'll be at a tactical advantage."

Obi-Wan smiled at his wife as Anakin tried and failed to formulate an argument. _Good job_.

Reluctantly, Anakin grabbed the crutches and followed the pair out of the room. His eyes darted about, taking in all his surroundings, and Obi-Wan belatedly recalled that Anakin had been unconscious for the final duration of their trip yesterday. He had no clue where he was or how he had gotten here.

_Well he certainly brushed that aside fairly quickly_, Obi-Wan mused, though he assumed it was due to Anakin picking up on Obi-Wan and Siri's anxiety.

The trio descended the stairs slowly and saw his father waiting at the exit, a speeder just outside. Obi-Wan prodded the Force again, nervous, but still sensed no danger. Why? What was going on? Hesitantly, he led his wife and Anakin outside. His father eyed Anakin, and the Force rippled with fear and anger, making Obi-Wan pause, revolted at the sensation. After dealing with the Dark Side firsthand, he couldn't really stand to sense those emotions from others close to him anymore. Siri noticed his plight and stepped closer, her presence in the Force outshining anything coming from his father, and he took a breath, bolstered, and walked ahead.

Ruwee smiled at Obi-Wan and climbed into the driver's seat. Obi-Wan glanced at the passenger side and opted out of riding in the front with his father, instead sliding into the back seat. He motioned for Anakin to come next, and he could sense the discomfort coming from the boy as he glanced at Ruwee, then around the area, and then slowly lowered himself into the speeder for Obi-Wan to grab him under the arms and pull him over so Siri could slip inside as well.

After everyone was settled and strapped in, Obi-Wan's father drove the speeder through the streets. Obi-Wan felt like he was in the back of a police vehicle, trapped and heading towards some sort of imprisonment or execution. His senses were on high alert, and he could tell Siri's and Anakin's were as well. They drove in silence, which made Obi-Wan all the more nervous, but he supposed it could only be because Ruwee didn't know what to say in front of Darth Vader.

Finally, they came to a stop. Obi-Wan swallowed, looking at his childhood home with dread. Ruwee turned to face them. "Your mother… is going to be overwhelmed. Will…" here he looked at Anakin, and then back at Obi-Wan. "Will everything be fine?"

Blast, it felt like it had been an eternity since they'd dealt with others who didn't know how to handle Anakin. "Everything will be fine. We have this under control."

Excitement, joy, and anxiety bubbled from his father, confusing Obi-Wan. If this were some sort of ambush, his family wouldn't be excited for it. What was going on?

Ruwee stepped out of the speeder, bidding them to follow him. He climbed to the top step, but he refused to enter the house until they followed, apparently still paranoid that they would try to run away.

"I don't get it," Siri muttered as the three sat in the vehicle, staring at the house. "I don't sense any threats anywhere."

"Neither do I," Obi-Wan agreed. However, the Jedi _did_ detect something.

Al _was_ actually there. And the house… it _reeked_ of Padmé through the Force. Obi-Wan supposed that was to be expected – he and Siri had already learned that people left imprints on places or things that they spent a lot of time around. But it felt… bizarre, and slightly upsetting, though not nearly to any degree it would have in the past. None of that mattered, though – _Al was there_. What in the blazes was he doing there?

Anakin continuously scouted the area with his eyes, but his senses were most certainly dulled. He didn't seem to detect Al's presence at all, though he wasn't all that familiar with the smuggler, so it wasn't really unexpected. He looked at Obi-Wan and then Siri, and shook his head. For what it was worth, he didn't sense any trouble, either.

That just made this situation make even _less_ sense.

Obi-Wan sighed, opening the door. "Come on. Let's figure out what's going on."

Obi-Wan and Siri both exited the speeder, and Anakin slid out behind Obi-Wan, reluctantly grabbing his crutches and hobbling towards the stairs. Satisfied, Ruwee entered the house to announce their presence. Once he was inside, the trio paused again.

"I'll go first," Siri said. "You two stay out here until I figure out what the blazes is happening."

"That isn't necessary," Obi-Wan tried to say when his wife interrupted him.

"Yes, it is." She said firmly, brooking no argument.

Obi-Wan sighed, not bothering to say anything. He just remained on high alert, though any worry he felt was steadily being replaced by utter confusion. Siri climbed the stairs and entered the house slowly, her body tense, anticipating an attack of some sort. Obi-Wan lingered near Anakin, glancing around the side alleys.

Panic flared in the Force. Obi-Wan jumped, immediately running inside, telling Anakin to wait outside in case Imperials attacked from the streets as well. As soon as Obi-Wan pushed the door open, his hand reaching for his lightsaber, he called out to his wife and saw her frozen in the foyer.

Padmé was standing there.

Obi-Wan blinked. She… how… _what_? What sort of trick was this? Obi-Wan latched onto the Force in an instant, sensing his wife already doing so, and he felt…

Padmé. He felt _Padmé_.

But… but… what? _What?_

"Obi… Siri… it's me. I'm alive, I'm okay." The woman who looked like his dead sister said, hesitancy and eagerness conflicting on her features.

The Force wouldn't lie. But it _had_ to be lying. After all, Obi-Wan had sensed something similar on Ilum when he and Siri had built their lightsabers. Surely this was some sort of trick, then, but who could possibly use the Force to trick them? Palpatine was dead, and Anakin wasn't prone to cruel jokes like this (honestly, Obi-Wan was fairly certain Anakin didn't even know what a joke was). Was there some other Force user that even the Jedi hadn't known about?

Obi-Wan shook his head subtly, getting his wits about him as Siri continued to stare at the woman. Coldly, he asked, "Who are you?"

The familiar face of his sister shifted with some semblance of worry and hurt. It made something in Obi-Wan's chest clench. Siri took a step towards the woman, her hand hovering over her lightsaber hilt.

"Whoa, whoa, guys! It's okay!"

Obi-Wan and Siri both turned and saw Al running into the foyer from the hall, looking frantic. Siri looked between the smuggler and the impossible sight, asking, "Al, what the hell is going on?"

"Padmé survived the shooting, _that's_ what's going on," Al insisted, his presence in the Force filled with nervous energy. "I found out just after we were separated on Ferrasco."

"Tarkin took me captive," the woman explained, tears glistening in her eyes. _Tears._ Their reaction was upsetting her.

Obi-Wan looked into the woman's eyes, trying to fathom how this could actually be true. He'd seen her body, been to the wake, caressed the cold cheek before the final procession and bade her farewell. He'd felt something go wrong when he and Siri were heading for Salkende, they'd _known_ something terrible had happened – had all of that been wrong? Had everything they'd endured been based on false assumptions? How could they have _not known_ she was alive?

"It's me," she insisted. _Padmé_ insisted. Padmé was _alive_.

Siri took another step towards her, but her body was slack from shock. The rest of the family looked uncertain if they should explain the matter further, but it seemed they had settled for letting the realization sink in.

And oh, did it sink in.

Siri nearly body slammed Padmé, wrapping her arms around her, the Force sending out a pulsing wave of relief and pain and shock and hurt, nearly knocking Obi-Wan to the ground. Padmé paused for a moment, winded, and then hugged Siri in return.

Obi-Wan continued to stare. It was honestly all he could do. After everything they'd gone through…

"Obi-Wan," he heard his mother whisper. Turning, he looked at her, unable to string words together in a coherent sentence. His expression was likely some mixture of attempted calmness and utter disbelief. "It's okay. It's her. She's alive. She's really alive."

His mother put her hand on his shoulder, smiling gently as if he were a youngling again. Her face glowed with happiness and love. The Force emanated warmth from her while there was a storm revolving around Siri. Obi-Wan looked back at the two women as they held each other.

What they had sensed yesterday… it must have been her. It must have been his sister. _His sister_. She was _alive_. _Padmé was alive._

Obi-Wan swallowed, his mind suddenly going blank. This was so right and so wrong all at once. He shut himself down, closing off any connection to emotions, to the memories of his baby sister, of anything that would make him fall apart. He closed his mouth, which had been hanging slightly open for what felt like an hour at this point, and took a small step away, needing to _breathe_.

He should be happy. Siri obviously was, at least amidst all the other chaotic emotions warring inside her. This hadn't been what they'd been expecting at all. He should be happy. _His sister was alive_.

Obi-Wan shook his head. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe.

"Obi," his mother whispered again, taking a small step towards him, looking concerned.

The Force pulsed again, but this time it was from outside. Obi-Wan flinched, but Siri was oblivious. It was Anakin.

_Oh_ _Force_. _Anakin_.

Obi-Wan turned and hastily went outdoors, ignoring his family's worried calls. The cold slammed into him, draining the blood from his face, drying his unnoticed tear-filled eyes, slapping him back into reality. Anakin was genuflecting on the ground, his bad ankle behind him as he rested on his knee instead, leaning on the crutches. He was facing the alley, his eyes closed, trying to amass strength and stretch his senses, waiting for something or probing for something. He had likely started to wonder what was taking Obi-Wan and Siri so long but was reluctant to leave the perimeter undefended. After all, they'd been expecting an attack.

And it hit Obi-Wan – _Anakin didn't sense Padmé_. He hadn't sensed anything, not the change that Obi-Wan and Siri had detected yesterday, not the lingering presence of Padmé in the house, not Obi-Wan and Siri's utter shock, horror, pain, and joy at seeing her alive, _nothing_.

"Obi, it's okay," his mother again insisted from the doorway, though her voice cut off sharply in the end as she apparently noticed the other person outside.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, walking halfway down the stairs. He needed to breathe, and he couldn't do that with his family hovering over him. As soon as Anakin found out all hell would break loose. He had to get himself together. By this point he could hear Siri talking, practically interrogating Padmé but not letting her get a word in. Al was speaking as well, likely trying to coax Siri to let go of Padmé (though that would likely be impossible with the death grip she'd used on her). Sola was still in the foyer (Obi-Wan only realized just now that both Darred and little Ryoo were missing), but Ruwee had joined Jobal in the entranceway.

Obi-Wan took another deep breath. _There is no emotion; there is peace_. _Be at peace. Anakin will need you._ He closed his eyes and then walked the remaining steps to the ground level. Anakin heard him and opened his eyes, glancing at him before his gaze fell upon his parents in the entranceway.

"It's fine," Obi-Wan reported hoarsely despite his effort to keep his voice level. "There's no danger."

Anakin looked at him questioningly, standing fully, silently asking what he planned to do next.

Obi-Wan held to his resolve. "Come inside. There's someone you need to see. And Anakin… be… careful."

Anakin furrowed his brow, confused, worried, suspicious, and guarded. He looked at Obi-Wan's parents again, and then faced Obi-Wan, waiting for his lead.

Obi-Wan turned around towards the stairway again, slowly making his way to the house. His parents watched worriedly, slowly backing away from the door as he neared. They were staring at Anakin, their bodies tense, but Obi-Wan didn't bother reassuring them; he had enough to worry about, though the thought alone made him feel somewhat guilty for not sparing some energy for his parents' sake.

As soon as Obi-Wan and Anakin entered the foyer, the Jedi watched Anakin, carefully avoiding looking in Siri's direction. He had to ensure Anakin didn't do anything crazy, after all, particularly in his injured state. The boy barely recognized his own emotions let alone knew how to control them, and with this concussion it probably would make things worse.

Obi-Wan didn't have to wait long. As soon as Anakin looked over to the other side of the foyer, he knew. Even with his limited grasp of the Force, he knew; Obi-Wan could see the recognition in his blue eyes, the stiffening in his body, the immediate confirmation he sought through the Force.

The foyer grew quiet and heavy. Siri seemed to sense the change, and everyone else watched Anakin anxiously, unsure what would happen. Obi-Wan supposed Padmé was looking at Anakin as well, but he didn't dare glance in her direction. He had enough to look after. _There is no emotion; there is peace_.

Panic filled the boy. Guilt. Conflict. The mental shield started to slip, and Obi-Wan caught whispers of _Master_ and _alive_ and _dead_. He felt a shiver run down his spine, he felt bone crushing fear enter him like ice, he sensed searing heat thaw it a heartbeat later as Anakin remained frozen, the only indication of all this given by the slight parting of his lips and small widening of his eyes.

Obi-Wan finally braved a look in Padmé's direction and saw her appearing just as conflicted as Anakin. She seemed caught between wanting to greet him and wanting to get away from him. Considering their last confrontation, he couldn't blame her. But Anakin was quickly becoming a detonator that was about to explode. He had to diffuse this somehow.

Siri also seemed to catch this, so she tried to introduce reason into the scenario, explaining what she'd learned so far. "Padmé says she was taken captive by Tarkin, who ensured her survival."

Anakin's gaze immediately snapped to Siri, and the Force grew more tumultuous. Fear and panic turned to shock, confusion, and rage.

Something in Anakin clicked. He swallowed. Everything in him dissipated until a heat as intense as lava seemed to enter the room, filling from the floor upwards, making Obi-Wan and Siri immediately flinch. Anakin closed his mouth, his eyes hardening, his gaze aimed at the floor, boring a hole into it. His knuckles turned white on his crutches.

"Vader…" Padmé eventually whispered.

Both Jedi jumped at the title, having forgotten that she hadn't known Anakin's true name. Even Al didn't.

The heat vanished, draining out of the room and returning to Anakin, who looked at Padmé, blushed, and looked down, the guilt returning, body trembling. His signature in the Force grew thin, wispy, worn out – he couldn't take much more of this. And neither could the foyer, apparently – unbeknownst to everyone else, the small table, alongside the vase that had sat atop it, was now floating, ready to be crushed or fall to the ground.

Obi-Wan stepped forward just as Siri did, placing a hand on Anakin's forehead. The boy immediately recoiled, knowing what was to come, and the floating furniture fell to the ground with a crash. This made everyone else in the room jump, not sure what was happening, wondering if Anakin was about to attack.

"It's fine. He's just injured," Siri tried to explain hastily. "We need to get him to a bed."

Padmé immediately looked concerned while everyone else remained uncertain. Siri, however, took charge as Obi-Wan tried again to calm Anakin, who absolutely refused to let him anywhere near.

"Anakin," he whispered so only the young man could hear him. "Come with us."

Anakin shook his head, his breath coming in gasps.

Siri marched over, dedicating her full attention to Anakin. "Let's go."

Anakin looked like he wanted to argue again, but the distraction cost him; Obi-Wan waved his hand, sending a soothing, calming sensation through their developing bond. Anakin hiccupped a little, realizing too late what had just happened, and then his eyes started to close and his body sagged. Obi-Wan and Siri caught him as he swayed, though Obi-Wan had tried to be light with the influence, only making him sleepy instead of passing out. He wasn't entirely sure how well the moderation worked, though, seeing as Anakin was quickly blacking out entirely.

The family parted for them as Obi-Wan eventually gave up on helping Anakin walk and picked him up. Siri led the way to Obi-Wan's old bedroom and the two entered, not daring to look back. As soon as the door closed, Obi-Wan bounced Anakin lightly, looking at Siri, desperately asking her to take him. They traded the burden, and Siri gently laid the boy on the bed while Obi-Wan whirled around and the locked the door faster than he could blink.

The room was silent. Obi-Wan leaned his forehead against the door, his hand on the lock as if someone might try to break in. Siri paused at the bed, her hand on Anakin's chest and her gaze on her husband.

"She's alive," Obi-Wan eventually whispered.

Siri stood and walked over to him, putting her hands on his shoulders and making him face her. Her determined blue eyes were soft, loving, filled with joy and confusion and pain, reflecting exactly how he felt, and she smiled. "She's alive."

Obi-Wan let out a breathy laugh. Then a gasp. Then a sob. Siri pulled him to her, and the two leaned heavily against the door, trembling with everything that had just happened.

* * *

Padmé didn't know what to do.

It had been about half an hour since Obi-Wan, Siri, and Vader had abruptly learned that she was alive. She didn't know whether to be annoyed or neutral to the fact that her father hadn't told them on the way, but she supposed he didn't think it safe to mention outside of the house. Still… they hadn't even recognized her at first… or, more accurately, they had _refused_ to recognize her at first.

Honestly, she'd hardly recognized _them_.

All three had looked so gaunt, so pale, so exhausted, like they'd fall apart if the wind blew too hard. Obi-Wan had grown a _beard_ and his hair was almost to his shoulders – he looked unkempt, nothing like the prim, proper older brother she was so used to seeing. Siri looked… Padmé couldn't quite describe it. She supposed the best word she could use was _older_; Siri looked like she'd aged a decade, not grey, but worn, somber, and radiating with silent strength (heaven knew the hug she'd given Padmé had nearly been bone crushing). And Vader…

Vader looked like a _wreck_. He was unshaved like Obi-Wan, grizzly stubble covering his dirty face, curly locks falling into his eyes. And his eyes were… she shook her head. So much had happened in them in the course of an instant. She could still read him a little, at least when he was open as he had been from sheer surprise; he'd been terrified, shocked, guilty, confused, worried, and angry. Some of those emotions made sense while others were… worrisome. But she didn't know how to interpret what she saw, not anymore, not after what he'd done. Or, she supposed, she wouldn't know how to interpret anything he did now that Palpatine was dead – after all, every move Vader had made had been according to his precious master. How in the blazes had he carried on without him?

Obi-Wan and Siri. It had to be them. They had to have been the ones to help him get through the pain, and that alone was nearly mind blowing. Al had told her that Vader had grown close to them, but she didn't quite fathom how much they had reciprocated it. It was almost too foreign to comprehend considering their feelings for the man before she'd been shot.

What had _happened_ in the interim? Al's words suddenly didn't seem like enough explanation, even though he had been quite thorough in filling her in on what she'd missed. But the way they acted around Vader wasn't just like two people who had accepted that he wasn't as horrible as they'd thought. They'd acted concerned, comforting… they'd been warmer with him than with _her_.

Obi-Wan and Siri had seemed almost unwilling to accept that Padmé was alive, while Vader had immediately acknowledged it. Padmé didn't know what that meant. When Obi-Wan had asked her who she was… when Siri had reached for a lightsaber… Padmé didn't know what to make of any of it, and that _hurt_ – she felt like they were strangers to her now, as if being gone for a few months was enough to create a chasm between them, a lifetime of experiences that they didn't share.

The rest of the family had murmured about how Obi-Wan and Siri looked, about Vader, whether it was even safe to have him in the house, but some, such as Darred, had pointed out that Obi-Wan and Siri obviously had him under control. Al had remained silent, and Padmé sought him out.

"You didn't tell me how much they'd changed," she remarked as she approached the smuggler.

Al sighed sadly. "We've all changed, Padmé. You can't expect them to suddenly accept that you're alive again. They went through a lot."

"But you—" she began to say.

"I knew you as a friend." Al shook his head. "It's not the same. They were your _family_."

Padmé noted with some surprise that Al didn't differentiate between the three, but she figured he assumed she understood his meaning. And she cursed herself for it. She was so eager to reunite with them, and the reunion with her other family members had been emotional, but still relatively smooth – she had assumed it would be the same with Obi-Wan and Siri. But of course it wouldn't be – they'd joined the war effort, started training as Jedi.

They'd moved on.

Padmé blinked as her chest tightened. That _hurt_. She… she would have expected them to hold out a little longer. But that was silly and selfish, and Siri had shown her relief by hugging Padmé after it had finally settled in. Obi-Wan, though…

Padmé sighed and shook her head. Obi-Wan had always been more remote, but now he felt like he was a million lightyears away despite being down the hall. He hadn't even gotten near her.

"They just need time," Al tried to say helpfully, startling her out of her musings. "I had a hyperspace trip to let it sink in – they've just found out."

Blowing out a breath, Padmé supposed Al was right. But it had been half an hour and she really couldn't wait any longer. She wanted to see them, to speak with them, to tell them it was okay. She wanted to hug her brother, to hear his voice. She wanted to look at Siri and see the life come back to her face instead of the gaunt, weary expression she seemed to be wearing now. She wanted to see Vader, to figure out how he felt about everything, how he was coping… and she didn't want to be anywhere near him at the same time.

Groaning, Padmé walked down the hall towards Obi-Wan's old bedroom. Vader was likely still unconscious, so she could speak with her brother and sister-in-law without worrying about him. She knocked softly when she reached the door and waited nervously, wondering how she could fix this, how she could help them and reassure them without falling apart herself. After all, just looking at them made her feel incredibly guilty; she did this to them, even if she couldn't help being shot. And it was a stupid thing to do, blaming herself for something she couldn't help, but she still felt responsible for all their pain nonetheless.

Nearly a minute passed with no answer. Padmé felt her stomach churn and she reached to knock again. However, the door clicked (why was it locked?) and then slowly opened.

Darth Vader stood on the other side.

Padmé froze. Why wasn't he asleep? She wasn't ready for this, not one on one. Where were Obi-Wan and Siri? Glancing behind Vader's shoulder, she noted that the pair was asleep on the edges of either side of the bed, as if some invisible object had filled the space between them. She didn't have time to think about it before her gaze returned to the Imperial.

Vader's eyes were clouded, filled with a thousand thoughts. His face was neutral but strained, as if he were struggling not to show what he was feeling in some manner. One hand was holding the door's edge while the other rested stiffly at his side. Padmé didn't know what to say or do. She wasn't ready for this.

The Imperial exhaled shakily and then stepped forward. Padmé felt her heartrate skyrocket, but she couldn't move. What was he going to do?

Vader hugged her.

Padmé felt her eyes widen immensely, and her body trembled. Vader's hold was timid at first, but it grew stronger by the second until she could hardly breathe. Eventually her heartbeat stopped thrumming loudly in her ears so she could hear the frantic whispers coming from him, apologizing over and over continuously. Sometimes the apologies slipped out in pairs, other times there would be one at a time between gasps of air. After almost half a minute, Padmé realized Vader didn't know what to do as much as she didn't – he was literally stuck in a loop.

She swallowed and closed her eyes. Then she returned the hug, squeezing briefly before forcing him away so she could catch her breath. Vader watched her with wide eyes now, somehow even more terrified than before. She didn't quite know what to say; she didn't want to say it was fine, because honestly, what he had done _wasn't_ okay, even if she understood _why_ he had done it.

But Palpatine had no power over him anymore, right? Was there anything to be afraid of anymore?

"It's…" she started to speak, unsure of how to phrase any kind of reassurance, half wondering why she was even reassuring him in the first place. But the wondering didn't last long; she'd known he'd needed help for a long time. Apparently she just hadn't gone around it the right way. "You were… brainwashed. It's… understandable."

There. That seemed reasonable enough to say, right? She felt that way at least, right?

Vader flinched and pulled away as if burned. Had she said something wrong? How was telling him it was understandable a bad thing? His eyes were wide, brow furrowed, face scrunched in worry and hurt and guilt. Padmé didn't know how she'd hurt him, though, but she was still too hesitant to find out. She only watched, her heart aching, her head screaming, her body caught in the middle.

The Imperial wobbled slightly, almost losing his footing for a second as he took another step away on his obviously injured ankle. Padmé focused on that, trying to change the subject. "What happened? How were you hurt?"

This seemed to help; being asked something not directly related to her apparent survival relieved him. "I fell."

Padmé bit back a sigh. She'd almost forgotten how hard it was to get him to elaborate. "What were you doing?"

"I was fighting Imperials. A TIE fighter shot at me and threw me off the roof."

She jumped, surprised, her eyebrows rising. "Imperials?"

Vader blinked. Padmé remembered. "Why were you fighting Imperials?"

"They would have killed Obi-Wan and Siri."

"So you… you've joined the Alliance?"

Vader's face darkened. Coldly, he said, "No."

The very fact that he spent energy saying no rather than shaking his head was enough to convince her that he felt emphatically about that. His expression confirmed it. It was obvious he held the Rebel Alliance in contempt, and this startled Padmé – after all, Vader had held no emotion for the Rebels initially. He'd simply stated they were his enemy because they were Palpatine's enemy. She recalled that distinctly on Naboo.

But that was it – Palpatine. The Rebels had killed Palpatine.

She couldn't think about this now. This was too complicated now. Seeing Vader like this… she didn't know. She hadn't been ready to talk to him face to face, but now that they were and she saw how he was behaving, all she wanted was just to remember what it had been like when they were at Varykino. She just wanted things to be _simple_ again (but they never really were simple, were they?).

She just wanted to know what it felt like to be in love again. And she hated herself for it. And desperately wanted it.

Steering away from the subject of the Rebels, she said, "Al told me that you saved Obi-Wan and Siri on Hoth, too. Why are you helping them?"

Vader looked like he was debating the matter, but eventually he answered her. "You protect family."

Padmé felt her jaw drop slightly. Did he just… _family_? He looked at them as _family_? This was the same man who had claimed he didn't need family, that love was a useless emotion and family was nonessential.

Then again, this was also the same man who had fallen in love with her.

_And shot you, remember?_

She closed her mouth. Emotions flooded her, and she was lost in the deluge for a few minutes as Vader stood there almost matter-of-factly, finally seeming to gain some semblance of control. She was so unbelievably happy for him, surprised as hell, and… well, she didn't know what else. Eventually she smiled. "They're your family?"

Vader stood there silently, apparently not sure whether to repeat himself. Padmé didn't care. The more she thought about it, the happier she became, the more _relieved_ she became. This, to her, was the first true indication of the emperor's death – Vader was finally _free_ of Palpatine's oppressive hold and he was showing such massive improvement. Obi-Wan and Siri were miracle workers; she couldn't imagine what they had gone through to get to this point. Padmé felt her smile grow, and she took a step towards Vader, who tried to back away, but she caught him in another hug before he could flee, closing her eyes.

"I'm so happy for you," she said sincerely, her voice trembling.

Vader didn't return the hold and stood stiffly in her grip, but she didn't notice it. Instead, she was filled with renewed hope, something she hadn't expected to ever feel again. It was amazing, like having a dam released so all her worries could wash away for just an instant.

The moment was abruptly interrupted when Padmé heard a crash out in the hall, making her jump and pull away. She turned to see what had happened and noticed that a small board that had been leaning against the wall had fallen over. Putting a hand to her heart, she turned to look at Vader once more only to find the door closed and the Imperial gone.

Inside the room, Siri stood at the door, her hand on the control panel, having apparently been awake long enough to sense his inner turmoil and save him from interacting with Padmé.

Padmé. _Padmé_. She was _alive_.

He was lost. He was _so lost_. Master wanted Padmé dead. The fact that she was alive spat in the face of one of Master's last wishes. But he sure as hell couldn't kill her. He felt… he felt… he didn't know. He couldn't stand to look at her, he couldn't stand to be near her, yet he couldn't let go when he'd hugged her initially. He'd done it for the same reason he'd hugged Obi-Wan and Siri – he knew it held significance to them. To him… well… he didn't know. But all he _did_ know was that once he held on he suddenly locked up, unable to let go, unable to think straight, unable to do anything except apologize over and _over_. The more he apologized the sicker he felt, going against everything he'd ever been taught to do, but the more he apologized, the more frantic he became that she hear his words.

He was so lost.

Just looking at her reminded him of Master. Just looking at her reminded him of what he'd done to her. Just looking at her made his heart stop and then beat so hard he was sure it would burst. Just looking at her made him feel like he should run in any direction so long as it was away from her. Just looking at her made him feel like he should grab her and never let go.

_But Master wanted her dead. She should be dead._

Yet she wasn't. And that was _the governor's_ doing. The _governor_, who had not only taken advantage of Master's death, but had apparently been _planning_ it for some time. Why else would he allow her to live? He was going to use her. He was going to use _him_.

He trembled. His body felt hot. His heartrate beat so hard and fast he felt lightheaded. His cracked ribs ached, his foot screamed in pain, his head was spinning, and all he could imagine was throttling the man he'd once trusted.

"Anakin?"

He looked at Siri, not quite able to focus on her and not quite able to ignore her. Some ingrained instinct in him made him as alert as possible, awaiting orders, but he still couldn't shake the thoughts from his mind, the whispers that Padmé was supposed to be dead yet he was unable to finish the job.

If only Tarkin _had_ killed him that night so long ago. If only Obi-Wan and Siri hadn't stopped him on Ferrasco. But he couldn't hurt them too, and his death would hurt them, right? Because they loved him, right?

"_I'm so happy for you."_

Why was she happy for him? What would make her happy? He'd _shot_ her for Force's sake, what was _wrong_ with her? She hadn't forgiven him, he knew that – she would have said it, just as Obi-Wan and Siri had said it. He wasn't surprised, but it still… stung. It was stupid to think she would forgive him – after all, he hadn't forgiven the Rebels and the Jedi.

But Obi-Wan and Siri had forgiven him. He trembled a little just thinking about it, and he locked eyes with Siri. Those two were truly in a caliber all their own. He didn't understand it.

"Do you need to talk about it?" Siri asked.

Blast, they were getting to know him too well – if she'd asked if he wanted to talk he could have slipped out of it easily enough with a simple _I don't know_. But did he _need_ to talk about it?

Well, probably. But… but… he shouldn't. How could he tell them that a part of him was screaming that Padmé was supposed to die? How could they possibly understand that anything going against Master's wishes was like a slap to the face, like spitting on Master's memory? How could he explain what he was going through when he himself didn't know what he was feeling?

_When you aren't supposed to be feeling anything, you mean._

He gasped a little, taking a step back. No, no, _please_ no. He didn't… no. Just no.

"Anakin?" Siri questioned worriedly as Obi-Wan got out of bed, watching him.

The room swam as he grew dizzy, backing into a corner and shaking his head.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

"She can't be alive," he said before he could stop himself, and he felt his heart nearly stop. He looked down immediately, wondering when the rebuke would come, wondering when they would refute everything they'd said on Ferrasco, wondering when he would be all alone.

"It's difficult to accept," Obi-Wan remarked. "But… she is alive. I'll admit, even _I_ don't know what to make of it. I… I don't know how to go _backwards_ to the time when the wound was still fresh, to fix this in my mind. It isn't easy for any of us."

"And that's _okay_," Siri stressed.

They didn't understand. That was for the best. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, and he sealed his mind off from the two. He wouldn't let them know; he never let Master know when something was wrong, after all.

_You would talk to the governor, though._

Only in desperate situations. Besides, they weren't the governor. He would never open himself up like that again.

_But they're not here to take advantage of you_.

What guarantee did he have of that?

_They wanted to get away from the Rebels._ He sighed at the thought, and he felt his blood chill at the next realization.

_Padmé is still a Rebel. She wants you to be one too._

Was Padmé just like the governor? Did she only want to use him for her own purposes? She was Master's enemy, after all.

But… but… she'd said she loved him. Before he'd shot her, she'd said she loved him. Did that… did that mean nothing? Why would she lie about that? Why would _anyone_ lie about that?

_Well, you _did_ shoot her. She probably doesn't love you anymore_.

He bit his tongue until he tasted blood. He had to stop this nonsense, certainly in front of Obi-Wan and Siri. He'd shown enough weakness for one day. He wouldn't do that anymore. There was no purpose in letting her feelings for him affect him; she couldn't have loved him anyway, not when she was engaged to marry another for the sole purpose of aiding the Rebel cause. She was a means to an end for the Alliance as much as he was for Master. He'd known that before. It was no different now.

Except Master was dead and she wasn't.

He growled and bit harder. Being with Obi-Wan and Siri had been like the promise of a new life, something so foreign and surreal that he hadn't known what to make of it, had initially stubbornly resisted it before slowly opening to the idea. Now it was like being sucked back to Imperial Center, being in that state of uncertainty and pain that had been tearing him apart just prior to the kill order.

Pain. The pain of separate loyalties. The pain of being in love with Padmé and loving Master and knowing both wanted the other dead. But there was no conflict now, right?

_Except Master wanted her dead and she's not_.

"_Anakin."_

He jumped, startled by Obi-Wan's firm voice.

"It's going to be okay," Obi-Wan said slowly, as if he'd already said it and been ignored. "We'll sort this out."

He almost scoffed at the idea, but he also held onto the words like he used to when the governor gave him advice. Obi-Wan had somehow managed to make sense of so many situations that had nearly broken him – surely he could do the same here? He nodded with a twitch of his head mainly to acknowledge the words rather than agree with them, but he still watched Obi-Wan carefully, waiting for him to say something that might help him.

Instead, he sensed reluctance, hesitancy. Obi-Wan and Siri didn't seem to want to leave the room, didn't want to be near Padmé. They had been the ones who had used the Force to knock something over in the hallway, after all. They'd gotten rid of her in the first place.

"We should leave," he suddenly said, startling himself as much as the pair.

"Leave?" Siri repeated, though he allowed her lapse in understanding for a moment since he figured she was still stunned about everything that had happened. "You mean leave the house?"

He nodded.

"And go where?"

"Wherever we were supposed to go."

"You want to _abandon_ them?" Obi-Wan asked.

"She's going to rejoin the Alliance, right?" he noted, figuring that would make his point fairly clear; they were supposed to be avoiding Empire and Rebels alike.

Siri glanced at Obi-Wan, and the two were locked in another one of their internal dialogues. He stood as patiently as he could, but as the seconds ticked by he grew more restless. What were they talking about that they couldn't voice it aloud? Why didn't they immediately catch his meaning and agree? Were they going to leave him?

They were. They were going to stay with Padmé. Why wouldn't they? She was family.

_But they said you were family too_.

He shook his head. Padmé came first. He was nothing compared to her. And… and he wouldn't force them to leave her. But he couldn't stay. He just couldn't.

He interrupted them. "You should plan an evacuation for your family. They're probably not safe here anymore."

Obi-Wan and Siri watched him silently, somewhat worried, but apparently they were too overwhelmed by everything to understand the true reason for his suggestion. They sighed reluctantly and nodded, heading for the exit together. He waited until they had walked down the hall before hastily closing the door, feeling his body tremble fiercely. He… he…

He didn't want to be alone.

A wave of nausea hit him just thinking that. Some ingrained part of him screamed at the admission. He shook his head. It wouldn't matter anymore anyway. He'd be on his own no matter what he wanted. He would not join the Alliance.

Turning, he examined the sole window in the room. It was fairly large, certainly big enough for him to fit through. He approached it, opened it, and delicately climbed over the windowsill, glancing at the slight drop into a yard filled with flower beds and a garden. This landing would likely hurt, but he could remain silent.

"What you doing?"

He nearly jumped out of his skin, not having sensed anything due to his concussion, and he grabbed the window, looking around wildly before tracing the high pitched voice to a youngling in the garden below. She looked too similar to the other members of the family to not be a relative of some sort. Her large brown eyes were staring at him curiously.

He wondered if he even acknowledge her; judging by her size and lack of ability to speak with proper grammar, she certainly wasn't worth his time. However, she might get someone if he didn't. "I'm getting fresh air."

She scrunched her nose. "You look silly. Come down! We play together!"

He hesitated. The youngling's parents had to be nearby, and he didn't need that. "Are you alone?"

"Dada's on the other side of garden." She said with a big smile as if answering a question made her happy.

"Where specifically?"

She pointed in the opposite direction. "I go get him!"

"No! No. That—that isn't necessary." He quickly said, waving his hand to emphasize the point since he was half convinced she didn't understand what necessary even meant. "Just go to him, but don't bring him here and don't tell him about me."

Now she furrowed her brow, looking somewhat like a miniature Padmé. "Why?"

He felt his cheeks flush and some form of a growl rumbled in his chest. Even the kriffing _younglings_ questioned his orders in this family.

"Go to your father and don't say anything about me." He repeated his order, furrowing his brow.

The girl blinked. "Why?"

Gripping the window more firmly, he said, "Because I said so."

"But you a stranger," the girl said as if that explained everything.

"What difference does that make?" he asked. "I am an authority figure."

The girl stared at him blankly. "What's that?"

_You can't be serious. Do they even teach their younglings anything?_ "Someone who gives orders, and you listen to them. Go to your father."

But it was too late – as soon as he'd finished saying that he caught movement in the corner of his eye, and his addled mind detected something familiar approaching. He looked up beyond the girl and saw a young man who also bore a resemblance to her but not quite the other relatives, and Padmé herself was right beside him.

Padmé stared at him, her face guarded as she seemed to be figuring out what he was doing. He felt his cheeks flush. She turned to the other man. "Go inside, Darred. You haven't seen Obi and Siri yet."

Darred looked at him sharply and then the girl. The look alone indicated his reason for avoiding a reunion with Obi-Wan and Siri – the man hadn't wanted the little girl near him.

He almost scoffed. As if the girl were a threat; he wouldn't bother with her if it weren't for the fact that she _wouldn't shut up_ and actually listen to him.

"Come along, Ryoo," the man said to the girl, who skipped over to the man. The two reentered the house.

"What are you doing?" Padmé asked, repeating the girl's question (albeit with better grammar and diction, at least).

He didn't dare speak. He already didn't know what to do with her staring at him like that.

"You were going to leave, weren't you?" she surmised.

He couldn't stop himself. "It's necessary. Obi-Wan and Siri likely want to be with you, and I'm the only thing in the way of that."

Damn it, why couldn't he keep his mouth shut around her?!

Padmé took another step towards him, her face softening. "How are you in the way of that?"

"They were trying to avoid the Alliance for my sake." _Shut up, blast it, just shut your kriffing mouth!_ "The Rebels want me dead."

Padmé's mouth fell open slightly, her eyes widening. "Dead? Al said you were their prisoner."

Fine, he would explain. "I antagonized them."

"Vader," Padmé said softly, and he felt his skin tingle at the sound. He needed to scream and get away from her. Or just get away, though screaming seemed a reasonable thing to do at the moment as well. Perhaps it was the concussion? "The Alliance won't hurt you. I'll make sure of it."

He felt his body grow cold. "You want me to join the Alliance?"

Padmé sighed. "No. But I figure you can help _us_, not the Alliance. I mean…" Here she hesitated, filled with some sort of dread. "Do you want to be with Tarkin?"

Blast, not another one of these _what do you want _questions. Those questions were heinous. He barely knew what he wanted apart from when random thoughts appeared in moments of sheer desperation. However… just _thinking_ about the governor made him feel… off. He tried to reason what that meant. Obi-Wan and Siri had said whatever came to mind first was typically what he wanted. So what was coming to mind first?

Not being with the governor.

"I… don't think so," he eventually answered.

"Then…" Padmé hesitated again, not entirely confident in her words, perhaps not even entirely truthful. He didn't know if she was capable of being honest at this point, and some part of him stung thinking about it. "Be with us."

Wait, what?

"I _shot_ you," he immediately reminded her as if she had somehow forgotten – that had to be the case anyway, why else would she suggest that? How the hell could she have forgotten? She remembered a minute ago! Who was the one with the head injury between the two of them?! "Do you have no sense of self-preservation?"

Padmé laughed, and he felt his body relax at the sound, that amazing sound that just made everything seem… right. "From what I hear, _you_ certainly don't."

"That's not the point!" he waved a dismissive hand, agitated.

She laughed even harder, her face glowing. In that moment, it hit him.

The fact that she was living was… acceptable. Despite Master's wishes. It almost felt like he… like he was flying in a ship without ever leaving the ground. He didn't know what was wrong with him. Or was there anything wrong at all? He grew dizzy just thinking about it.

As she started to regain her composure, he did too. What was her true motive for asking that he stay? Where did her true loyalties lie?

"Vader…" she eventually remarked. "You're right. You did shoot me."

His heart stopped. He shifted, trying to climb back into the room, but she pointed to the grass in front of her, and so he reluctantly climbed down to face her.

"But…" she continued once he'd hopped down to the garden, masking the fire in his chest and ankle with a large swallow and slightly widened eyes. "But… I know why. Palpatine's gone. He can never hurt you again… he… he can never hurt _us_ again. Just… know who you are. Know that no one can hold that much sway over you. Just… don't ever do anything like that again."

He stared at her, mesmerized and confused. She… did she truly understand? If so, then why would she say Master could never hurt him again? Master didn't hurt him. He'd always done what he'd done to improve him. She still didn't get it. She hadn't changed since Varykino.

Padmé suddenly sniffled, and then, despite her words, she started to cry. Or perhaps because of them. In either case, this was too much for him; he could hardly deal with her when she wasn't blubbering. As soon as the tears came out he was clueless. He never knew how to handle tears.

Maybe he should find Obi-Wan or Siri. They were well equipped for this emotionalism. The last time she'd cried in front of him he'd been clueless as well, but he'd thought he could break it out of her, at least startle it out of her. Now he didn't dare attempt anything; _he_ was the reason she was crying, after all.

Before he could decide upon any course of action, he felt a dull warning in the Force, though not in time to dodge the suddenly smack that nearly threw him to the ground. Padmé herself nearly tripped from the force of the blow she'd just delivered.

"Don't ever do that again!" she half yelled at him, still crying.

Wha… what? How could she be crying and attacking at the same time? Did people do that? Why did she hit him? Was this retaliation for shooting him? Did she even realize that absolutely didn't count? If she wanted retaliation she would have to shoot him back. If it wasn't retaliation, what was it? Happiness wouldn't lead someone to smacking somebody, and she _was_ crying, so was violence typical with—

Padmé dragged him into a hug.

What? _What?_

A second later she released him and ran back into the house.

He stared after her, his jaw dropped in utter bewilderment, his cheek stinging.

_What the hell just happened?!_

* * *

Lightyears away in the heart of Imperial territory, Tarkin sat in his office when an Intelligence report finally came. He glanced it over hastily, rising as he did so, ready to meet Vader as soon as the boy touched ground, and then he froze.

Massive structural damage to the city, heavy casualties to the destroyer. One Jedi found, believed to be killed, later discovered to be… be…

Vader? _Vader_ had fought the Imperials? But if they thought he was the Jedi…

No. No. No, no, no…

His eyes continued to scroll through the pad until they settled on the summary.

_Lord Vader perished in the assault._

What? What did… how did…?

Rage filled him, and Tarkin tossed the data pad onto the desk, where it slid across the furniture and crashed to the floor, taking several stacks of flimsiplast with it. What did they mean he'd _perished_? The report had said a TIE fighter had taken him out. Why the hell did they have fighters attacking him?! The Jedi wouldn't have been capable of putting up such a fight! Their orders had been for _retrieval_!

This had to be his spy's doing. There was no way the agents were this incompetent. Did she have Vader killed to ensure Tarkin wasn't a threat to her? Was that all the boy was to her, just a _threat_, just some unimportant _thing_ that could be _eliminated_?

Tarkin felt his breath coming out in angry gasps. She would pay for this. _She would pay for this_.

And a heartbeat later, the anger left as the news hit home.

_Vader_…

Tarkin leaned against his desk. The room was so quiet it was suffocating him.

Well, he supposed the boy finally got his wish.

Tarkin felt like he'd just been punched in the stomach.

How would he… what was he going to do? Vader was _gone_. He was _gone_!

A few minutes passed with the emperor regent lost in his own thoughts, filled with anger and regrets he'd never known he'd even had. Then logic finally started to kick in once more. Vader was dead. The emperor was now dead. That meant Tarkin was in charge.

This… this…

This wasn't what he'd wanted.

Tarkin slammed his fist on his desk with a curse.

It didn't matter what he wanted anymore, did it? He might as well take advantage of the gift given to him. _As if losing Darth Vader is a gift_, he scoffed, his chest clenching.

_Damn it all_, this _wasn't_ what he'd wanted!

Tarkin squeezed his eyes shut, suddenly plagued with a headache. He would have to announce Vader's death to the senate. The coronation would be planned after a mourning period.

He _would_ get Keeper for this. He _would _ensure she paid dearly for what she'd done.

Slowly, he brought his hand up to cover his eyes, squeezing his temples.

_Goodbye, little one. I hope you find rest wherever you are._


End file.
